HELP!

This is Sprout’s latest new trick. He yells “Help!” for absolutely everything. He dropped his pacy-- “Help!” He wants his juice sippy—“Help!” He wants in my lap—“Help!” In the beginning, my mind conjured images of my son falling off the back of the couch, or being trapped beneath a large piece of fallen furniture, or any number of gruesome accidents that could befall an active toddler. Really, it was a nerve-wracking couple of days. Until I realized that this was just his new thing, and he was going to ride it until the wheels fell off. Now when I hear “Help!”, I just ignore it and figure that he needs to brush up on his problem solving skills, so whatever situation has warranted the outburst will have to be dealt with without maternal intervention.
We finally found one of those key locator thingies, so now when we’re playing outside, I can press a button and my kid beeps. More accurately, the receiver safety pinned to the back of his shirt beeps. In case you wondered, no, he does not find this at all amusing.
In addition to “Help!”, Sprout loves the Wiggles. Me, not so much. I believe they are the modern incarnation of the Village People, only more annoying and slightly less confusing. Sprout seems to think they are gods transported here from some sparkly, happier world. The only thing more annoying than the Wiggles is Pat Robertson. Still, I find myself out in public singing or humming one of the Wiggles songs. If you see a grown woman in Panera singing a song about zucchini, it’s probably me. Either pretend not to notice or better yet, tell me to shut up.
Last weekend we were at Michael’s parents’ house with the whole family. Sprout and Cousin Lilly, who is nine months older than Sprout, were both napping—proving that miracles really do happen and sometimes come in pairs. Michael’s dad heard a noise and went to investigate. He returned with a smiling, but sleepy-eyed Sprout in his arms. He said that Sprout was in the living room where Lilly was napping, patting Lilly on the face. I, dear readers, have bachelor’s degrees in public relations and government, and can therefore spot spin when I see it. Reading between the layers of sugar coating, I deduced that Randy entered the living room to find Sprout smacking Lilly’s cheeks in a none-too-subtle attempt to wake her up to resume the rowdy play that the nap had so rudely interrupted. Since Lilly slept on and there appeared to be no harm, I let the matter lie.
It’s been a busy spring and looks to be an even busier summer as Sprout approaches the terrible 2, but he’s getting sweeter and smarter everyday too, so I’m looking forward to the upcoming months.

Summer is Sprouting

Sprout with his cap pulled down low on his head. Looking way to old for 21 months.

Upward angle shot with the sun just being blocked out by the cap bill. Sprout curls acting like a halo around his head.

Sprout running through a field of dandelions in the back yard.

Sprout's cap is pulled down even lower this time around. Can't really see his dark eyes away.

Sprout is chillin in his swing with his arm resting on the side. I believe he has a smirk on his face.

A Fish Fry

My charming, darling son, who has developed the rather unpleasant habit of getting up at approximately way-too-freakin’-early, lovingly presented me with his little baby-sized kitchen skillet full of goldfish crackers. Ah, isn’t that sweet? Yes, it is. Until you realize, as I did, that he was given an entire snack cup full of goldfish crackers. Where were the rest of the crackers? Because I know he didn’t eat them. My son doesn’t eat. He is currently subsisting solely on apple juice and fresh strawberries. Don’t get me wrong, I offer him food, lots of it. You can lead a toddler to the high chair, but … Well, you know the rest.
So I’m off to find the rest of those goldfish before they become a permanently imbedded part of the décor. Have a good weekend.

Mommy knitted Sprout's Easter Vest

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