Your current obsession is all things truck, bus and fire engine. We read the truck books over and over and over (and over). Or maybe "read" is the wrong word. We don't actually have time to read the text because you are too excited to stay on one page long enough. What we do is turn each page, enthuse, "Ohhhh...fire truck!!" You grin, bounce up and down and rush to turn the page to see the next vehicle. And every walk and car ride is punctuated by squeals at everything with a motor. Not too long ago Oma and Opa had the brilliant idea to take you on a bus ride when they were babysitting. They sat you right behind the driver and apparently you were so in awe you pretty much sat there with your mouth agape the entire time. Some grandparents take their grand kids to Disneyland. You, my little friend, are riding the Muni bus across town to the rich kid's playground.
Oh Holy Heaven....I am going on a bus!!
This is my golden ticket!
Diving right in...
Construction equipment? Almost as good as a bus!
Bus ride home was clearly not as exhilarating as bus ride there.
We continue to take a lot of rides in the Little Red Plastic Car. It has not lost its shiny appeal even a little bit. I usually wheel you around for a bit and then let you out so you can frolic in the park. And by frolic in the park I mean glance briefly at any signs of nature before returning to push the beloved Little Red Plastic Car. I thought I'd let you go for awhile to see how far you'd get before you would get scared and come back to me. It was not good for my ego. The Little Red Plastic Car, however, was thrilled.
I'll be back, Mama. Tomorrow.
A round of applause for the Little Red Plastic Car.
Don't even look at my Little Red Plastic Car that way, woman.
To Mama it looks like a bug infested, sticky, rotting tree crevice. To you it is apparently an inviting little Hobbit hole.
Back at the house, favorite pastimes still include lots of nekkie time and playing with the stinky diaper bags (fondly known as D-Bags in our house). I appreciate that the crinkly plastic of these bags is appealing and that they are heavy enough to make you feel like carrying them is an accomplishment, but I hope you lose interest in this habit before you are potty trained. Or if you don't, perhaps you could at least stop finding places to hide them while we aren't looking.
Who wouldn't grocery shop naked if they could?
It's possible you make an extra poop just so you can carry around an extra D-Bag every day.
I'll just hide this right here with the pots and pans.
And shove it waaaay back there so my Big Heads won't notice.
When you are not sneaking D Bags into crevices, you still love a little play time in the fridge or freezer. Woe is the parent who makes the mistake of opening either of the stainless steel doors to toddler nirvana while you are in the kitchen. This morning I was happily preparing breakfast when I glanced over and saw you holding a 25 dolar jug of maple syrup sideways. And a puddle of syrup glistened next to you on the carpet. I am pretty sure the carpet will still be sticky when you head off for college, but I scrubbed you (and the carpet) as best I could and on we went with our day. Imagine Dada's surprise when he opened the fridge this afternoon.
Maybe we'll just dip our waffles in the fridge door?
Dear Nap Time, Mama loves you.
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