My, What Good Taste You Have

When Oscar and Edgar were babies, it was largely up to us, their parents, and our generous friends and family members to choose the toys they thought would be best for them.  And anyone who has ever seen their collection of toys can testify that they do okay.   However, with the exception of the Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe action figures, and possibly their Queen Elizabeth I rubber duck, the selections are largely conventional–educational, thoughtful, and wonderful, but conventional.

As our resident toy experts, Oscar and Edgar understandably feel as though they should have a say in what toys we select for August.  And their choices are anything but conventional.  No fluffy bunnies or black-and-white rattles.  Oh, no–not for August.

This was the selection Edgar recently made for August.


An inspired choice to be sure.  And I have a feeling things are only going to get more interesting from here!


After Apple-Picking


Edgar went apple-picking today with his unbelievably sweet preschool class.  So, you can imagine my surprise when, after he finished picking a plethora of succulent apples in this idyllic orchard, he started shaking the apple tree.  I said to him, “Edgar, that’s not very sweet.  You shouldn’t shake the tree.”  And he replied, “I thought you said the animals could eat the ones that have fallen on the ground.  I’m just putting a few extras out for them.”

Sorry, apple tree!  I’m going to have to side with Edgar on this one.  That actually was pretty thoughtful–and sweet.

Q & A with Edgar


Edgar is at an age when an endless flow of questions is to be expected.  He is four, and he is curious about the world we live in.  However, the questions I have had to field this week are, shall we say, worth noting.  And I submit them to you, our readers, for your answers–because, quite frankly, I’m stumped.

Here you go, and I quote:

  • “Do you think M & Ms could walk into our house in the middle of the night?”
  • “Could a stingray ever turn into a bucket?”
  • “Can I make a hat out of ice cream?”
  • “How can I get a talking spoon?”
  • “Would it be an emergency if you woke up in the morning with no bum?”
  • “Do pinecones burp?”
  • “Do you think Barack Obama and Joe Biden sneak around?”
  • “Can I talk to aliens?”
  • “Can a guinea pig turn into an elevator?”
  • “Did George Washington walk on wheels?”

If anyone knows the answers to any of these, I am sure Edgar (and his befuddled yet strangely intrigued mother) would most appreciate it!

Change Your Point of View


Oscar has started standing on his head–a lot.  In the morning.  When he returns from school.  In the evening after dinner.  When Don asked him why, he said simply, “Sometimes I like to look at things from this angle.” 

Here’s to shifting your perspective and occasionally changing your point of view.  It may not always require your standing on your head–but imagine if that’s all it took to break out of a rut and see things differently.

Nicely done, Oscar!

The Overnight Shift


August likes to eat.  And at a mere two months and change, it is not surprising that he likes to eat a couple times during the late-night and wee-morning hours.  What is surprising is that occasionally I am joined by a helper.  It may be a combination of Oscar’s hearing the baby cry coupled with a lighter sleep that has come on the heels of his starting school;  but at least four times in the last several weeks, Oscar has joined me in August’s room to “help” with his late-night feedings.  He squeezes in next to me on the chair, places his head on my left shoulder, and gently strokes his brother’s head.  When it’s time to burp August, Oscar then carefully pats his back–giggling when he finally emits a sound similar to those his big brothers can produce. 

I have seen beauty in this world, but I am going to have to say that these moments rank at the very top.  And though, yes, Oscar should perhaps be in bed.  But perhaps not.  Perhaps he is exactly where he is supposed to be.

For the Love of Poop


Okay, this is the post that when Edgar reads it years from now he will look at me, wince, and scribble furiously into the notebook that will house the temperamental musings for his memoirs.   But, really, this tale must be told.

Edgar has taken his time in his approach to potty-training.  He does wonderfully well with what we’ll euphemistically call “number one” when we anticipate his needing to go.   But “number two”?  Well, that’s another story.

As he is now four and certainly physically capable of mastery of this feat, Don and I decided to step it up a bit–allowing him to continue on in his training pants but simulating every other aspect of what needs to happen in the bathroom.  So, after he’s gone, we head to the bathroom.  Edgar remains standing.  We remove the training pants, flush the contents in the toilet, then continue on with the requisite tasks.

It was then that we realized the depths of Edgar’s feelings for his poop.

Perhaps in the way an artist treasures his/her creation, Edgar has a deep affinity for what he has produced.  And we know this because as Edgar flushes the toilet he says, without fail, “Goodbye, poop.  I love you!  Have a nice trip to the sewer!”

And, yes, Edgar, I know this post will mortify you (and possibly our more polite and gentle readers), but it is a story that must be recorded for the ages.  There will come a day–and it will be soon–that this whole potty-training adventure will be a memory, and this is one memory worth preserving!