Rites of Spring

Jonathan and I both survived my trip to Chicago last week. I returned to a bathed, well-rested, happy baby. I missed my little pumpkin tremendously, so we've been taking advantage of daylight savings time to go out in the evenings after work.

Jonathan now opens the closet door, picks out my sneakers and brings them to me when it's time to go for a walk. I put on his shoes as well and reach for my keys. He starts pointing at them and letting out his new "I want it!" sound, halfway between a whine and a yell. I tell him to go get his own set, which he does - they're never too far away. Then we jingle out the door in tandem. Jonathan likes walking a little better than his daddy does, but he still seems to think the car is the best option. He carefully picks out one key on his keyring and starts tapping the lock on the car door, then lifting up the handle. He'll do this until the sun goes down, so eventually I head up the hill. I have to let my keys dangle down by my hip and then Jonathan will sprint up the hill to get them.

Last evening we made an entire circuit around the neighborhood. Jonathan only tries to open our cars, but he got a little confused when he saw another maroon Camry in someone else's driveway. I had to pull him away and get that one out of his line of sight. We were coming back down the hill when I noticed there were a number of gypsy moth catepillars crawling around. I got one to inch up onto a twig and held it out for Jonathan to look at. Grab! The catepillar was twisted around in his fat little fist. I pried his hand open, waiting for the inevitable green catepillar goo. The poor thing tried to crawl away, which tickled Jonathan. He looked at me and slowly brought his hand up to his mouth. I shrieked and said "NO! Don't you dare eat that!" and he dropped his hand, only to try again a second later. I finally got the catepillar back onto the ground. Jonathan squatted down and started stabbing at it with his keys. (We've been making great strides with the fork recently.) He delicately picked it up again and then pinched it a little. I was alternately cringing with disgust and thinking that my mother would most likely be appreciative of some karma at this scene. Finally, I dragged Jonathan down the hill, leaving the catepillar behind, stunned but still squirmy, on the pavement.

Lowes' is a little TOO helpful sometimes.

Jonathan has figured out that the little clinky things Mom and Dad carry around are what he wants most. He has been grabbing our keychains off the dining room table and running to the front door. He thinks if he waves them around the door will open and he can go OUTSIDE! And he screams bloody murder if we try to take the keys away, or even if we place them out of reach.

I wasn't too thrilled at the thought of playing "Find Mommy's keys" for the next two years, so I was happy when inspiration struck. I left work a little early today and hightailed it to Lowes' key cutting area. There I picked up a double ring keychain and one or two fancy key blanks in rainbow colors. I needed a few more to make that authentic "clank-clank" sound, though. I asked the salesman to give me a few more key blanks. Here's how the conversation went:

"May I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes, may I please have three blank keys."

"What size do you need?"

"The size doesn't matter. I'd just like three of the cheapest."

"But I need to know what size in order to cut them."

"I don't need them cut; I just need the blank keys."

"But ma'am, they won't open anything if I don't cut them."

"They're not going to open anything. Just the blank keys will be fine."

"Okay, but what size do you need?"

I have a feeling this could have gone on a while. Finally I told him they were for my son to play with, and I didn't need any sharp little notches cut into them. Jonathan is now the proud possessor of his own keychain, which he has not let go of since I got home fifty minutes ago.

Clink clank clink.

Einstein didn't talk until he was three, you know.

So, Jonathan's still teasing us with the verbal output. We frequently hear things that sound like words, but he doesn't repeat them. Chris and I find ourselves OVER-enunciating, trying to get Jonathan to imitate us. He looks at us as though we're nuts. At times, he's clearly frustrated that we don't understand what he wants. He'll point to something across the room and start to fuss. When we ask him why he's upset, he looks at us with melting puppy-dog eyes and signs "eat" or "please" so plaintively, even when he's not pointing at food. If we don't give him what he wants, he's starting to throw full-fledged tantrums. He will fall (in slow motion) to the floor and start to wail. Other times, he'll stand with his feet apart and sob with his head thrown back. It's very sad and if he doesn't start talking soon we'll need to introduce more signs so he can tell us what's wrong.

It't not all crying and tantrums around here, though. We spent a lovely Sunday in the park. Jonathan made it up the stairs of the climbing structure all by himself! He was having a great time running around on the deck. I was chatting with another mom when all of a sudden Jonathan's head was clearly visible over the railing! One little girl, about eight years old, decided that he was the perfect plaything. She lugged Jonathan all over the place, taking him on rides down the slide and helping him back up the stairs. They both seemed to have a great time.