Januray and Febuary Iterations

E, totally out of nowhere: "E. T. O."
Me: "What's that?"
E: "That's how you spell 'excavator.'"

E: "M. O. E. is how you spell 'Mommy.'"

E, at dinner: "I don't like monsters but I do like tofu."

He wrote a poem: sticks and sticks and avenues gray.

I kissed his belly and he said, with grave seriousness: "You can't go in my belly, mommy. That's not where I put you." "Where do you put me?" "In the cupboard."

Love Post

Playing in the backyard: I said it was time to go in and started to walk to the back door. E ran up to me and asked me to stop. He said: "I want to put my love all over your face." I bent down and he rubbed his cheeks on mine and hummed.

At dinner: I'd cooked, was tired. E wasn't eating much so I asked him to take a bite, which he did. I asked him if it was good. He said, in a sweet little voice, "Yes, it's good Mommy, but also a little bit yucky."

Making Pumpkin Oatmeal cookie together on the kitchen floor: "Mommy, do you want to know how I love you, let me count the waves."

After visiting the new pediatrician: E got to go to a little candy store and pick out a lollipop (possibly his first), which he quickly proceeded to crunch up in the car. When the crunching had quieted, I asked, "Did you like your lollipop?" He said, with great seriousness: "How can I find another one?"

All the time: "Pick me up like a piece of cheese."