Tie breaker

Last night was my company's Christmas party (one of the few companies in this economy to actually have a party), and I was the only one without a novelty holiday tie. It occurred to me that my sparse tie collection will probably drastically expand in the years to come, thanks to that festive occasion called Father's Day. I'll get a long, thin box, crudely wrapped, and will have to pretend that I don't know what it is, only to open it and be delightfully amazed at the tie shaped like a fish, or covered in leprechaun heads, or whatever.

Fortunately, the geniuses over at Think Geek have some pretty cool ties, such as the 8-Bit, Space Invaders, or, for big meetings and job interviews, the power tie.

The Wife will be stuck with the usual Mother's Day gift; breakfast in bed. If The Boy is in charge, she can expect to get burnt toast, soggy oatmeal, and spilled orange juice. On the bright side, I can buy her a titanium spork to make the meal more enjoyable.

pop goes the corn

It's interesting to note that babies don't think 0f items just as items, but as part of an event. To them, everything has a purpose or history. Adults are similar--- you may remember fondly the day you purchased your coffee table, but for kids it's an integral part of that coffee table's existence.

Popcorn for The Boy, for example, isn't just something good to eat. It's also something popped in the air popper, which is loud and is kept on a very high shelf and the popcorn is usually only eaten when Mama isn't around so she doesn't see how much we make or how quickly we scarf it down.

We'll spend a good five minutes every time we come up from the basement talking about the light switch, which The Boy is allowed to turn off, unlike the switch above it which only Daddy can touch and controls the furnace, which is downstairs and is hot and loud and doesn't contain water but air and blows it all over the house. I've taken to avoiding going down there when my child is around, preferring to let The Cat starve until I get a chance to sneak down on my own to avoid the long series of gestures and monosyllabic words just to scoop food into her damn bowl.

Pie are square

A few months ago, The Boy called anything sweet "cookah."

But then we read a gripping tale about a Monster of Cookies who, having run out of cookies, decides to bake more. Just when you think the story over, they throw you for a loop by revealing that the hero of the book bakes a pie as well!

For some reason, The Boy decided that this "pie" phenomenon was fascinating. I believe shortly after reading this book he had some pie, or maybe even a cake that resembled a pie, and decided that this was his new favorite word. So now everything sweet is called pie. Not a big deal, but he even calls cookies pie now. He refuses to utter the previous word, perhaps believing that he has grown beyond such childish treats. He's a man of the world now, and demands the finest of desserts. But it's still annoying when you hold up a cookie and hear him squeal, "PIE!"

Enunciate!

I'm pretty sure I know how toddlers develop their language skills. At some point the parents give up trying to interpret each and every monosyllabic utterance and vague gesture and just shrug. The child, finally realizing that the cushy lifestyle is over, decides it's time to actually put two words together. I've gone from having a near telepathic link with my son to just looking at him blankly, and he's learned that if he wants to play with his Legos he'd better damn well learn how to say the word "Lego." (Not that he's learned to say it yet, but he's on his way.)

Don't drink the water

A few months ago The Wife had a test done and found a long list of foods that she's sensitive/allergic to. Combine that with constant monitoring of what The Boy puts in his stomach and it's forced me to pay more attention to what affects me.

Self diagnosis doesn't come easy to anyone, but I suspect I'm more obtuse than others. It took me almost three decades to finally deal with my frequent stomach cramps (turns out I'm lactose intolerant) and it wasn't until recently that I admitted to having hay fever and am now enjoying clear sinuses via a daily Claritin. My latest revelation is the fact that not everyone's throat feels funny after eating a banana. It turns out that I have oral allergy syndrome, which is common in people with hay fever. It basically means that I need to give up some of my favorite fruits, which is God's way of foiling my half-hearted attempts at eating anything healthy.

What gets me, though, is how strong the symptoms are now that I'm aware of them. I've eaten bananas all my life and it never bothered me. Now I can't look at a fruit smoothie without feeling my throat constrict. At this rate I'll end up eating lentil soup and oatmeal every day, terrified of accidentally brushing up against an apple in case it causes instant organ failure.

Let's talk vomit!

The Bubonic Plague just swept through my household (or maybe it was just a stomach virus) and we're finally all over it.

The hardest hit was The Boy, who would empty his stomach once or twice a day for about a week. It got to the point where we almost brought him to the doctor for some of that voodoo stuff you Earth people call "medicine," but he finally turned around and is back to being his normal evil self. I think the main reason it took him so long was because he refused to convalesce, preferring to run around and eat hamburgers right up to the point where he'd vomit into his shoes.

Feeling crappy is nature's way of telling you to relax for a while and let your body worry about invaders. But how do you explain to a two year old that he should rest and starve for a day? Hell, I was well into my thirties before I actually took that advice to heart. Fortunately, humans are durable enough to survive most stupidity when they're young, and for the extreme cases there are the Darwin Awards.

A person, place, or thing

The Boy, in a burst of logic, has come to the conclusion that his name must be "You." He'll point to himself and say "You, You" when he wants something. (Actually, it sounds more like "noo," not to be confused with "foo" for food, "Moo" for his grandmother, and "poo" for... poo.

It's interesting because it makes me wonder when he'll grasp the concept of pronouns. He's seen people refer to others as "you" from time to time, so when does his brain click and he thinks, "oh, that word doesn't just refer to me. I shall wet my diaper in celebration!"

Currently he's more inclined to use what words he has for a spectrum of related subjects. All men seem to be "dada" and all women seem to be "mama," for example. Most treats seem to be "cookah" and, thanks to the neighborhood kids goofing off one day, all children are now monkeys.