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  • Munchee-isms

    Kids say some pretty cute shit.  Their little brains really do produce some adorable variations of language.  Not only the ideas they have, but also the way they say things when they are first learning how to talk.

    It can be so endearing that your vocabulary often morphs into theirs. Partly because you want them to understand you, and partly because it is so delightful you never want them to say it right.  It is like you develop a secret language with your child.  Initiated by their imagination or limitations, they have a dialect that is distinct.  I always get kind of sad when a word evolves from her unique way of saying it, into the correct pronunciation.  So that is why if someone tries to correct her I will sucker punch them in the solar plexus… I know it can’t last forever, but I just want her Munchee-isms to last as long as possible.

    Here are some of my favorite Muchee-isms

    Strawbebbies (instead of strawberries)

    When saying the alphabet, when she gets to LMNOP it is more:  Mmenenopppp and she also says X, Wine, Z

    Yawming (instead of yawning)

    Copsiay (instead of popsicle)

    Carry you (instead of carry me)

    Plumb (for thumb)- this is especially endearing when she is washing my hands and says “I am washing Mamma’s plumb.”


    September 7, 2012 • 2 years old, baby brain, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1227

  • Can’t you see I am trying!?

    No relationship is effortless.  Having functional dynamics with people depends on how willing you are to work for it.  You are never going act exactly how another person wants you to, and no one is ever going to be your ideal company.  Intimacy demands compromises.  So much so, that often you just want people to acknowledge the fact that you are trying to do what they want.

    “Can’t you see I am trying?”

    How many times have you said, or heard that?

    And sometimes trying is all you are going to get with people. They don’t live in your head and know all your needs, wishes, and desires.  You may try to explain it to them, but how are they ever going to fully actualize your vision of how you want them to be?

    And of course trying can be exhausting and emotionally wearing, especially when someone doesn’t appreciate your tries.  At least if your tries are acknowledged there is some meaning to the madness.  But when your tries go unnoticed that is when you can start to feel like you are taking crazy pills.

    For instance, when I am dealing with the incessant irrational demands of The Munch, who has endless requests for me to enact… acts that literally make no sense.

    “Mamma, put the stroller on the table.”

    “Fine, here you go.”

    “Nooooo Mamma, no stroller on the table.”

    “Okay, I will take it down.”

    “Noooo Mamma, put stroller on the table.  STROLLER ON THE TABLE! Waaaahhhhhaaaahhhhh”

    “Okay Munch, here, the stroller is back on the table.”

    “Mamma, put the plate in the stroller.  The plate in the stroller.”

    “Okay… here, the plate is now in the stroller.”

    “Put napkin on stroller Mamma.”

    “Sure… napkin on stroller.”

    “And tomato”

    “Uhhhhh, let me find one.  Okay, done. Tomato, napkin, and plate all in the stroller… which is on the table.”

    “Nooooo Mamma! Munchee needs plate.  I NEED THE PLATE! Waaaahhhhhahhhahaaa! I NEED THE PLATE”

    “Okay Munch, don’t cry! Here, you can have the plate!”

    “I need stroller too.”

    Another example of my relentless trying… Munch and I went to the beach together….

    “Mamma, get in the water.”


    “No Mamma! No Mamma in water!”

    “Munch, I am already in the water, you are not the boss of me okay.”

    “Okay. Mamma, drink the lake water.”




    August 30, 2012 • 2 years old, Musings, Relationships, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1716

  • Watch Your Mouth!

    I was watching The Munch play with her baby doll this morning, trying to get her in the little baby highchair to feed her some plastic pretend nummies… but something went awry in Munch’s head.  Not sure why she was getting so frustrated, maybe the baby’s legs were dangling at the wrong angle for her weird OCD 2-year old mind, but all of a sudden The Munch exclaimed:

    “Fucking baby…” as she tried to readjust her.

    Okay… so obviously I have dropped the “f-bomb” around The Munch, but the fact that she used “fucking” so effortlessly, and in context, makes me think she is really quite clever.  The “fucking,” serving as an emphatic adjective to her baby who is not positioning herself in the correct manner.

    Yeah I know… I know… I have to watch my mouth.  But her fucking baby doll needs to get her act together too.







    August 14, 2012 • 2 years old, baby brain, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1760

  • Rewriting History

    Memories are allusive by nature.  They have a subjective quality that coats each one with a slightly distinctive film, some more mucus-y than others.  We have to strain to remember our memories, and furrow our brows to retain details… which is not a good idea because facial expressions are what gives you wrinkles.  I try to limit mine to 3 a day, and only smile at MOST once a week to avoid any lines around my mouth.

    Even though everyone knows that memories are as reliable as a drunk teenager trying to get laid, we all insist that ours are infallible.  “No! I remember… It happened like this! Exactly how I say! My memories are factual, precise, and accurate!”

    But in truth we all rewrite history to serve the specific situation we are in.  It is too easy to bend and sway the truth like birch trees in a hurricane.  There is no way to prove someone is remembering something wrong and you are remembering it right, yet we so often insist on that being the case.

    For the majority of situations we are not being intentionally malicious by rewriting history to better enable our arguments, we just want to win.  If the memory is the proof that will annihilate the other person and force them to succumb to your point, then manipulating the memory is a pretty useful strategy.

    But every one in a while you come across someone who intentionally brings white out and a pen to the pages of history, or in this case a crayon.

    So I was talking to Munch and trying to have a conversation about pooping in the potty, and she was really twisting things around.

    “Munch, the reason why you want to learn to poops in the potty is so you don’t have accidents where you poop in the wrong place.  Remember when you and Mamma were taking a bath last night and you pooped in the bath? If you were pooping in the potty that wouldn’t have happened right?”

    “No! Mamma pooped in the bath!”

    “Munch, that is not true, Munchee pooped in the bath.”

    “No!! Noooo! Mamma pooped in the bath!”

    “Munch, Mamma did not poop in the bath.  Munchee did.”

    “Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath! Mamma pooped in the bath!”

    When someone is so committed to their story it actually makes you doubt your own.

    Wait, did I poop in the bath?

    “Mamma… that was totally you who pooped in the bath”


    August 1, 2012 • 2 years old, Musings, Pee & Poop, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1485

  • My Kid is A Twitter

    As long as The Munch is conscious, her mouth is flapping.  This child does not stop talking. She just yaps her way through each day with barely enough air coming into her mouth to sustain life.  But it is not like she is parlaying monologues of vast significance or philosophical diatribes that titillate the mind.  She does not spew poetic prose outfitted with fashionable metaphors and high-end adjectives.  Munch just ejects thoughts like a live twitter account.  Nothing connecting one idea to the next; just farting out comments 130 characters or less.

    Tweets From The Munch

    I need juice

    I need water

    Baby needs juice and water

    I need to go to the sandbox

    There are bugs in the sandbox

    Mama needs to wash armpits

    There’s a plane!

    I hear birdies

    Cheep. Cheep.

    I have bug bites

    I wanna see the blue doggie

    The cows are sleeping

    The sunset is pretty

    I need to take my shoes off

    I need my shoes

    I don’t want Munchee sandwich, Mama’s sandwich!





    July 30, 2012 • 2 years old, baby brain, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1289

  • The Suckyness of Sickness

    Being sick sucks.  When you aren’t feeling well, it is easy to be cranky and feel sorry for yourself.  You are more needy than usual, and you want someone to take care of you.  To make you soup, rub your back, tickle your taint with a feather while peeling grapes with their other free hand.  Reasonable requests.  But as an adult you have the understanding that you will soon heal, and there is only so much another person can do to make you feel better.

    When The Munch is sick, however, she becomes a self-righteous sultan sitting on her diamond and ruby encrusted throne amongst a harem of virgins.  Her tyrannical demands of me are so outlandish that my only way of getting through the day is fantasizing what it would feel like to choke on the armpit hair of a wooly mammoth-human hybrid that just returned from a 6-hour hot yoga session.  What?   You try it… it is really quite distracting.

    This is a transcript of 3-minutes of my day today…. Please multiply this by as many minutes in the day there are… or that Munch is awake and I am dealing with her. You do the math.  I don’t do statistics.

    Munch: “Mamma carry me.”

    Toni: “Munch you are sitting on my lap.”

    Munch: “Mamma carry me.  Mamma carry me. Mamma carry me. Mamma carry me please.”

    Toni: “Munch! You are sitting on my lap!! I am carrying you, but just sitting while I carry you!”

    Munch: “I want a banana.”

    (We go into kitchen to get a banana.  I peel it).

    Munch: “No! No banana… I want hummus.”

    (I go into the fridge, still carrying her mind you, and get out the hummus to give her a some on a cracker).

    Munch: “No hummus Mama.  Munchee wants eggs.”

    (I make her eggs)

    Munch: “No eggs.  I want a banana.”

    (Give her banana)

    Munch: “No banana Mamma.  I want to watch Baby Movie

    (We sit down to watch movie).

    Munch: “I wanna see Mamma!”

    Toni: “Munch you are looking right at me….”

    Munch: “I wanna see baby movie.”

    Toni: “Well Munch if you stopped looking at me and turned around, you would see baby movie.”

    Munch: “Mamma carry me.”

    Toni: “Munch you are sitting on my lap.”

    Munch: “Mamma carry me.  Mamma carry me. Mamma carry me. Mamma carry me please.”





    July 13, 2012 • 2 years old, baby body, Behavior, Health, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1050

  • My kid doesn’t shut up

    I think The Munch is doing cocaine.  She does not stop talking.  Her mouth is yapping the entire time her eyes are open.  She is also constantly repeating her self, so she might be drinking whisky too?  She is getting into something and it sure isn’t Valium.

    Now I don’t want to leave her hanging, so I end of up having some pretty insane conversations throughout my day.  I feel bad letting her just talk into the wind, so even if she tells me she wants grapes 36 times while we are in the car driving home, I will answer her every time that she will get to eat some goddamn grapes when we get home because I am driving and cannot pull grapes out of my ass… anymore… an old injury makes me flare up.

    Munch will also keep talking even if I am having a conversation with someone else. The other day my friend was opening up to me about her fears of moving forward in life, the anxiety of her financial situation, problems with her boyfriend, and every 6 or so seconds I was saying “yes that is a plane” or “you are right, you do have two rocks.”  It kind of made my advice a little strange to tell my friend to “try to come to terms with what you actually have control over and what you… yes Elmo is on your diaper…. don’t…”

    When I put Munch to bed at night she spends at least a half hour pretending to talk on the phone to her self.  She tells stories of her day, and goes through the list of all the people she knows and how they are going “night night.”  This is actually quite endearing to listen to… until that moment when she starts talking shit about me.

    “Wait… what did you just say? I couldn’t hear you over Munch’s explanation of where her tummy is.”

    July 11, 2012 • 2 years old, baby brain, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1909

  • Diarrhea of the Consciousness

    There is a filter in our minds that helps us to distinguish what is acceptable to say out loud, and what is best kept to ourselves.  The development of this awareness is crucial to social interactions.  Without a strainer to sieve out the appropriate statements from the ones that should remain self-contained thoughts, it is pretty easy to alienate, annoy, or insult the person you are talking to.

    Perhaps I am too conservative when it comes to unleashing my own private perspectives, and I do appreciate the type of person who is willing to speak their mind unreservedly.  But there is a boundary that can be crossed.  There is a fine line between sharing, over sharing, and cocaine remnants on your credit card.

    Although I am delighted The Munch is so verbal (mainly because it makes me think she is smart, and then that makes me think I am smart for breeding a smart child), you don’t really want to know everything a 22- month old thinks.  This kid has no inner monologue.  She doesn’t seem to ever contemplate what she is going to say, but rather expresses herself without any restraint; a diarrhea of consciousness ejecting from her mouth with excessive velocity and force.

    Yes it is nice that she can express her needs, but no I do not need to hear her repeat them to the point of insanity.  Yes I am glad she is learning about the world and makes observations, but no I do not need to be alerted every time she see’s an ant outside.

    We went on a car ride the other day, and this is a little bit of what goes on in The Munch’s mind.

    “I wanna hear Elmo’s song.  Elmo’s song.  Elmo’s song.  Noooooo! I wanna hear Bus.  Wheels on the Bus.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  Elmo’s song! ELMO’S SONG! I see a motorcycle.  Bye motorcycle.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  I wanna see the baby cows.  Wheels on the Bus. Bus. Bus. BUSSSSSSSS!!!  I see big truck! Bye big truck.  I wanna see the babies.  I wanna see the babies.  Go to the park.  Go to the park. GO TO THE PARK.  GO DOWN THE SLIDE.  SLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE!  Elmo’s song.  I wanna hear Elmo’s song.”

    That drive was about 1 mile down the road.

    “Wow.. talking to you can really be exhausting!”





    May 22, 2012 • 1 year old, Education, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1279

  • Womb-tastic

    Babies are the keepers of life’s secrets.   They are connected to the magic of creation because they just experienced it.  The reason why we can’t remember what it’s like to be a baby, is because the knowledge is too profound, and it has to be forgotten.

    It is easy to assume a baby doesn’t know about their past, because they seem so clueless about the present.  But just because someone drools all over themselves, throws their sippy cup only to get furious that it “fell,” can’t tell the difference between an alligator and crocodile (DUH), and demands that you take their shirt off, then put it back on, then take it off again, and then cries because they are not wearing a shirt, doesn’t mean they are as dumb as they look.

    I decided to test this theory and see if The Munch had any recollection of growing inside my womb.  I figured that is a pretty meaningful mystery and she may have some insight on what was going on in there.

    “Munch, do you remember being in my tummy?”


    “You do? What was it like in there?”

    “More gentle.”

    Pretty epic answer.

    May 16, 2012 • 1 year old, Musings, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1307