What funny things they say and think, these little ones. Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that the frame of reference they have is so, so small, but their minds are so, so big. For instance, Joshua has had the funniest saying lately. He'll cough a little, then say "Chicken pog." What, you ask, is chicken pog? I have no idea. I'd wager that he heard something somewhere . . . you know, something that actually made sense in its original language and context, but that's what it sounded like to him. Chicken pog. With the little cough first.Also, we've been playing the "peanut butter and . . . " game. The one that I inadvertently started by trying to be funny. Usually I'll ask whether Joshua wants peanut butter and honey or peanut butter and jelly . . . only this time I spiced it up a little.
"Joshua, do you want peanut butter and honey . . . or . . . peanut butter and worms?"
(Hysterical laughter ensues. Tim chimes in.)
"How about peanut butter and ketchup?"
We ventured into realms we'd never imagined (peanut butter and boogers? poop?) and now that it's all said and done, well, I guess I only wish that it was all said and done. I can see the little wheels turning in his head as he looks around the room for various items with which to pair the peanut butter? A fan? Pictures? The door? At which I have to laugh obligingly each time. Until I can't laugh anymore, and Joshua says, "Please laugh, mama." I try to explain how sometimes people actually need a little break from laughing, but it doesn't matter. He's off in his own world of peanut butter and pencils.
Jonah, on the other hand, is more than willing to laugh . . . rather, guffaw, at anything that catches his eye. I use the word guffaw since it seems to so accurately describe what he does. The deep, unabashed belly laugh of youth. One of Joshua's favorite things is to make his brother laugh. Sometimes it's by playing peek-a-boo, and sometimes it's by nuzzling Jonah's neck or belly with his face. In any case, it's very precious to watch. Until, that is, a teensy bit of saliva touches Joshua. He wrenches back and wrinkles up his nose in disgust, claiming that Jonah must have spit up on him. (Not a bad assumption, I must admit, since Jonah seems to be constantly soggy and smelly from the quarts of spit-up. But mostly it's just spit.)
And on an "it's midnight and my brain isn't following a normal train of thought" sidenote . . . have you ever noticed that you can tell almost instantly when a mom doesn't have kids who spit up? The look of both disgust and fear, not quite hidden behind the offers for napkins . . . The other day at Gymboree, I was holding Jonah. I started to put him down on a mat, and another mom looked at us and gasped, "Oh, no, he just vomited all over himself!" Oh, the horror!
Joshua, it seems, has also reverted to a little spitting-up. At least that's how he would tell it. If he's running around drools a little, it's spit up. If the water dribbles down his chin, it's spit up. Once, he actually bent over and burped up a little water and partially digested string cheese (gross, I know). That was definitely spit up. In fact (for those of you who aren't familiar with the little OCD traits Joshua clings to - at least, until he moves to the next thing), he has to sleep with a towel spread across the head of his bed. Tonight I asked him why he needs it. He looked at me and said simply, "In case I spit up."
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