Blatherings of Boredom

Ronan: Tom, let's go play trains. You and me.
Tom: No, sorry, I need to work now.
Ronan: Well, you could play trains and work at the same time, bring your computer (Tom has a laptop, Ronan knows Tom can move it anywhere).
Tom: Sorry, guy, I can't do both things at the same time. I need to concentrate.
Ronan: Well, you can just work later and play trains now.
Tom: No, I need to work now. Later I need to have dinner, help you with a bath, take shower, and go to bed.
Ronan: You forgot reading books to me!
Tom: Right! And reading books. So I won't have time to work then, I need to do it now.
Ronan: But Tom, you really don't want to work. You don't like working now. So play trains.
Tom: Uh…well, you might be right, but I need to work. If I don't work, I don't get money. I need money to buy food and toys.
Ronan: Well, I have money.
Tom: You do?
Ronan: Sure! It's in my kitty bank. I can buy toys with that money.
Tom: I don't know if that's enough money. I still need to work now.
Ronan: Well, how about I work for you, and you play trains.
Tom: Dude, I think you need to go to school for many years to do my work.
Ronan: But I already know how to do your work.
Tom: I really don't think you do.
Ronan: Sure, I do. I just press buttons.

This morning, Ronan walked outside and said, "Oh, it's cooler today. Soon we will need warm sleeves. It's gonna get cold! Sweatshirt weather!"

During one of our rainy weeks, I noticed that Ronan had worn a hole in the sole of his latest pair of Riley Roos. Now, I knew the hole was coming--leather soles just don't last forever, especially when grandma and daddy let a toddler ride a bike or toy on asphalt or concrete--but I was hoping they'd last another month.

Anyhow, his sock was getting soaked and his only other pair of shoes are high tops (converse knock offs from Old Navy) that don't let his ankle flex as much as I'd like. In other words, if he runs flat out in the high tops, he comes back inside with very large lumps on his forehead.

We go through a lot of arnica gel.

Anyhow, Target has toddler converse. I'm generally opposed to being sucked into certain brands. But the soles are flexible enough to bend in one hand. And they came in red. So I bought him a pair. My tiny child fit into toddler size five. FIVE. This is unbearably tiny, but the fit was good, not too tight, not too loose, toe room.

He nursed non-stop last weekend through the week. And ate tons more. I was hoping it was a developmental growth spurt and it was, to some extent. He's now rhyming, creating nonsense words. And trying to do pull-ups. Hanging from anything that seems sturdy, whether or not it actually is. He no longer requires me to spot him on the chain ladders at the park. He climbed *down* one today while I was engaged in conversation with someone else. (Hey, if my garden thrives on benign neglect, why not my child?)

And those shoes are now much harder to get onto his feet. Lace up shoes are harder to slip into by their very nature, of course, but sheesh. I'd hoped to get more than a couple weeks out of these. They fit once I get them on, so not all is lost.

I suppose I need to get a picture of him before he outgrows them. I have a feeling he might need a new pair before we get back from Indiana. Oy.

To address my touched-out-ness, we frequently count to ten or twenty before nursing. It lets me get settled and Ronan enjoys it.

He *can* count to ten, but prefers to repeat after me. If I ask him what comes next, he usually says "TEN! BOOBIES!" Sometimes, though, it's "1, 2, SEVEN!" or last night, "3, FOURTEEN!".

And then he'll count to himself later, nonsensically.

My child, umprompted, counted to eleventeen last night. It comes after twenty, it seems.

*cracks up*

I use nutritional yeast on greens, popcorn, pasta . . . and since Ronan won't eat cheese, but likes savory flavors, I add it to his brown rice.

Well lately, he's been requesting it:

"yeast on not dog."
"yeast. apphmm sauce?"
"yeast. onions."

Yes. My kid. He eats yeast flakes on anything. Hot dogs, applesauce, dried green onions.

And just now . . . "yeast tings?"

wow. Tings with extra yeast. Yum.

Tom wins Father of the Year.

I was cackling. I admit it.

Title says it all, y'know?

Things Ronan brings to us to eat:
Just Green Onions
bags of peppercorns

We dish some out for him. We kinda figured natural consequences--not everything is good to eat. It backfired. Dried green onions are tasty, it seems, and black/green/white peppercorns are even yummier. So at least once a day, we hear the familiar clip clop of a crawling baby bringing us a clamshell of dried herbs.

He gets mad when we don't dish out the huge bag of splenda (baking bag, bought when I was baking sugar-free goods for the man-beast's birthday) he drags out on a near daily basis.

Ronan loves balloons and can spot them from blocks away. "boon! BOON! boonboonboon!" He points and leans and bounces excitedly. We often buy him mylar balloons. They not only come with kick-ass heavyduty clips (nice for chips), they don't contain rubber. "Boon! Boon!" I can't get past the checkout without talking about balloons.

He also uses it for the moon.

Of other interest are balls. Any ball. He'll bounce and reach toward the ball. Dog toys, his toys, any ball.

Round buoys? "Ball."
Hanging toys for monkeys? "Ball ball!"
Food toys for bears? "BALL!"
The large, round, red car barriers at Target? "Ball!"

I'm not sure, but I think he called out "ball" after seeing a series of puffballs in a neighbor's yard last week.