Meow

I'm not really sure when it began, but some time ago Owen began pretending he was a cat. We've gotten used to it and have long since chalked it up to the general weirdness of toddlers, but the situation hit home the other night when I found myself at a work party, meowing into a cellphone to console our upset cat, while the head of our company's publishing group was giving a rah-rah speech.

Now, as far as we can tell Owen is aware that he is in fact not a cat. He just likes to pretend is all. But sometimes it's a bit creepy, like the time when he tripped and bumped his hand on the floor and moments later I saw him quietly licking his hand.

Me: Are you licking your paw?
Owen: Meow meow.

Sadly, we are now fairly fluent in cat. Owen has meows that mean assent, and those those indicate otherwise. Some indicate anger, others show gratitude. I have had conversations similar to this many times:

Me: Here's your glass of milk, buddy.
Owen: Meow.
Me: Owen, what to you say when someone gives you something?
Owen: Meow.
Me: You know that's not it. What do you say?
Owen (forcefully):Meow.
Me: I'm going to take the milk back if you don't say thank you.
Owen: But I said Meow! That's kitty for thank you.

Aside from the kittyspeak, he has displayed feline tendencies in the following ways:
• Declining to put on clothes, because he has "fur."
• Putting a blanket on the floor and sleeping in his "cat bed."
• Eating directly from a bowl.
• Asking for said bowl to be put on the floor. (Request denied, though he's managed the feat a couple of times, as the photo attests.)

The handy thing is that we have figured out that Owen can be talked into doing things if he believes that cats would do them. Thus, the other day he ate a tuna sandwich solely because Sue assured him that cats like tuna.

This does have its limits, though. I tried to talk him into getting a haircut, which terrifies him, by telling him that I was going to take him to the cat groomer. No dice.

Conversations with Owen, Vol. 1, Iss. V-VI

Vol. V

In the course of potty training Owen, Sue at one point encouraged him to bring Pucky (his stuffed dog that was once blue and is now greyish) with him to the potty so that he could "squeeze" Pucky whilst, er, pooping. I think the idea was it would help Owen, um, bear down.

Anyway, it was inevitable it would come to this:

Owen (on potty): Mom?
Sue: Yes?
Owen: I need you to squeeze me.

And so she did. Just like getting the toothpaste from the tube, I guess.

Vol. VI

The other night I returned home from work while Owen was in the tub.

Owen: How was work, Dad?
Me: It was fine Owen, thanks for asking.
Owen: And how was your computer?
Me: It was fine, too.
Owen: And how was the newspaper? Did you make the newspaper?
Me: Yes, I did make the newspaper. It's almost finished.
Owen: And how was the money?
Me: The what?
Owen: The money. Did you make the money?
Me: Did Mommy ask you to say that?

They both insist not.

Boo

I had the chance to volunteer on a field trip to Whittamore's Farm with Owen's kindergarten class, and I came away wondering how it is that not all kindergarten teachers are alcoholics. I had four kids under my direct care and it was more than a little stressful to keep track of them as they milled around among the other kids.

I found myself constantly scanning the roving packs of kids to make sure I knew whee Owen, Emma, Madelen and Alexandru were at all times. It's like being in the Secret Service, but you have to guard four Presidents.

Anyway, it was fun. The kids all got little pumpkins, and we took a tractor ride through a "haunted" forest. Emma was quite certain there would be werewolves, which had Alexandru a titch nervous. When we made it back alive, Alexandru hopped off the hay wagon, looked at me and said: "That wasn't so bad."

My feelings exactly.

Our delicate flower

Abby may look like her brother, but she has the appetite of two Owens. He was a good eater in the early going, but as has been noted before, is now rather choosy about what he will deign to ingest. Abby, on the other hand, is at the wonderful stage in which she will eat anything. This afternoon we tried some beef stew baby food, and she ate it, smeared on her face and in her hair, and waited for more. She's a long way from the cotillion ball.

Conversations with Owen, Vol. 1, Iss. IV

Owen and his father are returning home after school. Owen asks to watch TV, but is told that he is not allowed to do so.

Dad: "I'll get you a glass of milk, then you can have a cookie and we'll read a book or play a game."
Owen: "No, thanks. I didn't get a new book at school today."
Dad: "So you don't want to read a book?"
Owen: "You know what would make me really happy?"
Dad: "What?"
Owen: "Watching TV."
Dad: "I see."
Owen: "Because that's how I learn things. By watching TV."
Dad: "Nice try."

For the record, we built things with Lego.

Happy to be here

I realized recently that I haven't put any photos on here for a while, then Aunt She-She sent some. What fortuitous timing.