He touched me!

As has been mentioned several times on this site, Owen's attitude toward his baby sister is best described as tolerant. He accepts her presence, but he does little to encourage it. Or even acknowledge it, really.

Now that Abby is on the cusp of mobility, Owen has become alarmed by her ability to touch things that he thinks she ought not to touch. The television and stereo, for example. Yesterday Abby scootched her way toward the stereo and began lazily poking its buttons. Owen, having learned long ago that stereo buttons are strictly verbøten, began sternly admonishing to "stop doing that." Abby looked up at him and smiled, which is what she does whenever she sees Owen. On those rare occasions when he actually addresses her, she positively beams. So in this case she continued poking the buttons while grinning at Owen.

Well. Such insolence was obviously too much for Owen to handle, so he moved over and tried to push her away from the stereo. Gently, I should add. He soon realized that it isn't easy to push a baby along a rug, but much more efficient to simply roll her like a ball. Three revolutions later, Abby was safely out of the reach of the stereo. And again, she was grinning like mad, absolutely elated to have been the focus of such attention from her brother.

So she rolled back over toward the stereo, and Owen promptly rolled her away again, which Abby found just as exciting the second time.

Later yesterday, Owen again found Abby was not obeying his commands, so he took a little balloon and started bopping her on the head with it. Sue cut him off as soon as she realized he was committing assault, but she of course found that Abby, rather than being upset, was having the time of her life.

This is a kid who is generally smiley, but it moves to a new level when Owen shows any interest at all. Ear-to-ear grins. Is it possible for a baby to sprain her face? We hope not.

Overheard in the car

Owen: Can I have some apple juice please?
Sue: Owen, you have to wait until we're closer to home, otherwise you'll have to pee.
Owen: Apple juice please!
Sue: Not yet, Owen.
Owen: Mommy?
Sue: Yes?
Owen: I like you, but I don't like your behaviour.

Low-tech fun

There is basically no limit to the amount of money one can spend on baby toys. When Owen was born, we, like most new parents, bought more than a few items that are alleged to spur brain development and improve motor skills and various other claims that are probably not true.

We haven't bothered to buy much of anything for Abby yet. Partly because there are plently of old toys for her to gnaw on — sorry, play with — but mostly because we learned the first time that no matter how fancy the toy, no matter how many bells and whistles (literally) the toy has, a baby will invariably roll it around until he or she has found the little white tag that contains serial numbers and washing instructions.

Then the baby will suck on the tag. I have no idea why, and maybe this is a phenomenon unique to our two children (though I doubt it), but those tags are like heroin to babies. Owen had a particular fondness for the tags on two of his receiving blankets, and after he outgrew sucking on them he switched to simply rubbing them on his face. For a time that was about the
only way he could fall asleep: laying in bed, softly rubbing his "tag blankies" on his nose. Later, when the blankets were tossed aside, the tags were replaced in his routine by the ribbon on his favourite stuffed toy, a blue dog named Pucky. Now Pucky's ribbon is so severely degraded by
nose-rubbing that there is little left of it.

Abby is showing similar tendencies. The toys she most likes are those with nice fabric tags. Hours of fun.

There's an episode of Seinfeld in which Elaine opens a store dedicated to just muffin tops, since that's the best part of the muffin. (Aside: the store was called Top of the Muffn to You. I think) I'm thinking of starting a business that produces only white tags attached to cheap, boring stuffed balls. Perhaps a couple of tags for each stuffed ball, but not too many because maybe part of the thrill is in locating the tag.

Babies will love them.

Class of 2021

Yesterday was Owen's first day of Junior Kindergarten. Most parents approach this day worried that their child will cry. I felt pretty confident that Owen would be casual about the whole thing, and that if there was to be any crying, it would come from Sue.

Right on both counts.

Admittedly, it was a touching scene. Eight or nine little tykes, lined up along the school wall, teetering precariously under the weight of their bulging backpacks, as the teachers marched them into the classroom.

And suddenly, we can no longer call our son a preschooler.

Sue got it under control after a few moments, which is more than can be said for one prospective student, who for all we know is still standing there, wailing.

Being Gene Simmons

No further explanation necessary, really.

This is a common expression these days.

A moving concern

Abby is now at the point in her young life where she is no longer content to lay on her back and gaze thoughtfully at her fingers, and, occasionally, her toes.

Her efforts at self-propulsion reached their first serious level a couple of weeks ago, when she began consistently rolling from her back to her front. This followed weeks of being not quite able to accomplish the feat: she would roll up on her side, teeter precariously for a moment, then plunk back on her back, usually foiled by the presence of (her own) outstretched arm, which impeded the rollover.

Eventually she figured out that by keeping her arms outstretched and pointing above her head, she could flip from back to front quite easily.

As for what she's supposed to do once successfully on her front, that remains a work in progress. Initially she would lay there kicking her arms and legs fruitlessly, looking for all the world like a beetle that had been flipped on its back. Sometimes it looked as though she was trying to summon the power of flight; in these instances she would look at you whilst waving her arms with an expression that seemed to say,"hold on a sec, as soon as I get these flappers figured out I'll be right with you."

Now she's moved on to calesthetics. Push-ups mostly, but also a unique version of what appears to be abdominal crunches — while laying on her stomach, she mashes her face in the carpet and pushes her bum up in the air. Typically a holler of some sort is involved, though it's muffled since her face is in the carpet.

Pretty soon, we expect Ab(by)s of Steel.

Spot the trend

Here's something I just noticed — Owen's diet, if it were entirely up to him, would consist of the following items:

Cheese (and various products with cheese as root ingredient; cheese pasta, cheese bun, etc.)
Cheerios
Chocolate glazed Timbits.

Maybe we should try him on Chorizo.