I Want to Ride my Tricycle… I Want to Ride my Trike…
Sunday March 15th, Ian got his first Tricycle.
The moment his butt touched the seat he got older again; he looks cool though, doesn’t he? The day after this shot, Ian and I walked away from his trike and up the sidewalk for a bit… I turned around and pointed at it. “See that? You left that out on the sidewalk where anybody could take it… should we put it back in the garage?” By the time I turned to give him a questioning look, he was darting away and back down the sidewalk, almost breathlessly, his voice lilting with the effort, the human comet was saying “Mine! Mine!!! Cycle!” See this image larger.
In other news:
Also on that Sunday, Ian was standing on the stairs singing to nobody in particular… his mommy upstairs and myself downstairs… and he burst into the alphabet. It went something like this… “A-B-E-E-O-AH-EEEE, AH-E-E-E-AH, (and then, as if he learned the alphabet at that moment, in the middle of the song…) L-M-N-O-P… Q-R-Sth-T-U-V-DOUBLEDU-EXTH-Y-ZEEEEEE.”
Monday March 16th, Ian got his first cat scratch. I know, I know… you’re probably thinking negatively toward Seth. Bad kitty. But if you saw the crap this cat has put up with, without retaliation? You’d put a gold medal on this cat’s neck. As it is, the kitty was dignified and careful about the “lesson.” Ian was in tears holding his hand, but there was only one light line across his skin, that only barely drew blood. I happen to know Seth is capable of carnage on a significantly higher level, as any of our ex-vets would wholeheartedly agree.
A couple phrases Ian is using now… For some reason I showed him how he could rebuild a car of his so that it was small and said “look, a teeny, tiny car.” Teeny tiny is something he says fairly often, in a high pitched voice. He also loves to say recycle. He also loves to recycle paper by putting it in a recycle bin that I made specifically for him in the office. He’s very gung ho about the whole thing — in fact if you were to say, drop a gas bill on the floor, you might have to step on it to stop its immediate progress toward a papery afterlife via teeny tiny hands.
Ian is certainly testing our wills at this point. It is almost as if the word “not” has become “please” in his head. So like “Do NOT put your hands in the trash” becomes a new sentence entirely. I say “almost as if” because the reason I know this isn’t some language issue is that he puts his hand in the trash, mashes it in there up and down, and smiles at me with this “now what are you going to do?” look.
