Stuff

I am going to make an attempt to catch up on the video and pictures that we've amassed over the past few weeks that I've been negligent in adding. It appears as though I have a little bit of time this morning as both of the kids are thoroughly engrossed in a Tinkerbell movie on Disney Channel. I swear, I never know what Gabe is going to like. He asked me to record this one so he could watch it again later. I don't think I'd wish a Tinkerbell movie on anyone. Kids are weird.

Anyway.

Two weeks ago or so, Libby picked up a training potty for Norah in a bout of hopeless optimism. Norah is showing slightly more signs of readiness than Gabe was showing at this age, but only slightly, I think. She will tell Libby if she has pooped. She never tells me, though. And she is starting to master blaming other people for her farts, which is probably a milestone of some sort. She hasn't quite figured out who is appropriate blaming material, though. Yesterday or the day before, while in the car with Libby, Norah farted and she said, "Tooted. Eye, tooted," meaning that her eye had tooted. She also blames Lulu and anything else that happens to be nearby.

Norah has also been having some fun with bonking. If she knocks her head on something or runs into something, she'll usually go "Oof, bonk." Here she is extending that to one of her toys.

Libby has a new fad, too. Chickens. Dirty, stinky, nasty, stupid, self-destructive chickens. Want to know what it's like being around chickens? Read Sherwood Anderson's "The Egg." It does a good job of capturing the terribleness of chickens. But, at the very least, Libby is trying to keep from wasting TOO much money on the damn things. Instead of buying a coop somewhere, she's building one out of lumber scraps we have from previous projects. Well, technically, the two wheels and the chicken wire that she had to buy cost about half as much as a new chicken coop would have cost. But who's counting? Here's Gabe putting hammer to nail, a few times out of ten.

And then Norah joined in as well. Don't they look cute and helpful? Just like all small children are! Helpful!

This is one of Norah's favorite ways to sit on my chair to watch television. She does it quite often. There is almost nothing about this that makes sense to me.

Huh. It seemed to me that there was more stuff in there when I sorted through it last week. Maybe I missed something. Oh well, your loss, I suppose. But here is a video Libby took last night. The part with Norah flapping her wings like a bird is kind of cute, I suppose, but the best part comes towards the end after she kicks the stool away. I have suspected for a few weeks now that she's already learned to blame Gabe for whatever happens that's bad. My first instinct until recently has always been to assume that Gabe has pushed or prodded Norah to make her cry. And, more often than not, that had been the case. But now I have to be more careful before I snap to a judgement. A couple times earlier in the week, when they were playing upstairs, Norah would start crying. I'd go up to see what the problem was and Norah would be saying, "Gabe! Gabe!" but she would be nowhere near Gabe. Moreover, Gabe would be sitting, obviously still paying attention to some game or toy that in no way concerned what Norah appeared to be doing. "It was Norah!" Gabe would insist. And I'm pretty sure it was.

Norah actually needs to learn the crying wolf lesson soon, otherwise she runs the risk of being the one to ALWAYS get in trouble when something bad happens and she starts to cry. It happened to my brother Jon. He was a classic cry-baby. Early on he learned that he could get us in trouble if he cried. So he started to cry about everything. EVERYTHING. He still does, actually. But that's beside the point. Before long, Mom and Dad caught wise and until he got to a point where he wasn't crying all the time and instantly blaming us, Mom and Dad always assumed that Jon was just being a douche and trying to get us in trouble. And Ben and I fully exploited that. We could beat on Jon mercilessly without any real fear of punishment because, as long as there weren't any marks or noises or other proof that we had done so, Mom and Dad assumed that Jon was just crying to get us in trouble. Now, Norah is running the risk of having the same thing happen to her. She would be wise to carefully consider her options. Which is exactly what all two year olds are best known for doing.