Does not contain juice

Spring is in the air. It is the time when a toddler's fancee turns to thoughts of warmer weather and climbing the ropes in my imaginary wrestling ring and landing a pile-driver or my signature wrestling move, the "Joshie Collar Grab" on an unsuspecting victim. Given my Latino heritage, I really should consider wearing a mask and going the route of the conquistador. . .or is that luchador? Either way, I'm either gonna smash you or spread germs and wipe out your family with a cold. Fear me. 

Joshie-Libre seen after his controversial victory over the Bubba Brawlers.

I hear talk about the weather not acting right, but seeing as how Dadda doesn't like going outside, as far as I can tell the weather's always seventy-five degrees, or warmer when Mamma says she's cold and goes and touches the wall and then I wake up sweaty in the middle of the night and climb onto the top bunk so I can perform my signature wrestling move first thing in the morning.

Now I know you've heard me say that I love my routine, but I'm afraid that Mamma and Dadda don't always seem to appreciate how important it is to me as they constantly seem to deviate. I may not know how to read a clock, but I can tell time just fine. I know when it's time for you to feed me and play with me and get me more juice, NOW, and change me and get me more juice, and bathtime and naptime and so on. Oh, and juice time.

So in order to enforce my scheduled activities, sometimes I have to drop subtle hints like smacking you with a preferred toy in order to initiate playtime or stripping down to my diapey when I need a change. However, these tactics sometimes fail to rouse lazy Daddas and Mammas. Let it never be said that I am dependent on others for everything. When push comes to wrestle I can change my self! Sure, it ain't so hard. First you take off the diapey. . .I forget the other steps, but rest assured when I come running around in naught but my skin, someone tends to notice. That, or they notice when they find the wet spot on the carpet that I don't quite understand how it got there. All's I know is it's not juice, well, not anymore.

Disrobing has become such a simple pleasure that I find myself developing some exhibitionistic tendencies. Au natural has become more of a state of being than a transitional cue. I admit I have a problem. One moment I'll be watching "Iggy" Mouse Clubhouse and in the process of an innocent hot dog dance I find myself unable to remember the location of my pants. I'll decide it's bath time and strip down and then realize it's still light out, or that the rest of the family is eating lunch, or that I'm outside on the porch slurping water off the ground by the dog's bowl.


However, I'm happy to say that I've kicked the habit and now I keep my clothes on when appropriate. It's really good to be free of impulsive and addictive behavior. The loss of control is unsettling and it is very frustrating to walk into a room naked and see the mix of laughter and fear as someone inevitably chases me through the house with a pair of pants and a diaper. Well, it's looking like this sippy juice cup is running low and after the bottle of juice in the fridge runs out there's only two other bottles in the pantry. Who's gonna make a juice run, Dadda? Tell Mamma to pick-up some more juice on her way home. Goomba? Hello? This sippy cup isn't gonna fill itself! Why am I naked?


Today I need an intervention am well-hydrated!

Green with Broccoli

I hear tales of children who do not eat their vegetables. I am also mystified by my Bubbas' limited appetites for a select group of fruits, vegetables, and an even more selective group of meats, as in two options: chicken, breaded, in nugget form and nice crispy bacon. I'll go ahead and say it, more food for me, that is if Dadda didn't call dibs on all the scraps, the monster. Well, sometimes he shares, that's why they call me the little monster. Speaking of monsters, snakes! Well, not monsters in the traditional sense, but as far as I know, according to legend someone named St. Patrick rid a country of 'em a long time ago. I should know, I'm one eighth Irish on both Mamma and Dadda's side. Well either way, it's time once again for. . .

 In Irish it's called Lá Fhéile Pádraig, a religious holiday in honor of Saint Patrick. Although my understanding of a saint is limited,  I don't think it's synonymous with mischief, so don't go looking for a St. Joshua's day anytime soon. (Note: St. Joshua's day is actually September 1st, I'm registered at The Sharper Image) 

I may be green when it comes to customs and traditions, but I already prefer my beverages to be colored, whether it be green or any other color than clear, and sweet as all get out. I needs mah juice! Dadda and Mamma worry about me but I can quit whenever I want. Anyway, our friend Patrick, according to legend, had visions of God after he was captured by the crazy Irish. Although, I assume it was a vision of just one particular god, since his captors believed in multiple gods, and also because he came from a family of deacons. If I am meant to follow in Mamma or Dadda's footsteps I suppose I better see which jobs require a great degree of skill in yelling and remaining stationary on the couch.

Well, God helped Patrick escape from his captors, only to visit him once again in a vision and send him back. This type of indecision is common in authority figures once they've acquired new information after entering into a situation. The problem here, is how do you maintain authority in light of unstable footing or a grasp of the problem? Because I said so! That's why. *sigh* I can't wait to be older. When I reiterate or repeat my demands I just get a louder version of the original denial and eventually I'm manhandled or forcibly distracted with tickling and/or other amusing diversions. I notice this technique is only used on me, although Dadda does try it on Mamma, but tickling or otherwise amusing her rarely works after she puts on her "no" face. I don't like that face very much.

Mamma, everyone! She's so pretty!

So when Patrick came back the second time he taught everybody about Christianity by using the key to all learning: a visual aid. In this example, he used the shamrock, otherwise known as a clover.

Pictured above: A mutant variant of the traditional three leafed clover.

Through this extraordinary feat of educational execution, something as effortless as picking something up from the ground and using it as an example, Christianity was born in Ireland and after several in-depth lessons and possibly a few night classes, the Irish could now complete a sign of the cross before bedtime and meals just like everyone else in my family. However, history has a way of summarizing the details into a neat package, just as with St. Valentine, it appears St. Patrick is a combination of at least two patriarchs. Things that serve more than one purpose are the backbone of toddler play. For example, the blanket-cape, the plastic golf club-sword and the ninja throwing block, also makes great stacking towers and an obstacle course for late-night barefoot fun!

Turns out there were already people in Ireland who knew how to bless their food correctly but they were outnumbered by the druids, a people who also appreciated the importance of blanket capes and stacking blocks. So entered into legend the story of another St. Patrick, a bishop by the name of Paladius, or the other one, who drove out the snakes. Now this story is interesting for two reasons. One, snakes do not have hands and can no more drive than I can operate a computer ride a two-wheeler, and two as it's not apparently known, there where never any snakes in Ireland, it's too cold. Why that last part matters, I don't know, cause I love cold weather! That's when all the capes come out of the closet and everyone loves to snuggle. So it turns out the "snakes" in the legend were probably the druids, although I doubt they were really robe wearing reptiles as opposed to naughty pagans. In many ways the pagans were the original baybees as they just did whatever they wanted, rarely wore clothes, and presumably disliked naps and being told no. Happy St. Patrick's Day. 

Today I pinch no matter what color you are wearing! had green apple juice!

That's what I wanted you to think!

It could be said that I am a tolerant toddler, a patient preschooler. However, if you hear someone say this, don't believe another word out of their mouth, because that person is an idiot. I contend that there is no such thing, but I don't get out much. In any regard I've had my fill of this new routine and Dadda needs to stop taking me from my cozy and predictable home with my newly refurbished playroom and cartoons to the tooting job. I've officially exhausted all the areas to explore and he spends too much time with the older kids and not enough time taking me outside to play on the wet playscape or with the little doggie.

Take last week, for example, after my fireplace adventure, in which there was no magical land, just what turned out to be filth, I decided there are too many unopened doors in this house. So Dadda locked as many doors as he could and went back to awkwardly demonstrating prime factorization, greatest common factor and least common multiple. Don't tell him I wrote this, but I could've done a better job, well probably since Bubbas picked up math quicker than him.

Finally I gave up and went about occupying myself with mismatched toys and play sets minus the figures and accessories in the upstairs loft disguised as a playroom.There was a wealth of nylon structures, tunnels and tents and such, but I've learned that not only do they get hot and make it difficult to see the teevee, but I lose my competitive edge when I need the physical upper hand against an opponent, er, uh, I mean playmate. Eventually I got bored and came downstairs to pester Dadda, but even I know when someone is struggling with a difficult task and needs time to think. I may not always respect that knowledge, and more often than not I choose to intervene and impose instead. This time I let him alone to teach a subject that was beyond his scope of understanding and help myself to a snack.

I had the kitchen to myself. Should I brulee something, perhaps sautee, or just fromage? Chiz! I opened the pantry, and then it hit me, someone would surely come, they always do. Grown-ups have a sense about these things, that's why you always catch us looking you dead in the eye when we're caught doing something we know we're not supposed to. We're expecting it. However, this time I stood in front of the gaping maw of foodstuffs and kitchen accoutrement and was not disturbed. 

Does anyone else hear a choir of angels?

Originally I came looking for food, but the wealth of strange and exotic items made my head spin, so I dove right in. Of course the privacy of a walk-in pantry with a door made it easier to remain hidden and undisturbed. The first thing I found were boxes that had pictures of many different types of food on it. Was this some sort of magical container whose contents could conjure almost any combination of curious cuisine? I quickly opened it and found a transparent roll of plastic sheets. Hmm, there must be a secret to it. I removed one and found an empty plastic bag with a colorful seal on it. I opened the seal and wished for gummi bears and nothing happened. Undeterred I continues onto the next bag, Nilla Wafers, I imagined. Nothing. I thought to myself I must note the lot number of these magic bags, because after I took out every single baggie, none of them worked as advertised. I'm gonna be a cynic when I grow up!


I moved onto the next mysterious box and found some kind of metal paper. This stuff was cooler than play-dough and much less messier. I had to get some feedback on this! I took out a small sheet to Dadda. I knew if I took out the whole box, I'd have to share. Dadda was now on the verge of tears as he struggled to understand fifth grade math and again I decided not to bother him. Although, he welcomed the distraction and noticed my little treasure. As this was not a mathematical issue, he quickly surmised that I should not have come about this particular treasure through conventional means. He thoroughly investigated until he discovered my pile of broken magic baggies and roll of metal paper and presumably called the manufacturer.


Just before leaving I helped myself to a discarded bag of potato chips. Crumbs may not make for a good snack for a larger person, but in my somewhat smaller toddler hands, they are just right for me. I couldn't tell you where I found the bag, as items such as this were commonly left lying around, but Dadda was amused and concerned.

Notice the primitive squat as if eating a bowl of fruit as opposed to greasy bag of potato chip crumbs.

At this point we both decided this had to stop. Although it was a conscious decision for me, Dadda hadn't admitted it to himself. . .yet. So today I staged a series of low-level meltdowns and frustrations and we left early and for reasons I'm not privy to, though I imagine it had something to do with my persistence and intermittent control of the universe, we stopped going.


And I've never been happier.


Today I am master of the universe happy!

The darkness within

Today Dadda and I went to his toot-or-ring job again in the morning. I've gotten used to this new place, but it seems that I am largely unsupervised, which works well for me. The other kid has someone who watches him, but I should be the one paying her, because she essentially gets him out of my hair so I can play by myself. It's not that I don't play well with others, it's just that if people don't play by my rules, then I sit on them or perform a series of highly complex professional wrestling (or wrassling as Goomba calls it) techniques until my playmates are subdued or otherwise more agreeable and acquiescent.

The house where me and Dadda go is bigger than ours, but that's mostly because there isn't much furniture in it. Still, there's plenty of places for me to explore. The first place I explored was the fireplace. I noticed that their fireplace did not have a large piece of cardboard blocking the entrance, nor did it have the magical chain mail curtain that alerts grown-ups that a baybee or toddler is playing near said fireplace. I mean, I may bear a resemblance to Dadda, but I'm not as dumb as I look. I know fire is Ha! and that I'm not supposed to touch. However a fireplace does not perpetually have fire anymore than a juice cup perpetually has juice, though I wish! (More on that later)

So naturally I took the opportunity to explore an area that was usually off-limits. The first thing about going into fireplaces is that even though it's dark, it's deceptively shallow. Believe me when I tell you I was disappointed when I realized that it was not an entrance to a tunnel where fire comes from, but rather a place reserved for fire. So for once the subtleties of language cast aside their mysteries and reveal a less than elegant truth: it was as the name implied a fire-place.  From here on out I will trust language as a source of accuracy. I look forward to meeting the man made of weather (weatherman) and perhaps one day I can work with fire, as I do enjoy firework(s). Then Mamma and Dadda can go eat a moonful of honey (honeymoon) and leave me under some stranger's butt (babysitter)!


The second thing about fireplaces is that they are not designed for exits, at least not unless you are in the form of smoke or Santa Clause. Now I know Dadda can turn into smoke, cause when ever I need a poopie diaper change and Mamma is around, he seems to be in some sort of invisible vaporous form or otherwise disappeared in a cloud of smoke. So when I tried to leave the fireplace, the metal wood cage held fast onto the hem of my pants. I quickly realized my options were limited and it was time to think fast. Once stuck I began wondering how does fire get into a fireplace? Where does fire come from? Would it turn on by itself or does some mystical being from the sky have to sneak it past his boss/father? Someone must've heard me thinking, it sounded like the panicked cries of a toddler, and Dadda came and rescued me.

Prometheus just before his time-out

 The last thing I learned about fireplaces is that the darkness spreads. Now I have a new theory and perhaps later an irrational fear about fireplaces. They are a source of darkness and we put fire in them in order to fight back the darkness. Oddly enough Dadda washed my hands, face and legs and changed my clothes which he later washed as well. Boy am I glad that he did not resort to fire in the first place in order to scare the dark off my pants. So, lesson learned. Tomorrow we will attempt to discover what, exactly is an andiron.

Today I learned things the hard way am a curious little monkey!

In-house tooting

Dadda and I are on a new routine today. We got up and ready just like Bubbas and Mamma, then we came inside and I only got to watch a little bit of my show, Jake and the Neverland Pirates. I'm considering piracy as a potential career option, as it seems rather simple. For starters you live in a boat or on the beach the majority of the time and all you do is either protect treasure or look for treasure. I already maintain all my treasures on a regular basis. I conform to toddler code, section 1, rule 1, all things are mine regardless of possession, real or implied. In toddler law, possession is also 9/10ths of the law, but desire to possess is the other oneth or 1th well, whichever, if you have to ask, it's mine.

I wrote the rules. . .figuratively speaking.

Anyway, so Dadda turned off my show and before I could get upset, he coaxed me outside with promises of going buh-bye! We went to a new house with a new playroom and a new kid. As in most encounters, I eventually learned that this new kid was smaller than me, but also older than me as evidenced by his advanced communication skills. Psh, communication. I get by fine with my proprietary verbal shorthand. Let's just say everyone understands me fine, if not see my posts on vocabubaby. 

This other kid seemed intent on helping me with my stuff. If I put it down, he insisted on holding it for me or bringing it to me. This would not do. Fortunately Dadda was always a floor away playing school with some much older kids and one as old as bubbas! He called it home school toot-or-ring. I have two things to say about this. Number one (1) why is it that everything about Dadda involves figuring out a way to stay home? First it was joining a group of "Stay at Home" dads, and now it's a school in your own home! 

Number two (2) in my pants! Ha, get it? Seriously, somebody change this. Ok, now the second thing, he doesn't need to go to someone elses house for tooting, he does it just fine at our house and I can't believe someone else would pay him to teach their kids how to do it. Although, now that I think about it, the area where he worked didn't seem to smell all that bad and I never heard very many toots. As a matter of fact, that family had a Goomba of their own and she made me tortillas. I love a nice warm tortilla.


Eventually we left and Dadda played an interesting game on the way home. Every time I would attempt to travel by nap, Dadda would scream like some sort of crazy person or turn around and try to tickle me, once he swerved into oncoming traffic and another time I was riding a rainbow turtle in a giant bubble bath, or maybe I fell asleep. Anyway, as a toddler, nap time is a subjective concept. You see, sleep is relative, wether it's at the designated time and place for a miraculous 4-hour marathon of snoozing and drooling, or a 5-minute power nap on the car ride home. Either one will work for me and count as an official nap in my book. (see book above) So if it's the second example, then sorry it counts and I'm not sleeping anymore until night night. Of course Dadda says without a good nap I have low impulse control and anger management issues, but I usually just climb the nearest dresser, clear off all of the knick-knacks and have a full-blown temper tantrum when I can't get down.


Today I have to be restrained until unconscious am grumpy!

New Vocab

As my language skills progress, I've adopted some new spoken words. I know that a blog is a far more eloquent form of communication however, there's that nearly irresistible lure to join the crowd and use the verbal form. Below is a list of my most recent attempts, with definitions. Take notes, there will be a "test" at the end.

Ah - On or off, depending on the light level.


Jish or Jeesh - This is a broad word, not unlike aloha. Depending on context it could mean yes, Josh, or a specific kind of cheese, no, not that one.

Yah - When uttered noncommittally, this word is interchangeable for yes or no.

Yeah - See Yah

Yay - This is an interjection most commonly used at random during a television program or a few seconds after an adult falls asleep.

Chiz - Again, another widely useful word, could mean shoes, cheese or I'm ready for that chess rematch you owe me.

Haaa - Hot, temperature or scoville rating.

Snaa - This is a request for food, but not something substantial, I believe it's spelled s-n-a-x.

Buh buh ba BAH - this is similar to the Buddhist concept of Om, the universal sound of creation, only I use it for both creation and destruction, fueled by pure unfiltered joy. Oh how Shiva would be proud!

Joshiva - Destroyer of Little People towns.

Diss / Dose - this is an identifier which could be mean: this, those, you, he, she, it, they, shoes or juice. Pay attention to context.


Naa - Impending proselytizing aka tantrum or strategic opinion manipulation through public display of dissatisfaction.


Ma - this is either a request for additional quantity of an indicated item, or my name for the lady what sits next to me at the dinner table and gives me bubble baths with toy boats!


Ease - this is my appeasement word, coupled with a rudimentary form of the American Sign Language for "please". I only use this when all else fails or the item requested is just that valuable or desired.


Duh - Dog or sarcastic disbelief circa 1985.

 Today I am contributing to the national deficit learning a new language!

Run don't March

When did March get here? February seemed shorter than the other months, but only by a couple of days by my calculations. It's been tough getting to a computer since Dadda's been carting me off to parks and playgrounds with his stay-at-home dad's group. Looks like I need to have Dadda change the misnomer in my blog title, but bi-weekly is not only ambiguous, it's also too verbose for a title.

It has been brought to my attention that diapeys are passé, or at least not something for the discriminating toddler. Speaking of misnomers, I don't toddle, by any definition of the word. I topple, I terrorize, I'm tyrannical, but I don't toddle. So therefore the label "toddler" must go. I'm not sure if I can justify the label pre-schooler yet, any more than a mortgage is only pennies a day. . .bubba's have been playing monopoly, my top hat is on order.

Doughnut Pass GO!

So on the list of offenses these days are escape, pugilism and proselytizing, heretofore referred to as a "tantrum". However I prefer my word choice, I'm just trying to change your opinion on the matter through a series of very advanced and strategic techniques of manipulation. What you see as a limp and screaming floor baybee, I see as an awkward public display and a delayed, usually forgotten repercussion. These incidents have been attributed to my unwillingness to communicate on a higher level, but I attribute it to my caretakers and siblings unwillingness to bend to my will.

Not to mention that these so called "consequences" don't factor into my eternal optimism. What you see as a time-out, I see as a reflective time to enjoy a rarely seen part of the house. Yelling is no help either because yelling is my favorite and don't get me started on the obvious contradiction in spanking a child as punishment for recently smacking someone else. No candy for you! Did you manage to avoid the temptation of candy? Good for you, here's some candy!

Turn back, beyond here be morons.

Today I am argumentative playful!
 

Chocolate Anatomy

Happy yesterday was Valentine's day! Are you? Today I am perplexed about the ritual of Valentine's day. Let's have a little history lesson shall we? It's time for:

The first Valentine's day was in the year 496, which considering this is the year 2011, that's a lot of those horrible chalky message hearts which make better sidewalk chalk than candy, but not by much. I wasn't around back then, but I'm sure Dadda was, or maybe Grampa. Anyway, so there were a bunch of guys guys named "Valentine" that got the holiday named after them cuz they died. If they name a holiday after Dadda's eventual demise, they'll have to call it double-bacon cheeseburger day. I'm kidding, Dadda and I have at least a hundred years to go. We have to see the episode of Handy Manny where they open that time-capsule.

Well, nobody is sure which Valentine got the day named after him, so they just chose all of them around the 14th century. Why do they call this the 21st century? Did anybody ever wonder which hundred years was the zeroeth century? So one of these guys was in a time-out because he liked Jesus and then he sent a letter to a girl and signed it, "From Your Valentine" before he was dispatched. Legend has it she was the daughter of the guy that put him in time-out and he cured her of blindness which is why he's called Saint Valentine.

That's it, not very romantic huh? There was a holiday named Lupercalia from February 13th-15th that celebrated making baybees, (Now we're talking a holiday for baybees!) but it was abolished by church. Boo! Later a poet named Chaucer wrote a line in a poem about Volantynys day, the day when birds choose which bird to make baybee birds with. Now, everybody knows birds fly South for the winter and for the tequila, and they don't do anything during February because it's too dang cold, so that doesn't make sense.

Eventually poets throughout history invented the greeting card, and indirectly the Valentine Pun.

There's a picture of a bee on it.

Lastly there's the issue of the heart shaped box of chocolates. So I understand there is a place inside called the heart and it makes a sound that makes me fall asleep on Dadda's chest. Well I did some research and they are not shaped like those boxes that the chocolate come in! In fact, some historians believe that the origin of this anatomically incorrect shape comes from some naughty private body parts. I'm not sure what that means, but I'm guessing they're why Momma has to slap Dadda in public sometimes. Anyway in the future and for anatomical correctedness all candy hearts should be shaped like this.

Today I am educational a smarty pants!

Josh - Año Deux

Today is my second birthday.  I woke up at Goomba's after a weekend of inflatable entertainment, meals on demand and Japanese cartoons about animals that live in balls. Ah culture. Bubba's and I went to visit so Mamma and Dadda could spend time together, evidently to enjoy the illness and cold symptoms I endured last week. I suppose it would've been difficult for them to get off of the couch and tend to my demands when they were unable to move, as opposed to unwilling.

After a car ride home I walked in and noticed a giant Mickey [Mouse], I call him "icky", balloon tied to my chair and on my tray there was a present! Surely the illness must've affected my parents because the toy was not edible in the slightest. Fisher Price Little People toys are not for eating. . .usually. 

Who's hungry?

But I do eat the heads off of animals, or at least food shaped like animals. Look, we've established that I have a limited scope of experience. Some may say that I am the male equivalent of an ingenue, but I'd take offense to that. In either regard I've eaten a great variety of food, almost all of it a new experience and how am I supposed to know whether or not I'm being fed animal, vegetable, vegetable shaped animal, or animal shaped vegetable? Not to mention there's the outside chance it's still alive. I mean how else does food disappear from my tray? Surely the dogs wouldn't steal food from a baybee! Dadda however, I don't trust him near my food, maybe it's him. 

Anyway Mamma gave me a baby duckie and I'm pretty sure it was food shaped like an animal, but I bit the head off first just to be humane and avoid the risk of my food biting back. Now either it was a cupcake or little baby duckie eyes taste like M&M Minis.

Bite first, ask questions later.

Today I am cautiously optimistic two years old!

It's new to me.

Today I found myself the odd one out, socially speaking. I've learned that excitability can get you attention, both desired and unwanted. As an almost two-year-old, the majority of experiences are still new to me. However, it's important to keep my cool so as not to appear easily impressed. If it was up to my bubbas, any product advertised during a day time cartoon would be like a man waking up at noon. I mean sure it's incredible, but I have to play my cards right if I'm going to establish a lifetime of preferences. I've seen my hand-me-down clothes and these color combinations are obviously a result of a child whose preferences became clear early on, or the decisions where made for them in order to distinguish between him or his twin.


Anyway, today the family headed outside and someone erased all the color. It was cold and it looked like someone used the slider on the bottom of my Magna Doodle, only it affected the trees, the grass, and everything outside! I reserved judgment, while Bubba's and even Mamma and Dadda went crazy and starting rolling the stuff into balls and throwing it at each other. So we're playing out side then? Well, after a cursory examination of, what turned out to be a very bland and flavorless ice cream, I decided to go about my outdoor routine. I got the bucket of chalk, but soon found that there was nowhere to draw. I opted for an inflatable ball, but it rolled under the car. Then I got out the bubble wand and brought it to Dadda.

Sno Schmo, make with the bubbles!

Sure enough, once the bubbles came out the Bubbas were distracted and came chasing after the translucent spheres claiming that some were filled with ice from the cold air. Bubbas, so easily distracted. After I got bored with bubbles I explored the garage for awhile looking for  an oil filter wrench small enough to change the filter on my 2010 Froot Loop Yellow Tonka Dump Truck. It's been sputtering when idling for a few weeks now, but I guess I'll have to take it in to the mechanic. Finally I let myself back inside and enjoyed some Sesame Street and a room temperature juice box in a warm recliner. Let them have their snoday, I'm staying inside where nobody erases any colors but me.


Today I ain't no meteorologist like Big Bird!

What if I don't see my shadow?

Today I woke up and yup, I'm still sick. I'm sick of boogers. I'm sick of fevers. I'm sick of mandarin oranges and I'm sick of Goofy not getting it the first time. I mean c'mon isn't he like, seventy-eight years old? I'm only two and I can figure out most things quicker that that anthropomorphic dawg. That's when I realized that I'm being patronized! These children shows are all filled with idiotic characters whose sole purpose is to make me feel smart! Well, isn't that just great? So I'm supposed to grow up either deluding myself into thinking I'm a genius, or that one out of every five people is a moron. As I dwell on this epiphany for awhile longer, I think the latter is actually a pretty darn accurate, albeit cynical, perspective. I guess I should worry about being offensive, but in my defense, those that should be offended wouldn't get it anyway. Gawrsh!

I overheard Dadda mention that he has joined a stay-at-home Dad's group. He seems to think this will be an opportunity for me to terrorize  wrestle  meet some other kids my age. My question is, how is a group, whose name implies staying at home, going to meet anyone without leaving the house? I guess this is something similar to a public meeting place for agoraphobics or a non-partisan political party. Sometimes it's better not to try and make sense out of things and just go with it.

As in the case of the Noble Platypus.

My second birthday is coming up soon. I must be getting pretty old, I mean, I'm no septuagenarian cartoon dog, but I don't even remember my first birthday. I've seen the pictures, there were cupcakes, but that's all I know. I suppose as I begin to take on the years and come into a more mature time I should pause to reflect on what I've accomplished thus far. Let's take a look back, shall we?

FOOTAGE MISSING

Wait, what do you mean we don't have a clip? Oh well, it wasn't that long anyway. I guess too many pieces were left on the cutting room floor. However I can sum up the last two years in the below statistics. 


2920 Babbas
1467 Poopie Diapies
865   Drawers Emptied
623   Books Read
444   Goldfish Crackers Eaten
256   Fruit Snacks Lost in Couch Cushions
78     Outfits Ruined
23     Months
7       Days 'Till my Birthday
2       Bubbas Waiting for Cake
1       Country Awaiting a Benevolent Overlord


Today I updated my profile need another tissue!

Montesorta

So when I woke up today, Goomba was here and she doesn't put me back to bed when I wake up too early, because Goompa was raised on a farm and there's no such thing as too early. I snuggled in her room for awhile before heading downstairs for breakfast and a fun-filled morning. It was so early, that by the time everybody else came downstairs, I was done sitting in my high chair and it was time to set about my daily routine.

Lately I have found immense pleasure in taking inventory. Let it never be said that I take my possessions for granted. I've seen other baybee's houses and they don't seem to have as many toys as I do, but that may be just because they don't know how to properly take inventory as I do. Below are the steps of a proper inventory.

Inventory, and so can you!

1. Obtain something to write on, be it a crayon and pad, a Magna Doodle, an Etch A Sketch or pasta sauce and some white wall board.
2. Select categories with which to sort items before counting, such as Good for throwing, Good for hitting people with, Good for wrapping around neck, Good for carrying around like a purse or satchel and Cars.
3. Take out items in each category and count them. Pacing is a personal preference, but be mindful of the indirect relationship between speed and accuracy.

It is important to note that steps 1 and 2 are completely optional, as is the need to count.

Once the contents of all containers are on the floor in the widest area of the given room, your job is done. Now you know exactly how much stuff you have. The other day Dadda took me upstairs for a nap and forgot to give me my Babba. Not only that, but he had the nerve to tell me that a sippy cup filled with milk was the same thing. Well, you know how it is with a new skill, you need to practice it as often as possible to get it right. I quietly and quickly took inventory of my room and determined that Bubbas have a lot of clothes in their dresser and that none of their socks fit me. Not one single sock!

I am an affectionate little boy. When asked for a kiss I oblige by placing my face close to the intended recipient and allowing them to kiss me. When someone crouches low to my level and opens their arms wide for a hug, I run and tackle them or proceed to scale their frame until they buckle under my weight and I can wrestle them and empty their pockets. Now my embraces have come under criticism lately. That is why I have taken it upon myself to practice giving hugs. Last time Dadda took me on a walk, I hugged every short red metal hugging practice dummy we saw. These are weird harmless things on just about every street corner in our neighborhood.

Hugging Practice Dummy

Although I think my practice hugs went swimmingly, Dadda grimaced each time and thoroughly washed my hands and clothes when we got home. Also while we were on this walk, Dadda fussed at me for trying to experience nature. Often I like to stop and examine things closely. Dadda likes to make shadow puppets appear and make them eat things off of the ground. That's simply not fair, shadows have weak digestions and should only eat a low-fat high fiber shadow diet. I tried to eat an acorn instead and Dadda slapped it out of my hand. Jeez, if he wanted it so bad he should've found his own acorn.


Today I am maniacal, a handful!

Snobody can catch me!

Today I woke up, went to Mamma and Dadda's room, and had to wedge myself between them for a nice warm snuggle. Of course I had to share my dreams and ramble on for awhile before they grumbled at me and woke up to start the day. Now that I know there is something to miss early in the mornings, I have no interest in going back to sleep. From now on if it's 5:30 in the morning I'm getting up, and by "I", I mean everybody!

I brought Dadda my Playskool Silly Sounds Checkup kit because when I pressed the buttons on it all I could hear was a clicking sound. He took it into the kitchen, put new batteries in, and showed me how to use it. First, he got a teddy bear off of the book shelf, then he performed a full physical and handed it to me so I could try. 

I shook my head with disappointment and showed him how it's done. The first thing I did was ask if the bear had insurance. The bear had the nerve to think I was running a free clinic! Fortunately for him he had private insurance and after a co-pay and some paperwork I referred him to a specialist, after all, I'm a doctor not a veterinarian! Besides, I could tell that he was obese and had high blood-pressure and those were obviously preexisting conditions so. . .

Despite the cold weather I thought it would be a nice idea to head outdoors today. Of course Dadda was against the idea so I had to use the pet door several times, although each time Dadda eventually came out and got me. After being scolded and then warmed up I decided it was time for a snack. You gotta be careful with snax around the doggies because they will take it and no matter how much you fuss at them they won't give it back.

Sometimes I wish I was a dog. I wonder how much dog food one would have to eat in order to become a dog, because at the rate they're eating my food, I should have a couple of baby sisters by now!

Dadda put yellow and red stuff on his eggs today. Mustard and ketchup! Have you tried this stuff? I insisted every item on my tray recieve a generous portion of each susbtance in order to enhance my dining experience. After lunch, Dadda said I smelled like a hot dog. If I was a hot dog, could I go outside without getting in trouble? By the way, that wasn't hot dog he smelled.

Today I am accepting most forms of insurance friendly and helpful!

Josh's Hidden Picture Game!

Can you find:

1. Woody from Toy Story?

2. Capt. America?

3. A yellow tow truck?

4. A foal?

5. An alligator?

6. A calf?

7. Someone who is willing to clean this up?

8. An Easter Island Statue?

Thanks for playing!

Wait. There's a New year?

I woke up this morning and let myself out of my crib, went to Mamma and Dadda's room, grabbed my morning bottle and a book about furry monsters and returned to bed to read. After a quick morning nap, and a poop, I was ready to start the day. Yep, my crib is a cage no more. To paraphrase the great poet Mayo Annaise (sp?) I know why the caged baby sings. He doesn't know how to get out of his crib yet!

There is a lock on the door to my room for when I'm allowed to get out of my crib but I can't leave my room for "safety reasons." That's fine, I can entertain myself, enclosure or not. You see, the greatest of my talents, besides engineering and mischief manufacture, is organization. Although science has debunked the whole left brain right brain myth, I still contend that I left my brain in one of my toy drawers once. That is why it is imperative that one stay organized!

Mamma has made pretty pictures to go on the front of all of the drawers in order to attempt some arbitrary system of organization.

 

Exhibit Eh?

I, however, have a different way of organizing things. I usually empty one entire drawer piece by piece and line up the items in the order that I wish to play with or destroy them. I tried to get Dadda to take a picture of this so you could see it, but he was either snoring on the couch or playing on the computer, so you'll have to settle for this piece of modern art.

Can you find the monkey?

 It is entitled, "The Burden of Ego", which was a much better title than my first choice, "Life: The Unsolvable Puzzle". 


Well routine is once again in place here at home. I am enjoying more freedom, but things are still where and when I expect them. However, I am told this is a new year. That's a bit wasteful, don't you think? What was wrong with the old one? If it was up to me we wouldn't be so wasteful with time. I mean I hear quite often how this and that are a waste of time. Of course when people are just throwing out perfectly good years and bringing in new ones willy-nilly, it's no wonder. So I went to bed as usual and I was forced into this new year against my will. I heard many grumbles the night before saying good riddance to the previous year, but I kind liked it. I did most of my best stuff in 2010.


So I will eat a piece of toast to the new year. Here's to 2011, the year of cinnamon raisin. . .and butter. . .slightly burnt on the edges. Actually I don't even want this, where's the dog?


Today I am nostalgic joyful!