Monday, July 27, 2009


Eli's only words have been, for months and months now, "Mama" and "Dada." Occasionally I'll hear him say, as he's banging on the glass door separating him from the dogs, "Izzie." But will he repeat anything I say to him? Nope. Will he say anything on command? Nope. Will he embarrass me when I proudly announce to my family, "He can say 'shoes'!" only to have him look at me with a blank, silent stare? Yup.

Anyway, Eli has recently added a new word to his vocabulary. Dyeah. He walks around saying that word all day long. Who knows what it means. He obviously is using it for something ("that," maybe?), but I have no idea what it means. Frustrating, to be sure.

So for now I will sit here and regret that I never taught him sign language, because the main form of communication for Eli now is incessant whining and adamant pointing.

Pleeeeeeease, son, learn to SPEAK!

But seriously, how in the world can I get annoyed with this adorable child?

I'll tell you how: You're at the city pool/splash pad, armed with goldfish, cheerios, and juice- all his favorites. Sprinklers, spayers, water, sun- all things he adores. And then he spies it: the stainless steel water bottle you've hidden at the bottom of the beach bag, filled to overflowing, weighing who knows how much (I'm guessing upwards of 37 pounds.). The bottle you packed for yourself to drink out of. The bottle filled with tasteless water instead of the yummy juice in his small, plastic, light-weight sippy cup.

But does he want the snacks? the sippy cup? the pool? Of course not. And does he know how to speak so that he can politely and sweetly ask, "Dearest mother, may I please have a tiny sip of the water in your cup? I will be eternally grateful." No. He cannot speak. As previously stated, whining is his main form of communication.

And so it commences. And any mother who has had a strong-willed toddler will tell you that whining without satiation leads to only one thing: a tantrum. And so, to prevent said tantrum, I let him drink out of my heavy stainless steel water bottle. Crisis averted.

Until I look up for one blasted second to wave to a friend and he drops it on my toe. It took all the self-control that I have been taught for 28 years not to yell an obsenity as I grabbed my foot in agony.

And that, my friends, is how you can be annoyed at this little cutie.

But still. I love him more than the air I breathe, and I'll take a hundred broken toes if it means I get to spend every day with him, listening to him run around the house yelling, "Dyeah! Dyeah! Dyeah!"


Joel and Carla said...

This post made me laugh! I am with one of those whining kids today...but mine is 3 years old!!