More Phoebe stories

While we were reading Romeo and Juliet yesterday, Phoebe was supposed to be quietly playing with her puzzles. Instead she was loudly announcing the name of each puzzle piece (e.g., cow! train!) as well as its accompanying sound (e.g., moo! choo-choo!) and banging them on the table. 

"Phoebe!" I complained. "You need to be quiet while we're reading, remember?"

"Otay, Mommy," she said. "Sorry, mean to."

"It's okay," I assured her. "Just play quietly if you want to be at the table with us, okay? Otherwise you can go play in the other room."

"Otay!" she cheerfully agreed. 

She climbed down from the table and ran off into the other room, so I figured that was the option she was choosing for the time being, but no! She soon scampered back into the dining room, having donned some noise cancelling headphones. She then recommenced playing even more loudly than before because to her altered perception she was being quieter.

I have to hand it to her, that was a creative (if ultimately ineffective) solution! 

*****

I've written before about Phoebe's aversion to poop. She thinks poop is disgusting. The very thought of it makes her gag. Sometimes things that make her think of poop make her gag. Fortunately, I'm learning to be quicker on the draw about her gagging. So tonight at dinner after Phoebe had eaten not one, not two, but three pancakes, and was working on her fourth, I was not surprised when she began playing with her food rather than eating it. 

That is a lot of pancake for a little person! And she had eaten other things, too—like some fruit and bacon. She's a good little eater. But that fourth pancake was too much. 

But we let her sit there and mash it around on her plate because...sometimes our dinner conversations run longer than her eating time...and because it's good for her development...or something...

So she's squishing this pancake around and having a grand ol' time (because she is a child who quite likes messes, if we're being honest) when suddenly, "Oh, no!" she gagged. "Poop! Mom! *gag* This *gag* is poop! *gag* Poop! Poop!"

"We'll just move this away from you now," I said, removing her tray and placing it on my other side (away from her). 

"Yeah," she gagged again. "Move poop away!"

*****

She also learned about Vaseline today, which she calls "oootion" (like lotion). Zoë has been experiencing some serious wind-chap on her hands lately, and while lotion can sometimes sting on too-chappy of skin, Vaseline usually doesn't. I would say it never stings, but I learned long ago to never say never. Still, in this specific case, Vaseline has been Zoë's go-to. 

This means that sometimes our big ol' container of Vaseline gets left down. 

Until today, Phoebe hasn't been able to open the lid. So we more or less figured it was Phoebe-proof. Phoebe was never getting inside that contain...oh...wait. Never say never, right?

Yeah.

Phoebe managed to open the lid today. 

Fortunately, I caught her grease-handed—with both hands plunged into the lusciously lotiony depths of the container—and we spent some time doing some supervised rubbing in (rather than finding Vaseline everywhere). So that was nice.

We rubbed it on her, we rubbed it on me, we went downstairs and rubbed it on some paper towels... I'm afraid these pictures don't really capture all the greasy glory, but it was...a lot.

*****

Here's a short video of Phoebe dancing in the kitchen while I did dishes on Sunday evening. I love how different parts of the music made her feel like twirling or tip-toeing. She and Floppy got so dizzy together!

*****

And here's a little video of Phoebe offering the dinner prayer this evening:

To open, she condenses "Heavenly Father" into "fah-ly" (In similar fashion, she frequently calls Daniel Tiger something that sounds like, "Dan-ger" (that's Dan+grrrr, not "danger")). 

"Fah-ly, aint-ful day! Bess it! Food! May-em! Dishes! May-em!" she says. 

"Heavenly Father, thankful day! Bless it! Food! Amen! Jesus! Amen!"

Roughly translated, that's, "Dear Heavenly Father, we're thankful for this day. Please bless it. And the food. Amen! [Oh, yeah, I'm supposed to say 'in the name of Jesus Christ.'] Jesus. Amen!"

She has a similar prayer that she rattles off at bedtime: "Heavenly Father, thankful day! Bless it! Sleep! Bless it! Good dreams! Amen! Jesus! Amen!"

One day she'll sound less like a telegraph and more like a human, but in the meantime we're enjoying her cuteness.