of bums and skulls

The Toddles has been a real handful lately. Bumful, too - but I'll get to that in a minute.

No, he's been three handfuls, with a spare Kali on the side. And yes, I mean the one with the skulls hanging from her belt. Give the kid another week or two on this phase, and one of those skulls will be my by-then permanently grumpy one. Yeesh.

Being the Toddles, however, he combines his reign of terror with some really snappy lines, and keeps me hovering between fury and hilarity. The Eldest, as occasional target of the Toddles' crimes, is less likely to be amused. The afternoon in which the boys were playing pirate, hiding in the cave (the table) and keeping an eye out for enemies, the Toddles took his look-out flashlight and whacked the Eldest on the noggin. The Eldest roared, and I pelted in to see what was going on.

Eldest: My head - he hit my head - owwwwwarrrrgh!

(I applied an icepack and a hug, whereupon he subsided and settled in to watch the Toddles' sentencing.)

Mama, sternly: You hit your brother on the head.

Toddles, cheerfully: Yep. I hit him with my flashlight!

Mama, raising a fearsome maternal eyebrow to quell the Eldest, who was trying to offer specifics on the flashlight: Well, then. We don't hit people - do you see that your brother is hurt? You need to tell him you are sorry, and to make this right.

The Toddles considered the eyebrow, noted his brother's ire and realized that he needed to tread carefully.

Toddles, thoughtfully: But I'm 'lergic to sorry.

I had to escape into the kitchen for a good laugh. The Eldest was offended all over again and the Toddles escaped, having successfully distracted me for long enough for a punishment to be useless.

*****

When they aren't whacking each other, the boys get along splendidly. And the Eldest is continuing his determined efforts to potty-train the Toddles. The Toddles, very fond of his watershooter, is happy to oblige. Eventually, however, I explained to the Eldest that if he was going to take his brother's g-diaper off, then he'd might as well learn how to put one on. The Eldest agreed, and I showed him how. The Toddles watched this lesson with interest, and visibly took mental notes.

Eldest: why did you take your diaper off? (pause to gather the right note of indignation - the Eldest had, after all, put this particular g-dipe on) Why would you do that?

Toddles, noting the steam coming out of his brother's ears: Ummmm. To get to the other side?

The Eldest, noting a good line when he heard one, laughed. Meanwhile, the Toddles and his bare bum made a happy escape.

After this, the Eldest made a concerted effort to teach the Toddles the art of using a toilet, and with mixed success. (Me laughing in the corner probably wasn't helping.) Typically, the Eldest would help the Toddles take off his pants and bum-covering of the moment, and then arrange the stepping stool such that the little guy could climb onto the toilet seat. We'd then hear a rendition or two of 'Point Yer Penis Down, Mate' (based on this) drifting out from the bathroom.

Eventually, the Eldest would wander off, distracted. But the Toddles would stay focussed for a while later, once carefully climbing down, then realizing his bladder was making demands - and carefully peeing into the bathtub. And onwards we go, eh? In a rather Skinnerian fashion, but still.

Tonight, the boys managed a complete pee-in-toilet episode. The Man rejoiced, but the mama - well, what do you think?

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Hmmm. On an equally thoughtful if revolting note, there's this bit of intruiging research on food allergy. And worms.