The Munchkin Files

We use Lansinoh HPA lanolin ointment to treat and waterproof M1's knit woolies and also as a diaper ointment.  So the other day, when HB decided he needed a remote diaper changing area set up (our primary location is in the nursery where M2 was napping at the time), he removed the half-full tube of lanolin in addition to the other diaper-changing necessities.

And he left it out.  In M1's room.  During naptime.

When we went to get him up, we found this:

M1 had squeezed out the entire tube of lanolin onto his bed.  And apparently rolled his stuffed animals through the ooze.

And patted it all over the walls.


And beslimed several books.  His favorites, of course.  (He had a holy screaming fit when I discovered them at bedtime and removed them for cleaning.)

And smeared it all over his face.  (I don't have a picture of that, but envision a toddler with about a 1/8" thick layer of ointment from forehead to chin, and you'll get the idea.)

The whole ordeal led to several loads of laundry.  (It's not done yet - after three hot cycles with Dawn dish detergent, the lanolin is only mostly gone from the bedding.)


 And he learned another valuable phrase that day, too: "You never, ever squeeze the tube."

Today at lunch, HB and I made the mistake of having a philosophical discussion in front of M1.  Specifically, it was a debate between the merits of teetotalism versus moderate and occasional social drinking in Christian society.  Given that HB grew up in the Bible Belt and I grew up in Wisconsin: Land of Beer and Cheese, it is perhaps surprising that we meet in the middle so well on this topic.

But that's beside the point.  What is the point is that we hadn't realized that our conversation should have been censored in front of the Munchkins.  At least, we didn't realize it until M1 started babbling happily into his milk:

"Number three is tying one cutting board.
Number four is drinking alcohol.
Number five is drinking alcohol.
Number nine is talking alcohol.
Number ten is talking alcohol."

Now there's a counting chant that will never show up on Sesame Street.

What's worse is that he is enunciating it extremely well.  We may be in trouble after Sunday School this weekend.

(By the way, I have no idea how he constructed "number three is tying one cutting board."  Other than I'd never heard the euphemism "tying one on" before and I'd asked HB to explain it's etymology.  That's just going to have to be a mystery.)

On July 3rd, a local weather system decided to celebrate the holiday weekend with it's own brand of fireworks.  We got a moderately intense thunderstorm with extremely intense rain (three-quarters of an inch of rain in about an hour).  Fortunately M1 still isn't too bothered by storms - he loves watching hail and on Sunday he even exclaimed, "The thunder goes ding ding!"

But since that deluge didn't succeed in cleaning our car, we decided to introduce M1 to the joys of car-washing.  Unfortunately, we started by forgetting about the joys of "I pour it out!"

He apparently determined that the suds should be carried over to the car on top of the sponge (as if it were an artist's palette) and then gently applied to the car by hand.  And when that got boring, M1 decided that applying the suds to my front made a nice change.


Eventually, he did get the general idea.

M1 is having a problem with choices.  Specifically, he cannot seem to grasp the logical construct, "if A then not B."  So when HB and I take separate cars to meet up somewhere, M1 can't decide which one to ride home in.  For instance, as we were leaving the in-laws' house last Sunday after lunch, M1 immediately started saying, "Gonna go in the white car."

So we loaded him up in the white car and I drove off, while HB loaded M2 into the blue car.  And as soon as we started leaving the other car behind, M1 threw a screaming tantrum along the lines of "Gonna get in the blue car!  Gonna see Daddy in the blue car!"  Thank goodness it's only about a mile and a half to drive home.

Thinking I had learned my lesson, I made extra sure this week to ask M1 the question in several different ways, "Do you want to go in the white car?  Do you want to ride in the blue car?  Do you want to drive with Daddy? etc..."  90% of the responses indicated a preference for riding in the blue car with HB.

On the plus side (for me at least), HB was the one to get the tantrum this week.

And the fit continued at home.  As soon as the cars pulled into the garage next to each other, M1 started up again with, "Gonna get out and get in the white car."

HB gently but firmly told him that there would be no more car rides; we were going into the house.

M1's response?  "You don't want to go into the house."

Sadly for him, the Munchkin Mind Trick only influences the weak-minded.

M1 has a new game.  It's where he runs around in small circles yelling, "Go!  Go!  Go!"  I was letting him play it while I prepared dinner.  My back was turned, but I could hear stomp stomp stomp stomp "Go!  Go!  Go!  Go!"

Suddenly, this predictable medley of toddler sounds terminated in a sudden brief cacophony of thuds and crashes.  It seriously sounded like he'd fallen down the stairs, only I knew he was on the level kitchen floor.  Apparently, he'd run out of his shoe and tripped.

When I got to him and scooped it up, his first words were, "Gonna kiss it."  After presenting his skinned left knee and bruised elbow for some special Mommy First-Aid, he calmed down and started asking for more. 

"Gonna kiss your other knee."
"Gonna kiss your face."
"Gonna kiss your other face."

His face (specifically his forehead), did in fact need a lot of kiss-it-make-it-better treatments, since he'd raised an enormous goose-egg when he hit the tile floor.  But he shook off the trauma pretty well (getting a Band-Aid for his knee and some "boo-boo gel" [aka Neosporin] helped a lot), and only asked once more for "Gonna kiss your hair."

He even took it well when I told him that his request of "need a Band-Aid for your hair" wasn't a viable option.

Today, I had to have the "Birds and the Bees" talk with M1.  You know, the one that goes "the birds and the bees like the leaves and flowers to stay on the plants, and so does Mommy."

My poor jade plant.  It's the only houseplant that survived my cats.  (Well, mostly survived.  If you look closely at the leaves you can see some healed teeth marks.)

So, once you've proudly shown the leaves you harvested to Mommy, what's a toddler to do with them?  Why, set the table, of course!


The narrative, supplied by M1, is as follows:

One for you.  One for you.  One for you.  One for me.  One for me.

When he was done, there were three small piles of leaves.  One in each of our places at the table.

M1 one also has an obsession with flatware.  To the  point where we regularly have to tell him, "Do not drink milk with your fork."  So of course, the nearest handy utensil must now be added to the mix.


He is attempting to cut the leaves with the side of his fork.  He's fascinated by the way grown-ups can do that sort of thing with food.  He just hasn't figured out how it works yet.

By the way, I did take the fork away from him at this point.  I didn't care to find out the answer to the question, "Will he eat the jade leaves if he can stab them with his fork?"

I'm afraid I know what the answer might be.  M1 is pretty good about not putting non-food items in his mouth, but as I mentioned, he's got this thing about flatware.

Here's M2, modeling a modified Berry Hat I knitted for a friend.

Isn't she precious?  Couldn't you just eat her up?

That's pretty much what HB said the other day when he was holding her at lunchtime.

M1, however, overheard this remark and said, "No!  Need to pway first!"