kiwords

I was giving Max and Raphael a bath. Raphael was in a MOOD, so his bath time consisted mainly of swiping toys from Max and protesting whenever Max managed to hold onto something. Anything. There was much shrieking and flinging of sodden washcloths.
It was fun.
Max, on the other hand, had discovered that the yellow foam disk they had among their bath toys was…biteable. He was tearing chunks out of it with his teeth and spitting them into the water. By the time I noticed what he was doing he was already surrounded by a small yellow foam armada. “Hey! Stop that!” I ordered in my most enlightened parenting style. He looked up at me quizzically. “We never play with this, Mama.”
“I know, but…”
“Well, now I’m playing with it.”
He did have a point, and I had been planning to throw it away the next time I cleaned the bathroom, but still…
“Ok, but I want every piece of that stuff in the trashcan before you get out of your bath,” I said sternly. Showed him.
Tre was doorway climbing. This means he was bracing arms and legs in the doorway and shimmying his way up. Then, once his shoulders were pressed against the top of the doorway (what’s that called? The bottom is the door jamb, what’s the top?), he’d release the pressure just enough to slide down to the floor. And then he’d start back up again. Once when he was at the very top he looked down to see Raphael get mad at his shark toy and yell, “Meanie! Stoopid!” at it. This struck Tre so funny that he erupted into fits of laughter, which caused him to lose his grip and tumble to the floor somewhat faster than usual. He laid there in a heap, giggling and pausing to grab his shin and comment, “ow.” Then giggle some more.
He’s fine. Probably won’t even have a bruise.
I, on the other hand, am getting old.

Oh, I wanted to give you a quick update on Tre and the knife. He is indeed being very responsible about it. He’s only used it once, to cut a ribbon, and he asked permission first. No horsing around, so I suppose those wacky Cub Scout people were right about this one. He’s just so very impressed with the seriousness of having a pocket knife. Once today he was walking through the kitchen and Claire (our beautiful, stupid cat) saw him and freaked out and ran away. She’s a cat. They’re not the most mentally stable of animals. Anyhow, Tre watched her run away and turned to me, very seriously. “I think Claire saw my pocket knife and it scared her.”
Probably, baby.