Mr. Big Mouth

Sometimes Zane is all, “gabble gabble dook eeg doun nad” as if he’s really working to get his point across and the rest of the time he’s the squeal monster, just this side of shattering fine crystal goblets with enthusiastic forays into the upper register. We count ourselves fortunate when he doesn’t do it right in our ear. Squealing in ears and biting dad’s shoulder are the current lessons using the word NO.

Another action packed Saturday for Z & Dad. Big breakfast, stop at the grocery store, stop at work for a bit (lots of gadgets for Zane), a bike ride into town, play on the jungle gym for a while, then bike the rest of the way home, which includes up Daisy Hill (ugh!). I bought one of those plastic baby seats that mount behind the bike seat. It’s small and convenient for impromptu rides like yesterday. Zane wears his yellow chicks helmet.

Later in the day I decided we’d ride back to the office and fetch the car, which turned out to be a big mistake. First off the brakes on the bike are just barely adequate for me and average hills. They were starting to melt before we got halfway down our huge one mile hill so I got off and walked the bike. Zane complained that we seemed to be going slower…listen here, chicken head. Finally we get past the steep part and commence our five mile journey. Less than a mile from the office there’s a walking bridge over the interstate. It’s near the high school so there’s lots of graffiti and broken glass. Shortly after crossing it and thinking I should bring a broom to clean it up some day, the back tire of the bike went totally flat. Dad pushing the bike again and baby Z wondering why it’s going so slow.

Zane has started hanging out in his own room. A number of times this week he’s crawled down the hall and into his room, pulled down a couple of books and sat there reading by himself. He so serious looking hanging out in the room on his own like that. In a related story there are three cubes that have been decorating his bedroom wall. Only the other day did I think to get them down for him to play with. He LOVES his three cubes, maybe even as much as the magnetic monkey hanging from the ceiling. This morning I was attempting to put some milk in him and he noticed one of the cubes back on the wall. “Dat!” he said, pointing at it. Drink, drink, drink. “Dat!” he said again, pointing. He looked at me and noticed I was looking at him, not at the cube. With one hand he pushed my chin to turn my head towards the cube, pointed, and repeated, “Dat!”