comedic timing

Amado has been picking up some English, and he seems to pull it out at the perfect moment for maximum comedic impact.

The recent highlights:

The other day, Amado was eating a fresa. He came up to me and said, "quitar, hojas, mami." I was doing like 14 other things at that time, so I admit I gave a half-hearted attempt. I pulled off the hojas but left in the stem. I handed it back to him. He looked at it and then looked at me. Then we walked over to my sister, and said, "nina, quitar, este". She pulled out the whole stem carefully, like she always does. He thanked her, then turned back to me, I guess figuring I might be offended by the request for a re-do from someone that wasn't me. He said, "sorry-bout-that, mami" then ran off, slurping on his fresa.

A few days later, I was trying to put Amado to bed (Jason got the night off from his regular job because it was his birthday). I am trying to encourage more independence in that process, trying to let him work it out on his own a bit. So, he was still awake, but I put him in his cuna and told him that I would sit in the chair and sing 2 times and after that, I was going to leave. I started to sing, and Amado, completely exhausted, laying face down in his cuna, started yelling "Help! Help!". Oh, man. It took everything I had to keep singing "Elene la Ballena" and not start cracking up. Seriously, I didn't even know he knew that word. And then he was exhausted, calling for someone to resuce him from his terrible fate of sleep.

And today, I think he called me "dude". It was almost 8, I had already given him like 3 warnings that it was almost time for bed. It was the moment of truth - I knew we had to do it now. So I laid hm down to put on his pijamas. He told me he wanted to play more with his Camion de Bomberos. I told him that he could play with it first thing in the morning. To which he responded, "Come on, dude".

stuttering

We are entering new territory over here. Most of you know I am kind of a worrier. So far, motherhood has been pretty smooth sailing - Ive kept the worrying pretty under control. Sure, I have the periodic panic moments about things big and small (like all of us, right? right?) , but for the most part, smooth sailing.

I have heard that growth and development milestones are a big deal for parents, but we've never had to worry about this stuff. He gained weight ontime, rolled ontime, crawled ontime, walked ontime, grew ontime, ate on time, talked ontime, etc etc etc.

In the last few days, Amado started stuttering. I ignored it for a day, then started googling on day two. Its apparently a typical two-year-old thing - their brains are working faster than their tounges can keep up and they stutter. Makes perfect sense. So why am I worrying about this?

Its amazing what your mind will do. The thoughts cycle through...oh my god, what if his friends at school make fun of him?...what if it doesnt stop?...what if he gets frustrated and he stops enjoying learning new words and talking and singing?

This is new territory. Im used to sitting back and marvelling at his talking and now Im worrying about it. So what Im trying to do is be conscious to appreciate whats happening in his brain - this little guy is learning two languages. He's vigilantly observing everyone and everything around him. He's trying out new sounds, new words, and new ideas. He is moving from three word sentences to putting out whole, long, complicated thoughts. (Today, he said "Uh, oh, nina. Mira. Hormigas. Abajo. Mesa. ") He is repeating things he hears and watching what happens (my dad taught him the batman theme song). He is singing songs to me in the morning to wake me up. He is trying to tell me stories, trying to convince me to hand over the scissors, telling me he is rodney yee when he does downward dog.

He's gonna work it out. And if he doesnt work it out soon, he will work it out later. And in the meantime, I gotta keep telling him, as much as I always have "wow, amado, tu hablas muy bein!"

Fashion Advice

The other day, we were getting ready to go out and play. We were both in our pajamas, and Amado wanted to go out RIGHT NOW. So, I was giving him the run-down of what we needed to do in order to get out the door. We had to get him dressed, we had to clean up his breakfast dishes, we had to get me dressed, we had to make me a cup of coffee, and then we could go out. He was a little put off by all the steps but went along with it.

He came into the room with me when it was time to get dressed. I was wearing a tank top and some red pajama bottoms - -you know the kind that are loose, with an elastic waist band, real thin material. No, they are not particularly cute. Yes, I got them off the bargain rack at Ross for $2.99.

Back to that morning. We go into the room to my dresser. I pull out some jeans and threw them on the bed. Amado pointed at them and said, "este, mejor". Then he pointed at my pants and said "este, sucio". This is his standard reason he cites for why you take anything off (many of you know, he has a real accute sensitivity on the sucio meter).

So I said to him, "no, no esta sucio. pero es mi pijamas".

Amado pointed at the jeans again and said "este mejor." Then, he pointed at my pajama pants and said "este muy grande".

Dude, I think he was telling me that I looked sloppy! That my pijama pants were too big and sloppy. I couldnt help it - I started cracking up. Which meant that he kept repeating it, with more animation each time. "Este no, mami. Este muy grande. Este mejor!"

Uh oh, Mami!

Amado is a fake tatoo afficionado. He pretty much always has 4, I usually have two (it HAS to be one on each arm, there is a method to his madness), and Jason usually has one (that's all he'll go for - bad sport).

For those of you who aren't pros at the process, you cut the tatoo from the sheet, put it on your arm face down, and then wet the back. Then, you count to 30 (or 3 sets of 10, as Amado does, he can't count past 10 yet) and then you take off the paper. Print this out. You might need it some day.

So, each time we do a tattoo, we have a conversation/power struggle (depending on the moment) over Amado wanting to operate the scissors. I always explain that they are very sharp, its peligroso, blah blah blah. So, responsible and detail-oriented mom that I am, I must have left the scissors on the couch yesterday from the last tattoo round.

This morning, I was making coffee (like usual) and I hear Amado in the living room.
"Uh oh, Mami! Este no!" he yells.
Lets be honest. I didn't go running. I mean, empassioned "uh-ohs" from Amado are a dime a dozen around here. A crayon under the couch? "Uh oh, Mami!" His sock is crooked? "Uh oh, Mami!" He has a raisin stucck to his arm? "Uh oh, Mami!" You get the picture.

So, I continued making my coffee. Then I turn in time to see Amado, running towards me, full speed ahead with these scissors in his hand! Crap. Isn't that the one really bad thing you can allow a child to do while under your care? Run with scissors? There's jokes about that. Crap. If I had my coffee already this wouldnt have happened. Damn, the coffee addiction!

"Amado!" I yelled. "Por favor, mijo!" I said, grabbbing them from his little but not-to-be-reckoned-with grip.
He gave me a look like I was insane.

And then he gently patted me on the hand and said, "Este no, mami. Tijeras, no. Sofa. Peligroso."