It's Daddy with another video highlighting Bryson's Fall-time adventures. It's hard to believe that at one time I considered raking leaves to be a rather onerous task. Now I'm finding myself actually hoping that the wind blows our neighbor's leaves into our yard.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Trying to Capture It
I've now started and abandoned two posts trying to describe Bry's ever-growing verbal skills. For some reason I'm having a really difficult time capturing the sheer amazingness (totally a word) of his developments. Not only has he been speaking in sentences for some time, but he's pulling phrases seemingly out of thin air - phrases like, "This one's really cool!" (as he points to whatever is catching his eye at the moment). I don't recall ever having uttered those words in that sequence, but who knows. Of late, I have found myself wandering around, half-aware that I'm muttering the lyrics to Baby Beluga under my breath. Oh, Raffi, if only you could have used your powers for good. Maybe I also go around declaring the coolness of random objects around our house and Bry is just mimicking me.
Bry seems to be starting to grasp the structure of language too. He adds 's' to the ends of words to make plurals and on occasion, 'ed' to indicate past tense. Given the idiosyncrasies of the English language, this of course produces some amusing Borat-esque turns of phrase and pronunciations. Like "knive-es" as the plural of "knife" and "Bry goed down the slide!" While he seems to understand male and female pronouns like he, she, his, hers, he's not yet grasped the notion of personal pronouns like I, me, my. The result is not unlike living with a human version of Elmo, aka the fictional, red tree sloth who refuses to use pronouns. Try as we might to insert the correct pronouns into his sentences, Bry still insists on declaring, "Mama, hold you!" when he is trying to say, "Mama, hold me!" Or "Bry wants 8, 9, 10 truck books!" instead of "I want...." And yes, he does go around saying, "8, 9, 10!" or sometimes, "8, 9, 10, 11, 13!" with great enthusiasm whenever he's trying to convey a big number. Once upon a time, he used to count from 1 to 10, only occasionally dropping numbers in the middle. Apparently he's decided that method is much too inefficient, and that 12 is just too pedestrian to even consider uttering. The same goes for the alphabet too. Bry will start off with "a-b-c-d" and progress to "ef-g-h-i-j-k!" and then to "el-em-o-p-q-r-s-u-v-yay!" His excitement catches up with him before he can get out the w-x-y-z.
Lately, it seems like Bry's brain is working doubletime to keep up with all of the communicating that he is trying to do. He often stumbles over his words, as if his mouth just can't keep up with the explosion of news bursting forth from his brain: "Find melon truck on freeway maybe!" (Don't ask me what a melon truck is. I have no idea.) He might have a ways to go on syntax, but his message comes through crystal clear. Perhaps the clearest sign that Bry's language development is in overdrive is the fact that he is using language not only to communicate, but to influence. Or to try to influence, anyways. And by influence, I mean test. Or manipulate. But in the very cute, naive sense. At bedtime, after we rock and snuggle, I put him in his crib and he requests, "Mama rub you back. One minute, maybe!" (i.e., "Rub my back for one minute, mama!"). Though he can't yet tell time, he's figured out that the currency for extending favored activities lies in minutes, as in, "One more minute!" or "One minute playtime, maybe?" When he's in his crib, I promise him one minute, and then tell him it's time to say goodnight. His small voice asks quietly, "Daddy rub you back, maybe?" Smart kid. But not smarter than mama. Yet.
Bry seems to be starting to grasp the structure of language too. He adds 's' to the ends of words to make plurals and on occasion, 'ed' to indicate past tense. Given the idiosyncrasies of the English language, this of course produces some amusing Borat-esque turns of phrase and pronunciations. Like "knive-es" as the plural of "knife" and "Bry goed down the slide!" While he seems to understand male and female pronouns like he, she, his, hers, he's not yet grasped the notion of personal pronouns like I, me, my. The result is not unlike living with a human version of Elmo, aka the fictional, red tree sloth who refuses to use pronouns. Try as we might to insert the correct pronouns into his sentences, Bry still insists on declaring, "Mama, hold you!" when he is trying to say, "Mama, hold me!" Or "Bry wants 8, 9, 10 truck books!" instead of "I want...." And yes, he does go around saying, "8, 9, 10!" or sometimes, "8, 9, 10, 11, 13!" with great enthusiasm whenever he's trying to convey a big number. Once upon a time, he used to count from 1 to 10, only occasionally dropping numbers in the middle. Apparently he's decided that method is much too inefficient, and that 12 is just too pedestrian to even consider uttering. The same goes for the alphabet too. Bry will start off with "a-b-c-d" and progress to "ef-g-h-i-j-k!" and then to "el-em-o-p-q-r-s-u-v-yay!" His excitement catches up with him before he can get out the w-x-y-z.
Lately, it seems like Bry's brain is working doubletime to keep up with all of the communicating that he is trying to do. He often stumbles over his words, as if his mouth just can't keep up with the explosion of news bursting forth from his brain: "Find melon truck on freeway maybe!" (Don't ask me what a melon truck is. I have no idea.) He might have a ways to go on syntax, but his message comes through crystal clear. Perhaps the clearest sign that Bry's language development is in overdrive is the fact that he is using language not only to communicate, but to influence. Or to try to influence, anyways. And by influence, I mean test. Or manipulate. But in the very cute, naive sense. At bedtime, after we rock and snuggle, I put him in his crib and he requests, "Mama rub you back. One minute, maybe!" (i.e., "Rub my back for one minute, mama!"). Though he can't yet tell time, he's figured out that the currency for extending favored activities lies in minutes, as in, "One more minute!" or "One minute playtime, maybe?" When he's in his crib, I promise him one minute, and then tell him it's time to say goodnight. His small voice asks quietly, "Daddy rub you back, maybe?" Smart kid. But not smarter than mama. Yet.
Monday, October 13, 2008
All Together Now!
Daycare has introduced a whole new element into Bry's life - songs. Specifically, songs that he sings along to. Over time, "Baby Beluga" and an enigmatic song we know only as the "Fire Truck Song" have emerged as Bry's clear favorites. Perhaps you've heard of the former song - that loveable Raffi ditty that, once seared into your nervous system, takes an industrial cleanser of the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind variety to erase. And then, once you've searched YouTube for the words (since Bry only chants "Baby Beluga! Swim wild! Swim free!"), you'll be stuck with this image in your head all day. You're welcome.
As for the so-called Fire Truck Song? Well, as far as we've gleaned, the lyrics go something like this (in chanting form): "[Insert name here] wants to drive a fire truck! [Insert different name here] wants to drive a fire truck!" And so on. If Bry's rendition is accurate, in this particular song, the words "fire truck" are drawled out into three syllables, becoming "fy-er truck," and they must be shouted with great exuberance.
From time to time, Bry has been known to randomly shout out partial lyrics to songs, which is, take it from me, quite adorable. But he topped himself yesterday when we visited Stillwater. Gazing out over the St. Croix River, Bry mused aloud, "Baby Beluga in there, maybe." What could we say, except, "Yes Bry, maybe we will see that 'little white whale on the go' swimming the St. Croix. Maybe we will."
As for the so-called Fire Truck Song? Well, as far as we've gleaned, the lyrics go something like this (in chanting form): "[Insert name here] wants to drive a fire truck! [Insert different name here] wants to drive a fire truck!" And so on. If Bry's rendition is accurate, in this particular song, the words "fire truck" are drawled out into three syllables, becoming "fy-er truck," and they must be shouted with great exuberance.
From time to time, Bry has been known to randomly shout out partial lyrics to songs, which is, take it from me, quite adorable. But he topped himself yesterday when we visited Stillwater. Gazing out over the St. Croix River, Bry mused aloud, "Baby Beluga in there, maybe." What could we say, except, "Yes Bry, maybe we will see that 'little white whale on the go' swimming the St. Croix. Maybe we will."
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Dialing Up the Cute
In the past couple of days, Bry has been working hard to notch up his cute rating:
Scene I: After attending a birthday party last weekend, Bry has become fascinated with birthdays and the birthday song. The day we went out to celebrate my birthday, Bry wandered around the house reciting, "Happy birthday, dear mama! Happy birthday to you! Am mam more!" (And many more...). We've been singing the birthday song a lot. To mama, daddy, Bryson, all of his teachers, and most of the other kids at school. Also to shirt, lion, blanket, and other assorted objects lying around the room.
Scene II: Today when I picked up Bry from school, he was on the playground. As we were leaving, he exclaimed, "Hugs! Stuart!" He walked up to Stuart, an adorable kid a couple of months younger than Bry, and stood next to him for a moment before giving him a big hug. We've been informed by Bry's teachers that after he goes down the slide, builds a tower, or dumps a prodigious amount of sand onto the gas tank of a toy lawnmower (he is, apparently, working on his portfolio as a saboteur), he shouts exuberantly, "Yay, Bryson!" This self-esteem booster and expression of joy has caught on in Bry's classroom. Apparently several of the kids, but especially Stuart, will shout out "Yay, Bryson!" when excited or after they have accomplished something they deem cheer-worthy. Makes me wonder if we're going to get a phone call some night from Stuart's parents, querying us as to why their son is always cheering for our kid.
Scene III: Also this evening, I decided to stop at the library with Bry on our way home from school, given that traffic had for once not slowed us to a crawl, turning the five-mile drive into a 25-minute endurance test. Steve met up with us at about the point when Bry was reaching his I'm-holding-it-together-as-best-as-I-can-so-you-
better-get-me-out-of-here-ASAP point. I had been telling Bry that we would go home when daddy (the carrier of the library card) arrived. As soon as Steve walked into the children's area, Bry shot towards him, calling out, "Home!" He bolted right past Steve's open arms, and out the door into the main library. He was halfway to the main entrance before he stopped to turn around to see if we were following him. Steve attempted to man the self-checkout process with one hand, while holding Bry in his other arm. In the meantime, I was on the very important mission of searching for the They Might Be Giants' Here Come the 123s album. Very important business. I didn't find it. Bry, having had enough of waiting for daddy to scan the stack of 17 books, squirmed out of Steve's arms and onto the floor. He plucked the fire truck book from the top of the stack, shouted out, "Read!" and did an about-face just before running into another, less energetic library patron. Being the eternal charmer, Bry held the book up to this woman, said, "Fire truck book! Read! Here!" and plopped down on the industrial doormat just inside the library entrance. He probably would have stayed there too, disrupting the flow of incoming pedestrian traffic with not only his presence, but also his irresistible cuteness, had I not scooped him up and shuffled him off to the car.
Cuteness. We has it, no?
Scene I: After attending a birthday party last weekend, Bry has become fascinated with birthdays and the birthday song. The day we went out to celebrate my birthday, Bry wandered around the house reciting, "Happy birthday, dear mama! Happy birthday to you! Am mam more!" (And many more...). We've been singing the birthday song a lot. To mama, daddy, Bryson, all of his teachers, and most of the other kids at school. Also to shirt, lion, blanket, and other assorted objects lying around the room.
Scene II: Today when I picked up Bry from school, he was on the playground. As we were leaving, he exclaimed, "Hugs! Stuart!" He walked up to Stuart, an adorable kid a couple of months younger than Bry, and stood next to him for a moment before giving him a big hug. We've been informed by Bry's teachers that after he goes down the slide, builds a tower, or dumps a prodigious amount of sand onto the gas tank of a toy lawnmower (he is, apparently, working on his portfolio as a saboteur), he shouts exuberantly, "Yay, Bryson!" This self-esteem booster and expression of joy has caught on in Bry's classroom. Apparently several of the kids, but especially Stuart, will shout out "Yay, Bryson!" when excited or after they have accomplished something they deem cheer-worthy. Makes me wonder if we're going to get a phone call some night from Stuart's parents, querying us as to why their son is always cheering for our kid.
Scene III: Also this evening, I decided to stop at the library with Bry on our way home from school, given that traffic had for once not slowed us to a crawl, turning the five-mile drive into a 25-minute endurance test. Steve met up with us at about the point when Bry was reaching his I'm-holding-it-together-as-best-as-I-can-so-you-
better-get-me-out-of-here-ASAP point. I had been telling Bry that we would go home when daddy (the carrier of the library card) arrived. As soon as Steve walked into the children's area, Bry shot towards him, calling out, "Home!" He bolted right past Steve's open arms, and out the door into the main library. He was halfway to the main entrance before he stopped to turn around to see if we were following him. Steve attempted to man the self-checkout process with one hand, while holding Bry in his other arm. In the meantime, I was on the very important mission of searching for the They Might Be Giants' Here Come the 123s album. Very important business. I didn't find it. Bry, having had enough of waiting for daddy to scan the stack of 17 books, squirmed out of Steve's arms and onto the floor. He plucked the fire truck book from the top of the stack, shouted out, "Read!" and did an about-face just before running into another, less energetic library patron. Being the eternal charmer, Bry held the book up to this woman, said, "Fire truck book! Read! Here!" and plopped down on the industrial doormat just inside the library entrance. He probably would have stayed there too, disrupting the flow of incoming pedestrian traffic with not only his presence, but also his irresistible cuteness, had I not scooped him up and shuffled him off to the car.
Cuteness. We has it, no?
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