There She Goes, Talking About Her Kids

Save last week, which was a horrible one in both mother and child behavior as a result from my attempt at nap training Conor and we will just forget about it (someday ... someday we will get a napper, until then I'll be reading this installment on Kate's wonderful series over and over), I've been delighting in the stages that the boys are in since being back in our home environment.

Ryan may still be the stubbornly stubborn boy we have always known, but he has reached an amazing milestone that I didn't even realize was a milestone; he tip-toes around folded laundry. I can hear the heavens rejoicing as I type! Am I right? Do you hear it, too? When he wants to keep making mischief, he answers, "Ummm I just need to wook at someting. Okay, Mom?" I hear that all day long, and its frequency provides a little breaks for his little case of Notre Dame Tourette's. "RallysonsofNotreDame!" shoots out of his mouth when he is just walking, playing with other kids, playing by himself, eating, and really any time, even when we are doing nothing related to football or the school. His fanaticism seems to surpass that of his parents, but maybe Chris learned to control his outbursts long ago. 

His favorite thing to do as of late is to "skydive" off the bunk bed ladder onto our giant bean bag. He is a sensitive soul and frequent with his professions of, "I love you," which is terribly heart melting. But, given that when he apologizes, he says, "I'm sorry. I forgive you," his grasp on whether or not he understands what comes out of his mouth might not be all there yet. 

He has taken to exclaiming, "I'm your mother!" when he wants me to do something which makes me stop in my tracks because yikes, who needs a mirror when you have a toddler? 

Yes, parenting is a funny thing because it can make normal phrases like, "Tell me about it!" or conversations like: 

Ryan: I turned da fan on for you. Do you like it? 
Katrina: Oh thank you, it feels nice.
a few minutes later, Katrina: I'm cold. 
Ryan: Oh! I turn da fan off for you. 

seem like you birthed a genius and you replay that interaction in your mind over and over and then you blog about it! Ha, despite the parenting bias, it is fun to have real conversations. 

You know, it's pretty funny that although we chose to spell Conor's name as C-o-n-o-r simply because it is the correct Irish spelling of Conor as a first name not the surname, I go throughout the day picking up that 20+ pound baby, squeezing him in my arms, smushing my cheek up to his plump cheek and cooing, "Oh, Conor," over and over, and it really just sounds like we named him O'Connor, which, like I said, is not what we were going for. Oh well! Makes me chuckle.

Chris trained  Ryan the Parrot to squawk, "Say Da-da! Say Da-da!" all the live long day so whaddyaknow ... Conor says, "Da-da-da-da-da-da," to appease his brother and puff up his father's chest or just because that it is the easiest sound to say. It's probably the latter, but maybe that just sounds like sour grapes coming from this ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma. Conor does, in fact, love grapes as well as corn, beans, chicken makhani and an insane amount of frozen peas to chase the teething pain away.

Our ten month old cancels out Ryan's laundry stack avoidance by finding folded laundry the most enticing item of play. He knows to clap whenever the fight song comes on so we have another brainwashed and crazy fan in the making. He is happy as long as he knows one of us are in the room, and his pursed mouth, happy eyes look comes out most at night when he is plopped in the bathtub.  

He started taking steps two weeks ago when his thirteen-year-old Uncle Patrick was here and has been increasing his step count every day since. At the moment, he is cooing to his Cheerios and pulling out the usual expressive European man that most babies do. "Yah, yah, aaaaaah, gaaa gaaa, aaaaah!" with lots of hand gestures. 

Okay, okay! I'll stop being such a mom and going on and on about my children. 

Until next post ;)