Once he figures out a phrase, he runs with it. A highlight would be his over use of the words "no" and "way". "Mr. Pants are you ready for bed?", "NO WAY!". "Let's put your coat on", "NO WAAAY!!!". "Wanna try putting your poop in the potty?", "No WAY!!". "Would you like a banana?", "NO WAAAY!". "What's that?", "No WAY!". Most No Way!'s are accompanied by a dramatic run to the back of the house. Even if dramatic running isn't called for. But I guess when you are two and three quarters, dramatic running is always called for. The commitment he gives to his run down the hall to collapse onto his bed is inspiring. And I am recalling making those very same trips as a child. Good times.
But Mr. Pants, we need to chat about something...
I see you little dude. That intricate system of transfering toys from the living room to your room is fooling no one. Those buckets, dump trucks and totes that line the hallway and into your room? The toy conveyor belt? I'll give you that it's really very clever. But you can not take every single toy in the house and hide it from your sister. Even if you stake your claim by proclaiming, "Mine!". It's a thing. Saying that it's yours, doesn't always make it so. It's against the law, dude. I'm gonna have to put my foot down on this one. She gets to play too. It's funny because you have never once played with the lizard that sings in three languages. Not once. Or the clicking hippo. They have always been beneath you. But Plum takes interest and suddenly they are your favorite toys? I smell a rat, dude.
Also, I think we need to work on something. Some clarification is needed. When you say "My turn!", the sound is music to my ears. But, I think you may be a little confused as to the meaning of the word "turn". The word means that there is sharing taking place. That one person waits while the other takes some time to play with the coveted toy. Or, the turn. So when it is always your turn, the concept is not working. And just to be fair, yes you do hand the toy over and I appreciate that, but you never actually take your hands off of it before declaring it to be yours again. That doesn't count as giving a turn, bud. So let's work on that.
Third, my son, I need to talk to you about when it is appropriate to say "Wha Happen?". When I come out from putting your sister to sleep and your rolling around on the floor covered in parmesan cheese, the words, "What happened?" don't really fit. You happened, my love. You happened to the parmesan cheese. The cheese never stood a chance. And now the house smells like farts. Same thing goes for when you tip your sister over. When mama sees you do it and you respond with "Wha happen?", it doesn't work. It may serve you well to learn a great old standby for these occasions. One we are going to work on. Next up? "I'm sorry".
But all of that said, no amount of dramtic running or screaming, "UP! DOWN!" seventy two times is gonna make me want you to stop talking. Because for so long I was so afraid that you might not talk at all. That I would never hear your sweet voice say "Mama" or "Ish (itch) a ma butt!". But you do say those things and they still sound as sweet as the first time I heard you say them. So bear with me when I tell you a million times a day that I love you. Because I'm kind of dying to hear you say that to me (No pressure). And I can take it when you shhh me and tell me to "be Ki-et!" because I'm whispering in your ear as you watch DJ Lance Rock and his creepy troup of possessed styrofoam toys sing about parties in their tummies ( a song you know by heart). Yes sir, I can take it. Because one of these days, you will say it back. And it feels amazing to be absolutely sure of that.
You are kicking ass, Mr. Pants. Keep on talking. I promise I will keep listening.