Kid Quirks: Dirty Old Men and Pwetty Dwesses

Kid quirks seem to be as unique as DNA. Hubs and I busted many a gut over the Hot Tamales pre-verbal gargle. It was a hyper-fast hybrid of Mandarin and Urdu with complicated tongue rolls and authentic inflection. We Craig's List-searched in vain for a translator and never could locate someone qualified enough to interpret. SkippyDon is a different story at her googley-gargle age.

He belts out laughter, dirty-old-man style. All he needs is a cigar hanging out of his mouth.

SkippyDon inherited his daddy's bass octaves with a raspy twang. It's delicious and adds to the overabundance of charm he already unabashedly flaunts. It starts when he cracks himself up (usually at the start of a heated peekaboo game) and grows into a full Wizard of Oz Lion guffaw. Get him going in a public place and watch the women and children either flee from that surely-sinister sound or shower him with kisses. Apparently SkippyDon's Sunday school was a blast last week. It's embarrassing and perfect all at once. Baby Huey better watch his back.

As deliciously peculiar and seasoned as his laugh is, Hot Tamale's fashion sense rivals a close second.

Only "pwetty dwesses, Mommy" with a scolding don't-even-try-the-shorts-and-t-shirt-today glare. Before Grimaldo Garage Sale Extravaganza I sheared every last pant, short and "regular" shirt from the closet. She now has only dwesses, tights and fashionably acceptable shoes. And she's also taken the reigns as my personal clothing assistant. Pretty hearts are more important to Jesus than pretty clothes, my broken record repeats.

I've even surrendered the "give the kid two options from which to choose Love and Logic approach". Just let her pick it out and forgo a morning battle. She does a better job than I do anyway.

Among some of my other favorite Hot Tamale quirks:

• The order of bedtime. She's a total Nazi about it. "Weave cwoset wight on, wead two stowies, sing a song and pway, Mommy." Go out of order or omit at your own peril.
• Climbing in the car on SkippyDon's side.
• Watching the Leap Frog Karaoke videos about Meg, Og, Izzy, Gus, and Al. If I ever attempt suicide, full blame rests with Leap Frog. I don't give a fiddler's toot about her learning to read if I have to endure another video.
• Singing at the tip top of her lungs during library story time. Hot Tamale is a natural ABC diva.
• Her wickedly awesome awareness of every object in the house. I never need to look for my keys again, girl already knows where they are.

The singularity of a fingerprint seems so boring compared to these unique traits. I'll end with an apt quote by the infamous Dr. Seuss:

"Today you are YOU, that is truer than true.

There is no one alive who is YOU-er than you."

Round Three! Ding ding!

Oh yes, yes! This is not the result of dark chocolate indulgence. Unless chocolate can sprout appendages and a heartbeat...more likely, this is Baby 3G--the newest download on the block! Babies are just super fun to make. That (mainly) and the fact that we want to put people on the planet that we like leaves us with only one glorious pooping-crying-smiling-tantrum throwing option. Three cherubs under three-years-old.

The Hot Tamale is absolutely thrilled. "Baby's gotta cook. Not induh oven!" she'll tell you in two shakes of a Pug tail. SkippyDon Juan is just looking for the next meal, so he's not quite as impressed. This new little one appears to be growing steadily and wreaked plenty of havoc on my hormones during the first tri to let me know she's present and nearly accounted for. I'm pretty sure she's a she too.

We've had an interesting reversal during the last few weeks. Our Hot Tamales, spicy though she still is, has become such a lover. My favorite phrases from her just this week:

• Daddy, thank you for pwoviding for us.
• Aaron needs to go to his room to calm down.
• Mommy, how's your day?
• Need anyfing else? (after fetching toilet paper for me)
• Mommy, I need to wear a pwetty dwess. Please, Mama? Wif pink tights and shoes?

She's not your kid, so you probably don't care or see just how magical it is for tiny tots to develop a voice. If you knew just how special this was, you'd zoom over here with a camcorder right now. I'm so in awe that I'm going to slap a "My kid can talk" bumper sticker on the Yukon.

While she's becoming quite the hostess, SkippyDon Juan has started to throw epic tantrums. Oscar-worthy, hilarious and hideous blow-outs. Here's how you can have one too:

1. Start bouncing up and down rapidly while whining in a crescendo.
2. Drop to the knees with a loud shout.
3. Fall face down in an all-out cry.
4. Bang head on ground a.) in hard repetitive motions on a carpeted surface; or b.) just once very lightly on tile, making sure onlookers see you do it.
5. Roll over on back to observe reaction.
6. Repeat steps 3-5 as needed.

Don't even fall for those big brown peepers. He's stellar and I'm hiring him as head instructor for the next class of toddler enrollees. Just $289 for an entire semester.

SkippyDon is still a joyous little love (and enjoys the heck out of his new sport Sister Tackling) but his second year of life has been quite a test so far. My sweet guy: the car seat is not demon-possessed. Please embrace the buckle and enjoy the ride. He'll really appreciate having somebody younger to vent with, or on, or both.

Until August, it will still be the four of us, learning our letter sounds and how to sing the entire Wicked album.