Monday, February 27, 2006

Random Poop.

We took the short people to the park this weekend for the first time this year. Hurricane has been here before but he has the memory of a gnat (I wonder where he got that from...... What was I saying?) and so every visit is like the first. He hopped from slide to swing to tunnel to I don't know what that thing is and back again. He is fascinated by the big yellow tunnel that most of the other kids ignore. With all the slides and swings and climbing thingies, who can blame them for ignoring the plastic tube that sits off to the side like a big yellow turd? But for Hurricane? It's a place to hide from everyone. A place where parents don't fit and can't reach. A place he can go to eat bugs and we can't stop him. Yay for the big yellow turd!
He liked the swings. I think he misses his.
Spotting the big yellow turd, complete with yummy dead bugs. (He only ate one before he realized how not like a cookie it tasted).
And Girl X on some random spinny pole. I think she was trying to fly. He wants the yellow turd but can't escape the parental grip.

After the park we had to stop at Target for a few minor things. Hurricane spotted a ball about half his size and fell instantly in love. For the next 20 minutes as we walked through the store it was to the hushed and fevered chant of 'ball'. Such longing in that word. We caved. Even Girl X couldn't resist when she saw those puffy lips curl and he threw all 23 lbs of his tiny body over that ball. He sighed with such relief it made us laugh. Our little drama king.

Lately, he has been asserting his need for privacy.

We were playing in the living room when he suddenly got up and 'ran' (something where his body tries to catch up with his feet) behind the dining room chairs. I went over to see what he was doing and got The Look *patented 6/2005*. He had squatted down put both hands up. All he needed was a good book.

This is now how all poops are done. We are not allowed to look in his general direction. We are not allowed to talk about it. When he is done, he will come up to us and simply say 'tinky'.

And indeed, it is stinky.

And as of this weekend, his new favorite place to do the 'tinky', is in the big yellow turd in the park where he can dine and grunt undisturbed.

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