We have a real problem: Romi is, hands down and without a doubt, winning and the kicker is we just don't care. He is so cute and fun and funny and sweet and amazing, that we cave way too often. Our friends tell us that we will all grow out of it, which is good, but at the same time sad because today I realized today that if he goes off to college at the age of 18, than we've already had Romi for one-sixth of the time he will live with us. This sort of thinking isn't helping to fortify resilience to the Romster.
The most astonishing thing about our Little Man is how much his vocabulary has increased in the last two months. Romi has always been a toddler of few words, but he worked hard to make the best of his repertoire. Lately, new and mind-boggling words are falling out of his mouth daily. He has used correctly and in context such gems as "blinking," "stripes" and "trade." His favorite question used to be "What's this?" which he asked ad nauseam. That has morphed into "What you doing?" His articulation is pretty darn good, although he does say "told" for "cold." He also doesn't use the word small, but prefers to call anything little "baby," as in baby bus, baby bowl and baby dog. When he wants to claim something he makes sure we know it is his by his emphatic "me's!" He still refers to M&Ms as "blues" and calls Penny just "dog," and yes, I am still most stubbornly "mommy" even though he points at me if you ask him who Ima is. He understands certain concepts, like "broken" and even recently switched his vegetable-laden dinner plate for Rob's plate full of french fries with the command, "Abba--trade!" And the other night we figured out that Romi wanted to head out to a restaurant for dinner and not just stay at home when he looked at us and exclaimed, "eat bye-bye!"
Romi has the annoying but sweet habit of asking us if we're happy precisely when he know swe're upset with him (like after he takes a swipe at us--something we do can and do resist). Sometimes he even makes a list to check to see who is happy. It often goes like this, with a cute little lilt at the end of the sentence: "Happy Mommy? Happy Abba? Happy dog?" JoJo has made the list, as has Max, Michael Hoffman and Mike Harris. One night the list even got longer, like this: "Happy Mommy? Happy Abba? Happy dog? Happy Nana? Happy Papa? Happy Nana dog?" I reassured the little guy that Rusty, Nana's dog, is indeed happy.
The cardinal rule in the house of late is that Romi gets to turn on the washer and dryer and clean out the lint screen. You can ignore this injunction at your own risk. He still sings and dances (he does one damn cute Hokie Pokie) about the house, but his true love remains the guitar. He has moved up from the ukulele to a small guitar that used to belong to my sister. He gives her her due and calls it "JoJo 'tar." He insists on using a pick, the neck strap and my recipe books that are spiral bound for music. His favorite songs are "Happy new," "two eight," "bim bom" and "Trees are blowing in the wind." The last one comes complete with hand motions and the "woosh" sound at the end.
A final word on yet again why babies could not live in the wild: we were going into school the other day and to draw attention to the Scholastic Book Fair going on inside one of the dads dressed up in a seven-foot Clifford the Red Dog costume. I was convinced that Romi would freak. The guy was huge and red and a dog and Romi has no concept about this character that was waving so vigorously and energetically at him. I was wrong in my assumptions, however, and Romi didn't even flinch when the large hairy red thing reached for him. Unfortunately, that was also the moment the mailman drove up in his truck, which completely terrifies my Hamster and he proceeded to freak out. Like I said, no survival skills...none at all.
The most astonishing thing about our Little Man is how much his vocabulary has increased in the last two months. Romi has always been a toddler of few words, but he worked hard to make the best of his repertoire. Lately, new and mind-boggling words are falling out of his mouth daily. He has used correctly and in context such gems as "blinking," "stripes" and "trade." His favorite question used to be "What's this?" which he asked ad nauseam. That has morphed into "What you doing?" His articulation is pretty darn good, although he does say "told" for "cold." He also doesn't use the word small, but prefers to call anything little "baby," as in baby bus, baby bowl and baby dog. When he wants to claim something he makes sure we know it is his by his emphatic "me's!" He still refers to M&Ms as "blues" and calls Penny just "dog," and yes, I am still most stubbornly "mommy" even though he points at me if you ask him who Ima is. He understands certain concepts, like "broken" and even recently switched his vegetable-laden dinner plate for Rob's plate full of french fries with the command, "Abba--trade!" And the other night we figured out that Romi wanted to head out to a restaurant for dinner and not just stay at home when he looked at us and exclaimed, "eat bye-bye!"
Romi has the annoying but sweet habit of asking us if we're happy precisely when he know swe're upset with him (like after he takes a swipe at us--something we do can and do resist). Sometimes he even makes a list to check to see who is happy. It often goes like this, with a cute little lilt at the end of the sentence: "Happy Mommy? Happy Abba? Happy dog?" JoJo has made the list, as has Max, Michael Hoffman and Mike Harris. One night the list even got longer, like this: "Happy Mommy? Happy Abba? Happy dog? Happy Nana? Happy Papa? Happy Nana dog?" I reassured the little guy that Rusty, Nana's dog, is indeed happy.
The cardinal rule in the house of late is that Romi gets to turn on the washer and dryer and clean out the lint screen. You can ignore this injunction at your own risk. He still sings and dances (he does one damn cute Hokie Pokie) about the house, but his true love remains the guitar. He has moved up from the ukulele to a small guitar that used to belong to my sister. He gives her her due and calls it "JoJo 'tar." He insists on using a pick, the neck strap and my recipe books that are spiral bound for music. His favorite songs are "Happy new," "two eight," "bim bom" and "Trees are blowing in the wind." The last one comes complete with hand motions and the "woosh" sound at the end.
A final word on yet again why babies could not live in the wild: we were going into school the other day and to draw attention to the Scholastic Book Fair going on inside one of the dads dressed up in a seven-foot Clifford the Red Dog costume. I was convinced that Romi would freak. The guy was huge and red and a dog and Romi has no concept about this character that was waving so vigorously and energetically at him. I was wrong in my assumptions, however, and Romi didn't even flinch when the large hairy red thing reached for him. Unfortunately, that was also the moment the mailman drove up in his truck, which completely terrifies my Hamster and he proceeded to freak out. Like I said, no survival skills...none at all.
