Pronunciation is key, my son.

So, I've rearranged the living room. This means that the coffee table is no longer off limits to the small one, and she is very pleased with this new situation. Unfortunately, it also means that J can no longer leave things there, like a train set (a crisis which arose approximately 3.2 seconds after completion of the rearrangement). When things calmed down, I decided to reward myself with compy time, while the children played at the one edge of the table I cannot see due to my laptop.
Suddenly J starts screaming.
"No, baby! No eat! No, don' eat it!"
I immediately jump up to extract whatever B's managed to find and attempt to swallow this time. My probing inside her mouth gets a little more frantic (and disgusted) as J continues yelling.
"No, baby. Don't eat bug!"

I feel the object in her gums, and dread pulling it out...
It's a barely identifiable white mass. Then I realize that J has retrieved the remainder of his supper, and is holding a half-eaten roll.
Apparently, in angry toddler-speak, "bug" = "bread".

Definitions

I'm starting to think that parenting is little more than rearranging boundaries, whether physical, psychological, or regulative, as the children learn enough to bypass them.

They're collaborating.

This does not bode well.

Is lying a milestone?

Well, as some of you may have heard, J has defeated doorknob locks. So, for those who are wondering: don't get this kind, with the hole in the front. Little fingers can grip the doorknob that way.

Anyway, we've been dealing with J's new obsession with opening all the doors previously forbidden to him (the front door now has a chain lock, for the record). He opens the bathroom door; he closes the bathroom door. He opens the master bedroom door; he closes the master bedroom door. Usually.
I was playing with B in the living room while J played in his room, or so I thought. I then heard the bath being filled with water, so I decided it may be prudent to go check on the boy. As I rounded the corner into the bathroom, J was, as expected, removing his clothes.
"I take a baff."
"No, it's not bath time."
"Baff!"
"No, bath time is after supper. Come on."
"No supper. Baff!"
"No, it's not bath time. Let's put your clothes back on."

I succeeded in convincing him that he did indeed want supper (pasta is pretty popular around here), and escorted him out of the bathroom. Surprisingly, B, despite her new-found skill in crawling, stayed in the living room.
"Okay, I'll go make supper. Can you close the door?"
"No close a door!"
"Close the door."
"No close it!"
"J, we can't let Baby get in here. The door needs to stay closed."
And here comes the kicker:

"Baby says door stay open!"

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.