New sightings of the Wasatch Monster, the "Yet-Me" or Abominable Andrew

Any observer of this monster (a.k.a. Andrew) in his native habitat (usually water or a messy room) would quickly notice two of this independent creature's favorite sayings are "yet me" (let me) and "I'm tired." This week reinforced my general sense that Andrew is indeed a two-year old of the fullest embodiment of the terrible twos--independent, incorrigible, and often intractable. Andrew has long been fond of saying "yet me" for everything from filling his own milk cup, pushing buttons on any kind of technology, pouring syrup on pancakes, getting silverware, turning on the outside hose--you name it, he wants to do it. I try to accomodate him in some of the small things, but obviously I'm not quite ready to let him do anything that requires more manual dexterity than he possesses--I don't think I can face maple syrup all over the floor.

This week, Andrew has added a second favorite saying to "yet me" (and one that I'm already "tired" of hearing)--"I'm tired." Andrew has used this approximately six times an hour for the past week, most often when he doesn't want to do something. I think he has the erroneous idea that this will absolve him from work or responsibility. (The only time he doesn't use this is at bedtime--or rather, he uses it, but he quickly corrects himself: "I'm tired . . . no, I'm *not* tired.") We hit a particularly low point on Thursday while I was cooking dinner. Usually, one or more grandparents are around during the pre-dinner hour to sort of keep an eye on Andrew if it's my night to cook (I know, I know, I'm spoiled), but since they're out of town at a conference it was just me. I was trying out a new recipe (more on that later), so I wasn't paying as close attention to Andrew as I should have. In addition, he had refused to nap that afternoon so he was more than unusually manic, and I was more than unusually tired of trying to deal with him. Cooking was actually rather cathartic, that is, until I happened to ask Andrew (who was unusually quiet--always a bad sign) what he was doing. "I'm making a mess," was the response. I went over to investigate and discovered that he had dumped out every single toy container within reach, plus several puzzles for good measure. It was, indeed, a mess. So, I told Andrew he needed to help clean up before dinner, but every time I said, "Andrew, you need to clean up," he would languish theatrically and say, "I'm tired." Needless to say, by the twentieth repetition of this (I was still working on dinner at the time) I was rather tired of it and of Andrew. It's a good thing Dan came home when he did, as he likely saved his child from some sort of dire fate. (I try hard to be patient, but it sometimes appalls me how easily this one small human manages to irritate me--he can do it faster than anyone else I know!) Unfortunately, having discovered the phrase, Andrew refuses to abandon it and has pulled it out as a reason not to eat something he doesn't want to, not to clean up, not to obey . . . you get the idea.

Other highlights of the week: Wednesday morning I took the kids to the library to turn in Andrew's summer reading chart, for which he got a cheap plastic toy and some coupons from local restaurants and other vendors. Unfortunately, we didn't get to stay at the library long because Evelyn choose that occasion to become hysterical and wouldn't stop crying, so we left. We did, however, get to use one of Andrew's coupons to go to Sonic that night for a free ice cream cone (a belated family home evening treat, since Dan was in Colorado Sunday afternoon through Tuesday afternoon--a very short trip.)

Friday morning Jeni brought her kids over, and they had an enjoyable time running rampage over the house. Andrew, in another of his terrible two characteristics, has taken to pushing people when they do something he doesn't like--after trying to push Lydia down the stairs last week, this week he turned his charm on Emi and Jacob. After trying unsuccessfully to push Jacob, Jacob went crying to his mother and told her tearfully that he never wanted to play with Andrew, ever again. I tried to remonstrate with Andrew (after his stint in time out, of course) about why we don't push people--one reason, of course, is that other kids may not want to play with us. Of course, Jacob chose this moment (notwithstanding his earlier protest) to say, "Andrew, come play with me," so the object lesson was kind of ruined.

Saturday was, as usual, a busy day for us. We went to the ward breakfast at a nearby park and Andrew and I ate. Dan abstained--he has a curious fastidiousness about food at large group events, and he wasn't too impressed by the food (although I think he did end up finishing some of Andrew's food). Dan intended to help with some of the games after the breakfast, but Andrew thwarted those plans. He was really only interested in playing in the volleyball sand pit and getting water out of the drinking fountain. And since I was occupied with Evelyn (and chatting with some of the ward members), Dan was on default Andrew duty. Poor Dan. I tried to make it up to him by offering to watch the kids so he could get out that afternoon, and he took advantage of my offer by going to see Dark Knight, which, from all accounts, he enjoyed.

We also picked up a kiddie pool on clearance at Target for Andrew, our little water monster, who is never happier than when he is wet (except maybe when he is dirty and grubbing around in grandma's yard). Andrew had a great time with the water--but Evelyn (whom we cautiously introduced to the water) was less than thrilled.



Having a little girl has apparently gone to my head (Dan calls her my dolly, since I take such delight in dressing her up). At any rate, it's especially hard for me on Sundays to resist dressing her up in cute clothes for church. And then, since she looks so cute, I have to take pictures of her. I especially love the final picture--she has such kissable fat cheeks. And dimples! I think I've counted eight: two in each elbow, one on each shoulder, and one on each cheek. Such a nice, fat, dimpled baby. I think we'll keep her.