Collarless, Liar Liar, Fire $#%&s, & Rocks.

We have an 18 month old. A legitimate kid who says things. How did that happen?

I put him in some pajamas the other day – size 2T – that I remember getting. I thought, “He’ll neeeever be big enough to fit into these.” Not only did they fit, he verbally informed me they had “dinosaurs” on them.

Sweet mercy. Why does time go by so fast?

I will say, 18 months is a funny age. Personalities are emerging, emotions are being…explored, lies are being told, profanities are being used…

I’ll get to all that.

Collarless

First…this.

At first glance, you might think this reaction came when I told Beckett that Matthew died at the end of season 3, moments after meeting his one and only son.

Negative.

Our dog Mack wasn’t wearing his collar and, well, it was THE WORST THING EVER.

18 months is funny because of that. Because a dogless collar is a horribly emotional experience for everyone. As is: the blue train going in front of the red train on the tracks, choosing only 1 fire truck to take to bed, the straw not being able to reach the cavernous depths of the sippy cup to get those 2 more drops of juice, and not being able to wear the car shirt for a 4th day in a row.

All of these situations are incredibly traumatic for a toddler.

On the flip side, heartfelt joy and laughter comes just as easily and freely. (Especially when someone gets hurt, farts, or drops something. Guaranteed giggles.)

Liar, Liar

The other day Beckett was eating trail mix with chocolate in it. He obviously preferred the chocolate pieces to the other stuff, so he left only a pile of raisins on his tray and asked for more mix. I told him he needed to eat the raisins before he could have more.

He looked back at the raisins and *lightbulb* put them all in the cup holder on his tray, put apple slices on top to hide them, then asked for more again.

“Hey buddy…where’d all the raisins go? Did you eat them?”
 “Yeth.”
“I think I see them under the apples.”

He thought a second about his next move, then he moved the apple slices, ate the raisins, and asked for more mix again.

I’ve got to hand it to him – it was pretty clever. Blatantly dishonest, but clever.

Our first honesty showdown.

Fire $#%&s

Fire trucks are the new Swiffer. It’s great when we’re at home, because he spends hours playing with his trucks. But on the off-chance I fail to put both the wooden AND the metal (with the ladder removed, of course) fire trucks in my purse when we leave the house, it’s devastating and our day is forever ruined. There’s no recovering. But that’s not the point.

The point is: F-I-R-E T-R-U-C-K is kind of hard for an 18 month old to say. He’s got the “f”, and he’s got the “uck”, but he doesn’t really have the “ire tr”. So, he says the f word. With a random “a” on the end. Like if you channeled your inner Samuel L. Jackson and said motha f&^@a, minus the motha.

He says this over and over and over and over and over. And the more excited he gets, the LOUDER it gets, especially if we see a real one in real life. A real f&%$a.

We’ve been trying really hard to work on his enunciation, but the slower we say “FIIIIRRREEE TTTRRRUUUCCCKKKK” the slower he says “FFF&^@#$^^(*@#$&AAAA”. You win some you lose some.

In the meantime, plug your ears, little old lady shopping at Marshalls. Little boy coming through with a bunch of fire trucks.

Rocks.

And…one more picture.

Who needs science school when you have a backyard full of flowers (weeds)?

Please note: this picture was taken shortly after Beckett came over to me with a “rock*” he’d found.

Is it kind of a backhanded compliment to say we have THE CUTEST KID EVER since he’s made of us? I hope not, because I believe we have THE CUTEST KID EVER**.

*Beckett’s “rock” = petrified dog poop
**EVER = ties with your children. They’re really cute too.