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Sometimes, I sit and think about what conversations around my house would sound like to an outsider. Like, if there was a recording with only audio with no visual, what would it sound like goes down around here? For one, I’m fairly certain you would think we beat our toddler since his screaming about playing with the vacuum or having more chips sounds the exact same way it would if we were ripping off one of his limbs. Then there are all of the weird words and phrases… This weekend I had a little bit of time to jot down conversations that could often be heard around my house, since I was lying in bed with an extremely horrendous stomach flu (Thanks Truman!) Here’s what I came up with.

“Potty! Pot-TEE! I.GO.POT-TEE!”

“Oh… that’s a lot of puke.”

“Oh… that’s a lot of shit.”

“STOP! Put your arms through… put your… STOP! Put your arm in here!”

“Do NOT plug it in… no… no…NO!”

“If you Fo-Pop one more time… damn it! NO FO-POP!”

“We don’t play with our penises in the living room.”

“Dry-dry AGAIN!” (Truman calls cornstarch dry-dry. I forget to put in on when I change him sometimes, this is how he tells me I forgot it… AGAIN.)

“Mike! (pause) Mike! (pause) Mike! (pause) MIKE!”
“WHAAATTTTT??!?!?!?!?”

“Ok, put the dryer in the sink and go find your bobo.” (Truman thinks putting the blow dryer away means putting it in the bathroom sink. A bobo is a pacifier in our house.)

“Don’t touch when there’s poop on it!”

“Cocky Pits! More peeze!” (Chocolate chips = cocky pits.)

“You can have milkies (screaming) in a minute, your brother is having his turn (screaming) and then it is your (screaming) turn. (Screaming) You have to be patient.”

“Thumbkin? Foo-Foo? Bum-Bum? Spider? What song Truman, what song?” (He signals these song preferences by hand motions while nursing, or screaming “NO!” when I pick the wrong one while not nursing.)

“Coze it. Coze it ME! No ME!” (Every door, every cupboard, anything that can be opened, Truman wants to close.)

“Hi Mixer!” (The obsession with appliances continues…)

“You’re ok G, I’m coming…” (Creepy grunting and asthma-like inhaling sounds from a baby, which really means he wants to be held, not that he’s dying.)

“Dance it, dance it!”

“Gentle! Be gentle! That is NOT gentle.”

“That’s not funny, it’s mean.”

“What’s for din – ”
“Don’t you dare ask me that.”

“Sorry Honey, I can’t hear you over all the screaming.”

“A tree… a boy… eat apples.” (Truman reading The Giving Tree to Mike on Sunday. My heart pretty much exploded in my chest.)

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