Feeling the Love

Just a couple of quick notes.

This morning when Gabe woke up, I went into his room to get him (he still won't get out of bed on his own, even though there isn't a thing in the world stopping him). "Momma!" he said. "I sleep!" This last bit he is adding right now every time we get him out of bed. I'm thinking he says it as a way to convince us that it's time for him to get up because he's tried to pass it off a few times when he's only been in bed for five or ten minutes and wants to get out again.

"No, it's me," I corrected. "You did a good job sleeping. Are you ready to get up?"

"Where's Momma? She gets me up," he replied.

"She's still getting out of bed herself. She'll follow us downstairs."

This explanation wasn't entirely to his liking, but he reluctantly agreed to get out of bed and come downstairs with me. Libby met him at the doorway, to his excitement, and went downstairs with him while I gathered up Gabe's blankie and the "friends" I knew he would make me go upstairs later to get if I didn't bring them down now.

At the top of the stairs, I heard Gabe say, "Daddy go to work, Momma stay home today." Very matter of factly, as if saying it made it an instant reality.

"No, hon," Libby replied. "Momma has to go to work today." This did not please Gabe. He immediately went to his tested method of getting what he wants, repeating things until they happen. For the next few minutes he kept saying, "Daddy go to work, Momma stay home." Eventually, as he saw that Libby was going through her morning ritual instead of settling into the more relaxed schedule she'd take up if she were staying home, he reluctantly accepted that it would be me, and not her, that would be staying home. Again.

But he wasn't willing to let it go at that. Once Libby left this morning, he took up the call again. "Tomorrow, Momma stays home and Daddy goes to work," he stated. And then I spent the next ten minutes talking him down off THAT ledge.

A little later, and on another entirely different subject, Gabe did something else that I found quite amusing. Over the past week, he's come to love marshmallow peeps. I have very mixed feelings about this. One the one hand, I'm happy to have an ally in the house. I love the things, but Libby thinks they are possibly the most vile creation on the planet. Now, thanks to our superior numbers, we can make her opinion null and void, dismissing it as the rantings of a crazy person (unless Butts jumps on her bandwagon later in life, of course, in which case we'll have to renew the debate). On the other hand, now I have to share my marshmallow peeps, which makes me a little sad inside.

Anyway, I gave him a pink marshmallow chick this morning. He promptly ate off the tail then put the rest in his snack bowl. As I was changing his poopy pants (yeah, potty training isn't so much progressing still), he asked for the peep, so I handed it to him because having something in his hands keeps him from squirming around while I'm cleaning him up.

Then, using a high pitched voice, he said, "Where is your father?" to the peep. He went on to repeat this another three times while I sat there and watched to see how this little storyline was going to progress. It didn't. He left it hanging there. I'm still not sure if he was supposed to be the peep's mom or what because he wouldn't elaborate. Instead of building on the story, he chose the easy way out and ate the peep's head. So I will be left forever to wonder if he wanted to find the peep's father to bring comfort to the baby peep (before eating it) or if he wanted to eat the father, too. Considering how eager he was to get rid of me this morning, I'm guessing the latter.

Either way, it's probably a little disturbing. I'll have to keep an eye on his easter candy eating habits from now on to see if he's enjoying it a little TOO much, I suppose.