What do you call it?

Now that Weston is more able to express complex thoughts, we're getting a little bit more insight into his actions...a very little bit.

Weston: You call mine owl bag a lunch bag.
Me: Yes, I do, because we use it to carry your lunch.
Weston: Luke calls it a lunch box.
Me: Yeah, some people call it a lunch bag and some people call it a lunch box.
Weston: I don't like lunch box. I call it lunch bag and when Luke calls it lunch box, I bother him.
Me: Hm. Well, it's ok to have different names for things. You don't need to bother him for that.
Weston: I do. Otherwise, my head will fall off.
Me: ....Why?
Weston: Because he will say, "lunch box," and I'll be like, "Huh?" and then, I'll put a shoe on my head and I'll be like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" And then, my head will fall off. So that's why you have to bother your brother when he says lunch box.

How do you argue with that kind of (il)logic?

Seize the banana

Weston: I'm hungry.
Me: Want a banana?
Weston: Apple slices.
Me: You've eaten all the apples. How about a banana?
Weston: How about grapes?
Me: We have no grapes. We have a banana.
Weston: Blueberries!
Me: The blueberries will arrive tomorrow. For now, we have a banana.
Weston: Hm. Ooh, I see a banana! I will eat that banana!

Lessons from a two-year-old: always maintain the illusion of being in full control of your own destiny.

Trapeze!

Luke had his first day of circus camp this morning (why, yes, I did say circus camp) and the afternoon has gone something like this...

At pickup:
Me: Ok, Luke, once you finish your banana, we're going to get your stuff and go home.
Luke: Noooo! We're doing trapeze after lunch.
Me: Um. You're...not staying for lunch.
Luke: Yes, I am. And for trapeze.

In the car:
Luke: I did not like that camp. I'm not going back.
Me: Really? Because three minutes ago, you didn't want to leave.
Luke: Yes, really. I don't want to ever go there again.
Me: Why?
Luke: I didn't like it.
Me: What part did you not like?
Luke: All of it except learning people's names.
Me: Ok. What else did you do after learning people's names?
Luke: I'm not going to tell you, but it wasn't fun.

Since I know he hates to talk about this stuff, but is willing to write about it (and by "write," I mean dictate as I transcribe,) when we got home, we sat down and made a list of things he liked and things he didn't like. I was imagining scenarios where the teachers were mean or the kids were cruel or he fell off the climbing equipment. None of that was true, as it turned out. He simply didn't like that (a) the teachers chose the activities, (b) some of these teacher-chosen activities were new to him and were difficult to do, and (c) he had to wait his turn. There were twice as many things on the "like" side of the list than the "dislike" side, so I'm not too worried about it, especially since he ended the conversation like this:

Luke: I wish I had stayed all day instead of just the morning.
Me: But...you said you didn't like it and never want to go back.
Luke: Yes.
Me: So then why would you want to stay all day?
Luke: TRAPEZE!

Clearly.

Summer Days

There's a robin's nest right outside our kitchen window and the kids and I are anxiously waiting for the eggs to hatch. There's a cardinal's nest in a tree in the yard and Luke and I like watching the baby birds with their mouths open, waiting for their parents.
We've been to the science museum twice in the past two weeks and the kids are already planning our next visit. Luke has been folding laundry to earn money to buy (insanely overpriced) things from the gift shop.

We've gone to our three favorite parks multiple times.

We've been swimming, wading in creeks, and splashing in puddles.

We went camping, hiking, and somewhere along the way, Weston managed to get poison ivy on his legs. (He also has approximately 17 mosquito bites at any given time. The rest of us walk happily along while Weston is surrounded by a cloud of mosquitoes.)

The summer is off to a fine start, I'd say.

Fluff

Some of the things we've accomplished today...

• Luke and his friend spent the morning at a park that has a sand and water area, building the biggest mountain they could. I mean, the thing ended up being about 18 inches high because when you build a mountain, the toddlers will come...and smash it back down. But still, they considered it quite the good time. 
• Weston has figured out how to climb out of the five-point harness in his car seat...while it's still buckled. This kid might have a future in magic. We had a conversation about how that's dangerous and his reply was, "But I yike dangerous." Of course you do.
• Elsa managed to dig out a rabbit burrow this morning. It is my sincere hope that it was an old burrow because nothing will ruin my day faster than coming across a rabbit baby corpse in my yard. (Please, please, let it have been an old burrow.)
• I managed to get those two to the park and back. No one got lost. This is an accomplishment, yes? 

Beating Boredom

Luke: Mama, I want to do something fun.
Me: Play dough?
L: No.
Me: Painting?
L: No.
Me: Lego?
L: No.
Me: Well, what then?
L: You could teach me to write in cursive.
Me:.....Oh.

Where We Are

Having a five-year-old and a nearly-three-year-old is a very nice place to be, I've discovered. Here are some of the reasons why...

-We can put together an impromptu camping trip with 36 hours of notice. A year ago, this would have been unfathomable.

-We get hearty applause and a joyful little voice saying, "Good job!" every time we find a parking space or put on our shoes.

-They can help each other with things like getting a drink of water or finding and putting on their own shoes so sometimes, we're actually on time to things. (I did say sometimes.)

-They help feed the pets and walk the dog and read to the cat. (Ok, Luke reads to the cat. Weston memorizes the books we read to him and recites those to the cat. Either way, it occupies kid and cat.)

-They share things with me and each other at the moments when I least expect them to. ("Here, Mama, you can have half of my cookie.")

-They can entertain each other without completely wrecking the house...or each other. Sometimes.

-They at least try to clean up their own messes. Like earlier this week, when Weston spilled powdered crayons all over the living room and tried to wipe it up with a napkin. (It made the mess worse. So, so much worse. But he tried. Also: whose fault was it for buying powdered crayons for a craft in the first place? Oh, right, MINE.)

-The sleep. Oh, my goodness, the sleep! In a giant bed by ourselves with no toddler feet in our faces and no toddler knees in our ribs. THE SLEEP!

-They can both open doors, so no one can close anyone else in or out of a room.

-They can both turn on lights, so one cannot terrorize the other by leaving him in a dark room.

-They have discussions like this:
W, pointing to a map: Look, it's Jupiter.
L: Um, no. That's actually Australia.
W: It is not Australia! It's Jupiter.
L: It's really Australia. Jupiter is a PLANET. Australia is a CONTINENT. So it has to be Australia.
W: Then where's Jupiter?
L: It's...in space.
W: Where's Jupiter ON THIS MAP?
L: That is a map of the world, not the solar system. Jupiter can't even be on it.
W: You're a mean, mean, meanie. You're a potato. You're a mean, meanie, potato meanie, Luke.

-Yes, I know the above conversation might seem to some like a con of having kids this age instead of a pro, but I don't see it that way because (a) it's funny and (b) I am not the person trying to talk sense into an irrational being. I just get to sit there and giggle into my cup of tea.