You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

J & B have this musical jungle plastic toy-thing. One pushes down an oversized button (cleverly disguised as a lady bug), cheery music plays, air pressure forces a ball to roll in a circular track, and interchangeable animals and tree move in various ways.
The usual order of business is this: B smashes the button, and then becomes enthralled with the revolving ball, while J plays with the configuration of the air-powered figures. Well, the social order was upset today, as B tried to go for the spinning palm tree. J could not have this, of course, and knocked all the figures over rather than let B get them.
I asked J what he did.
He looked up at me.
"It tripped."

So good at making parents feel bad...

Dave took some reject stickers from work a good while back, and they've been sitting on our counter with no purpose whatsoever. Until now.
During J's "nightly naked time", Dave thought it would be funny to put a couple stickers on J ("Better Value!!!"), between his shoulder-blades, where he can't reach. At first, J thought it was funny; he giggled and turned circles trying to reach the sticker. Then his scrambling became more determined. "Stuck. Stuck!"
Dave laughed, and I smiled, until his squirming stopped, he looked at us most seriously, and whispered:
"Scared."


Yes, the sticker came off immediately. Now he's claimed them as his own.

Note to self:

...just because your son has recently released a massive amount of "peepee inna potty" does not mean that the instant you set foot in the park, he won't impressively pee through his pants/underwear that you though it would be safe & fun for him to wear.
And then, of course, you'll have to deal with the miserable 1-mile walk back home.
Ugh.

*headdesk*

Dave had J on his lap while he played around with Facebook. J looked up and declared, "Mommy!"
I looked over. David wasn't on my Facebook. He was teasing my brother via my sister's page.
J pointed again at a picture of his aunt. "Issa Mommy."

A sign of things to come...

Poor J. He has very limited social interaction. He plays with me, B, and Daddy every day. A couple times a month, he plays with our friends' girls, ages 1 and 4.
Today, we were at the park, and the inevitable throng of mothers, their jogging strollers, and other children just out of school were there. J found a boy about his age (and a future football player, based on his build) and decided to try and initiate play.
This is how it went:
J *at top of steps*
FLB (future linebacker) *at bottom of steps*
J *smiles*
FLB *stares*
J *moves in front of FLB*
FLB *moves to other side*
J *moves in front of FLB again and smiles*
FLB *moves to other side, still staring blankly*
J *moves in front of FLB and giggles*
FLB *moves to other side and goes halfway up steps*
J *moves in front of FLB and giggles*
FLB *moves to other side*
J *moves in front of FLB and giggles*
FLB *moves to other side and climbs to the top of the steps*
J *steps directly in front of FLB and laughs*
FLB *edges past J, still expressionless, and runs away*

must...resist...laughter....

Dave is wearing a shirt with a screenshot from the old computer game "Oregon Trail", featuring the ox & wagon with the infamous YOU HAVE DIED OF DYSENTERY. J saw the shirt and exclaimed "car!". Dave was confused until he realized J was pointing at the wagon. Dave smiled, and pointed at the ox. "What's this?"
J replied "Daddy!"

Weird little kid...

B was asleep on the couch, and J was wandering around nakers, playing with random toys. J ran up to me suddenly: "Wipe! Wi-i-i-ipe!" Figuring he probably had a bit of an accident, I ask why he needs a wipe, and can he show me where? He just repeated, "wi-i-i-ipe!", and ran ahead of me to the bathroom. I get the requested wipe, and go over to the kitchen, where he was last playing, and see nothing.
"Where do you need a wipe? Can you show me?"
He just stands there. I hand him the wipe.
"Show me where you need it."

He takes the wipe.
"Wipe."
He holds the wipe up to his face, and takes several deep breaths.
"Min."
And then he runs away to play with a big smile on his face.
(Our wipes smell like spearmint.)