When you have a preschooler who passes gas, your first instinct is to remind them to use the potty. The Nugget acquiesces sometimes, other times, he informs us, "I don't have to go yet. That pop-pop was just for fun."
The Nugget discovered the Black Eyed Peas tonight on Daddy's iPod, and we must have listened to the clean version of "Let's Get it Started" about 50 times in a row while the Nugget choreographed his own dance-aerobics.
N: I want to go to New York and drive the A-train. Can we do that soon?
M: I would love to take you to New York sometime. I'm not sure it will be this year though.
N: And can I drive the A-train?
M: They don't let kids drive the A-train. You have to be much older.
N: How about when I'm 56?
The Nugget cries wolf, in another big brother bid for attention. He screams for help and we come dashing round the corner to find him dangling a single arm off the couch while moaning, "I'm falling. I'm going to die. I need heeeeeeellllllppppp!" I've told him the Boy Who Cried Wolf story and watched the SuperWhy version of it to no avail.
This one is babbling almost non-stop, unless we are someplace new. If it's outdoors, he is running and exploring like he's the host of a nature show. If it's indoors with strangers nearby, he winds himself tightly around my leg, inserts his thumb into his mouth, and tries hard to make his 31 pound self invisible. Unlike the Nugget, who is a slow-to-warm-up extrovert, I'm pretty sure that Spork is a true introvert and am trying to make sure he gets the mellow chill time that such a being requires. Also learning that when he's upset, I have to rein in my attempts to soothe him, because he is much better able to soothe himself when I don't interfere. If strangers wait until Spork initiates contact, they are immediately in his favor, but those who dare approach him first are treated with much suspicion.
Spork is a sturdy, muscular, tank of a boy. He still leads with his head and commonly wipes out if he turns to look at something, just because his center of gravity is that noggin full-o-brains. He almost always stumbles if you try to walk past him, even if you don't brush against him, just because of the head-turn to see who's there. I find myself palming his head as I go past him now so he can stay upright. His head has some sort of gravitational pull to the corners of our dining room table - sometimes he will pinball from corner to corner. It's second nature to us now to cover the corner of the table with our hands as he goes by. His hair and cheeks are so soft, I always want to bury my face in them. He often takes my face in his big paws and asks, "Ubby Bunny?," and I am always glad to oblige and take turns squishing his marshmallow cheeks and letting him squeeze mine. You can tell that he is not interested in being a baby, he just wants to be a big boy. His favorite toys are the ones that imitate adult work - baby dolls for swaddling and feeding, kitchen supplies for rustling up some grub, crayons for scrawling important information, he even favors paperback books to board books because he knows they are special for big kids.
The best part of my evening is "Things Time". For the uninitiated, that means that the Nugget is ready for bed. At tuck-in, he can choose 3 "things" from each of us. It used to be like: 1 hug, 1 high five, and a kiss. Now it's "3 wrestles, please". We each take turns gently (or in Spork's case, not-so-gently) wrestling him in the bed, then Daddy and Spork fill his humidifier and lights out. We are a very routined family, so when someone announces, "Things Time," all 3 children squeal with delight and race to the stairs.