First, the Girl. Last night I had a giggle fit because she's trying to sit bolt upright, and her failed attempts tickle my funnybone. Accomplishing a sit up from a prone position without using your arms is possible if you are blessed with Abs of Steel. But my squishy babe is not Hercules, and her determined strain is a double helix of heartbreaking and hysterical. She resembles one of those Fortune Teller fish when it's just starting to curl in your palm, but doesn't make much progress beyond that. I know I shouldn't laugh at my children, but sometimes it's impossible.
The Boy is officially the youngest narcissist that I know. I mean this in the honest-to-goodness Greek myth way. He's transfixed by any reflective surface -- mirrors, the TV when it's off, the glass in the oven door, the spigot in the bathtub, a shiny piece of plastic -- and will watch himself moving, making faces, talking. Second to getting jiggy with the Wiggles, this is his favorite thing to do.
A couple of nights ago I hooked the video camera up to the television so he could see himself on TV, and I think I blew his mind. He would get really close to the camera so the only thing you could see on screen was his eye, and the run all the way across the room so that he appeared to be a tiny blip on the screen. Then he'd ask, "Where'd me go?" Eventually, he tuckered himself out enough that we could plunk him into bed.
To combat this shameless catering to his whims, I am pleased to say that I've made cleanup into a game that he enjoys. The past couple of nights, the Boy has "helped" me with the dishes. I know he's only two-and-a-half, but if he enjoys it, who am I to argue? We pull a stepstool/chair that I inherited from my parents over to the sink so that he can climb up and down at will. As I rinse plates and load the dishwasher, he smacks the sponge around the counter like a hockey puck. Given this, I don't plan to turn the chore over to him any time soon. I'll wait until he's at least five. But I was thrilled yesterday when I kissed him goodnight and he said, "Ma? I love doing dishes with you."
Victory! Chores are fun! Now, hopefully this attitude will remain intact for the next sixteen years that he lives in my house.