We've tried relentlessly to get Felix to perform vocabulary tricks on camera. Tonight we got a good handful recorded. It's hard to hear over Miles repeatedly asking me (and me ignoring) "Where Daddy? Where Dada? Where Daddy? Where Dada? Where Daddy? Daddy go on rock. Daddy not go in this way. Daddy not go in this way. Where Daddy? Where Daddy? Where Daddy?" If you think that was painful to read, just take a gander at the video...good thing his voice just tickles my soul.
We should have learned from Miles that once the camera turns on, my children either get stage fright, pee in their diaper, and pretend we are speaking Greek commands to them: "Huh? You are asking me to say what? Sorry, lady, I don't understand...so I will just stare at you blankly, or try to rip the recording device out of your hands and ingest it." Or they (and by they, I mean Miles) demand to see the yet to be videotaped video: "Can I see? Can I see? Can I see?" "Miles, there is nothing to see--we haven't started!"
With Felix, we need to learn Ewokese. And Chewbacca's roar. Miles spoke Mandarin first, Felix opts for the made up language of 1 meter tall teddy-bear like sapient bipeds who inhabit the forest moon of Endor . And when he is sick, the mucus in his esophagus reverberates against his throat, and that grating sick moan of a child who cannot yet master language is straight out of vintage Star Wars. (I think the Star Wars gene comes from my oldest brother.)
I vacillate on what makes me go gray faster: a week of a sick 15 month old demanding to be held 100% of the time who relies on the Chewbacca moan and the "point and grunt" for communication, or a recovering almost 3 year old who also demands to be held 100% of the time and tries to manipulate Mommy over and over that he is still sick so he can "sit on the couch and watch Tee Bee." And somehow, he forgets how to do things, like feed himself ("I can't DO IT! Mommy DO IT!"), climb the stairs ("Help please! I'm too little!"), and blow his nose ("Mommy's shirt please!") One time I wipe the kid's nose with my shirt because the tissues were at the other end of the house and I had a boogie crisis and a crying baby, and the kid thinks he has carte blanche to nestle his germy nares onto the bottom of my shirt. It's like all of the work we have done to instill good manners and use nice tones when talking (I know, Mayim Bialik wants to revoke my junior varsity attachment parent membership) exits my child, and out emerges an exceptionally needy, demanding kid who all of a sudden knows how to "work the system and the sickness".
Miles, this better be prep work for a later Academy Award. And I'd like top billing in your acceptance speech.
Did I just call Miles "kid" above--twice? When the heck did that happen? And it seemed so natural to write. It's heart warming to watch your children blossom and mature (and no, that wasn't an intentional pun with "blossom" and Mayim...just happy coincidence), but some days I think it happens way too fast.
Hey you! Peter Pan--can we talk about that whole "never grow up" thing? I'd like to enroll my children please.