Snoodie, as I've mentioned, has started to talk.
And I must admit that even though I'd read enough of the literature to understand that such a development was likely, I nevertheless find the fact that he is actually talking to me continuously surprising. Like, imagine if one of your shoes starting talking to you:
Yeah, that's pretty much how I feel every day.
And the Snood talks ALL THE TIME. The guy's of a one-man monologue, as he issues forth on a random, yet seemingly limitless range of observations such as:
I LIKE DROMEDARIES!
BLUE BEAR IS MY GOOD FRIEND.
MY PANDA WANTS TO KNOW WHERE IS THE CAR?
CURIOUS GEORGE SLEEPS UNDER THE ELEPHANT'S EAR.
IN ROME - A POPE!
THE SWINGS GO UP, THE SWINGS GO DOWN.
BABY CRYING AGAIN!
A IS FOR ALLIGATOR! F IS FOR FIREMAN!
TIME TO PUT THE TOYS AWAY!
...and accompanied by a stern face and much finger wagging...
MOMMY SAYS DON'T PUSH THE BABY. NO!
I admit that there have been moments (like, say, sometime around Snoodie's 8,000th recitation of the lyrics of the ill-conceived children's DVD ditty "Vinko the Dancing Bear") that I have longed slightly for those days before he ever acquired the power of speech. But those moments rarely last long.
In fact, of late I have begun to consider the potential upsides of all this talkin'. Like, for example, I thought maybe it could help me address the disaster that in our house is called..........NAP TIME.
For the past several months, Snoodie has gotten in the habit of regularly trashing his room during nap time. And I'm talking, like, the FULL Charlie Sheen. I'll put him in his room around one, and then instead of closing his eyes and settling down for some much needed slumber, he instead leaps from his bed to wage a massive and unrelenting campaign of merciless destruction.
This begins a multi-hour battle during which I come into his room repeatedly to grab him from his lofty perch atop the closet (where he's shimmied in order to more effectively hurl clothing, stored diapers, shoes, and the odd discarded toy onto the floor below) and coax him back to bed.
I'll do this approximately 45 times before finally conceding defeat and giving up on nap time all together.
But this week I thought to myself,
"Hey, what about all that talking the Snood's been doing?"
...and I decided it was time for old Speachey-Von-Snoodle and I to have a heart-to-heart.
I sat him down on the bed and looked deeply and lovingly into his little hazel eyes.
"Snoodie", I told him firmly, "Mommy does not like it when you make a big mess. At naptime, it is important that you get your rest instead of throwing your things all over the place! So today, I don't want you to wreck your room. Instead I want you to close your eyes and go to sleep. That would be the better choice."
Snoodie nodded solemnly and seemed deeply impressed by my words.
After a long pause, he took a deep breath and shouted at full volume,
"I LIKE PIZZA!"
...before dashing off to attack his closet with renewed vigor.
It wasn't exactly the, "What a good point, Mommy, I shall do as I'm told from this point forward!" I was hoping for.
No, for us, it seems, the age of reasoning with our offspring is still a ways off. For the time being we'll apparently have to content ourselves with the age of moving things to higher and higher shelves while listening to our offspring reciting,
"He's V! He's I! He's N-K-O! He's Vinko the Dancing Bear!"
And if those of you with older children are aware that, in fact, this magic age of reason never arrives... do me a favor and don't tell me. It's the only thing keeping me going at naptime.
