Our son has a sweet tooth -- or should I say sweet teeth, since he is infatuated with sugar. Especially refined sugar. Preferably with red dye number 40. Particularly late at night. And hopefully laced with caffeine to prolong the wall-bouncing that inevitably ensues.
I should have known. When he was a year old I let him play with the pots and pans in the kitchen while I assembled our dinner. I didn't work fast enough, because in the blink of an eye he went from drumming like a fiend to scavenging like a rodent through our kitchen cupboards.
He expertly cast aside the canned vegetables, knocked over a five pound bag of flour, and threw the spice jars around like live grenades. But the boy knew what he was after, and he settled on his prize without hesitation. He let out a squeal of delight and dove head first into the brown sugar bag.
I dropped the salad dressing and dragged him out of the lazy Susan. He tried to squirm back into the cupboard while I brushed clingy clumps of sugar out of his hair, eyes, nose, and mouth. "Mooooooooooooooooooooooow-er? Moooooooow-er pease"? (Mower meant 'more' in those days, and 'pease' is and remains 'please').
Ah, "more". The monosyllabic request of a legion of toddlers. In the time since he learned the word, Little Man has made numerous requests for more. Each day brings a new demand:
More sugar?
More candy?
More swimming?
More juice?
More wawer? (water)
More wawer park?
More beach?
More Grammy?
More Papa?
More up? (i.e. don't put me to bed)
More down?
More snuggles?
More frenfry? (french fries)
More book?
More tickle?
More puppy?
More horsey?
More chick-en? Bawk bawk? More chick-en?
But last night's request was unusual:
More ty-ee-nol? Pease, Momma?
Now, it's a pretty sad state of affairs when your toddler asks to be medicated. We were enjoying a nice evening at home, as our friends were in town from Dublin to visit. Little Man took a shine to my friend Amanda, and was constantly climbing in her lap and demanding her attention, "More book, Mumanda? Pease? More stoh-wee?"
After a few stories he flopped out of her lap, toddled over to his Daddy and climbed up for a snuggle. He looked at me and declared "More ty-ee-nol, Momma?"
We all laughed hysterically, as his requests are usually for something delicious. But he was insistent: "More ty-ee-nol. PEASE, Momma?"
At that he slid off of Daddy's lap and landed in a toddler puddle on the floor. "Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, more ty-ee-nol!"
I went over and picked the little munchkin up. I didn't need a thermometer to know he was fevered. Poor babe. In just a few short minutes he'd transformed from bouncing baby boy into a sobbing mess on the floor.
Of course, Little Man got his ty-ee-nol -- oops, I mean Tylenol. I am so thankful he can communicate now. I'm pretty proud that he can verbalize his needs. Of course, I'll be happy when he's feeling better and goes back to asking for more "more candy" instead of "more ty-ee-nol".
I should have known. When he was a year old I let him play with the pots and pans in the kitchen while I assembled our dinner. I didn't work fast enough, because in the blink of an eye he went from drumming like a fiend to scavenging like a rodent through our kitchen cupboards.
He expertly cast aside the canned vegetables, knocked over a five pound bag of flour, and threw the spice jars around like live grenades. But the boy knew what he was after, and he settled on his prize without hesitation. He let out a squeal of delight and dove head first into the brown sugar bag.
I dropped the salad dressing and dragged him out of the lazy Susan. He tried to squirm back into the cupboard while I brushed clingy clumps of sugar out of his hair, eyes, nose, and mouth. "Mooooooooooooooooooooooow-er? Moooooooow-er pease"? (Mower meant 'more' in those days, and 'pease' is and remains 'please').
Ah, "more". The monosyllabic request of a legion of toddlers. In the time since he learned the word, Little Man has made numerous requests for more. Each day brings a new demand:
More sugar?
More candy?
More swimming?
More juice?
More wawer? (water)
More wawer park?
More beach?
More Grammy?
More Papa?
More up? (i.e. don't put me to bed)
More down?
More snuggles?
More frenfry? (french fries)
More book?
More tickle?
More puppy?
More horsey?
More chick-en? Bawk bawk? More chick-en?
But last night's request was unusual:
More ty-ee-nol? Pease, Momma?
Now, it's a pretty sad state of affairs when your toddler asks to be medicated. We were enjoying a nice evening at home, as our friends were in town from Dublin to visit. Little Man took a shine to my friend Amanda, and was constantly climbing in her lap and demanding her attention, "More book, Mumanda? Pease? More stoh-wee?"
After a few stories he flopped out of her lap, toddled over to his Daddy and climbed up for a snuggle. He looked at me and declared "More ty-ee-nol, Momma?"
We all laughed hysterically, as his requests are usually for something delicious. But he was insistent: "More ty-ee-nol. PEASE, Momma?"
At that he slid off of Daddy's lap and landed in a toddler puddle on the floor. "Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, more ty-ee-nol!"
I went over and picked the little munchkin up. I didn't need a thermometer to know he was fevered. Poor babe. In just a few short minutes he'd transformed from bouncing baby boy into a sobbing mess on the floor.
Of course, Little Man got his ty-ee-nol -- oops, I mean Tylenol. I am so thankful he can communicate now. I'm pretty proud that he can verbalize his needs. Of course, I'll be happy when he's feeling better and goes back to asking for more "more candy" instead of "more ty-ee-nol".
Get well soon, Little Man! I'll even let you play in the brown sugar cupboard if it will help you feel better. ;)
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