Locked Out

Today was DEFINITELY one for the books. I took all three children to the library's story time. And celebrated arriving on time, which is no small feat these days. Pulled the "Cadillac" double-wide double stroller out of the trunk, and set it up. Took Bella out of the car. Placed her in the stroller. Strapped her in. Closed her door. Unbuckled Enoch. Told him to climb to the front drivers side, so that he wouldn't have to climb over their carseats, and could exit on the sidewalk (Yes. I was thinking thru everything -right???). Put my car keys in my special pocket in the diaper bag so I would know where they were. Closed that door. Took Issa out. Closed that door. Put her in the stroller. Began arranging things on the stroller, covering girls with blankets, etc. And I turn around to open the door to get Enoch when I hear a very familiar "click-click". Doors locked. Automatically. With the 2 year old sitting in the drivers seat. Next to the diaper bag. With my keys in it. And my phone.

For the next ten minutes I am trying to coach Enoch on which button to push to unlock the doors. And HE thinks this is a fun game. He pushed almost every button but the unlock door button. Windows. Window lock. Horn. Trunk.

"No Enoch. That button. The button with the key"
(and he goes to the ignition because that's where you put the key)

No. Enoch. No. The black button. No. not that black one. THAT black button. Right there. That one. OK. Move your hand up (from the window control)"
(and he proceeded to hold both hands up in the air - because he's literal - because he's 2!!)

With my head on the window, looking right at the button, chuckling "Are. You. Kidding. Me???"

By now, I'm between laughing and crying in total disbelief. I'm looking around to see if anyone is watching this.

Finally, I thought of a different strategy.
"Ok. Enoch. Open the diaper bag. Yes. The zipper. That zipper. No. Not that one. The little zipper. Yes. Yes. Ok. Take out my keys. Yes, Mommy's keys. Ok. Push the button. No son. Not that one. That's lock. No. Not the trunk. Yes. Yes. Yes  That one. That one"

Click-click.

Followed by "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, I did it!! I did it!!!!"

As I lean against the car... "Yes. Son. You did it. Good job. You did it."

The Eucalyptus

Not long ago, we took Enoch to a regional park with a little farm. I am in the habit of narrating our activities, so I like to point out things that appeal to all the senses. "Enoch, look at the birds. What color are the trees? What is that sound?" Well, at some point we walked along a path lined with eucalyptus trees (which have a distinct smell), with leaves rustling in the wind. I said, "Enoch, do you smell the eucalyptus?" Enoch, eyes wide with a look of horror, took off running. When I finally caught him he proclaimed, "No, mommy, no, you-clip-us!!!" Apparently, he thought "eucalyptus"was some type of animal that lived in the "forest". And while he wasn't sure about how a "you-clip-us" looked, he was definitely NOT interested in meeting one. Next lesson... the properties of wind. :)

Image found at http://www.bubblews.com/assets/images/news/1698453267_1370308722.jpg

Not That Music

At 9:28 a.m. Enoch and I were off to a rocky start. He'd had multiple crying fits - over a bean art project, going to the potty, a caterpillar Lego castle (don't ask). In the past, I have been known to break out into song whenever I've felt overwhelmed. So, in an attempt to calm my nerves (at 9:28 am and he had only been awake since 8:23), I went ol' school - Bigma-style.."Jesus keep me near the cross..."
Enoch, looks at me and proclaims "Nooooo mommy, Nooooooo. Not THAT music."
I guess it worked. I calmed down by laughing....

Sweet Sounds

I love my son. I love that he loves his momma, and awakens me some days with "Good morning Momma. I love you. You're my best friend." Love him.
One recent morning, I was awakened by his sweet sing-songy voice asking, "Mommy would you wash my hands??"
Groggily, slowly, I sit up and respond, "Sure, Son. What's on your hands?"
"Poopy."
Thank goodness for those other mornings.