Jellybean is pretty advanced, physically. She walked at 10.5 months, she dances and stomps her feet, she walks backwards for fun, and she RUNS. A lot.

But what she doesn’t do, much, is talk. She’s communicative, all right, but real words are slower for her than they were for her big sister, Monkey. She’s got mama, dada, bye, and a mangled approximation of kitty-cat. But that’s kind of it. Not so bad that we’re going to put her in speech therapy, but it’s definitely something I think about. (that damn mommy brain, I can’t turn it off!!)

Which is why, last night, I was thrilled to see her pull out the age-old favorite, “no.”

I know. I know. I’m going to rue the day she learned that word.

Still, last night it was a hoot.

Jellybean was (once again!) being naughty and fiddling with the electronics. I came around the corner and busted her taking the Xbox controller out of the cabinet, and firmly said “NO” to her. She jumped, tossed the controller in the direction of the cat (like hey man, I was just carrying it for a friend….), and ran to the couch on the other side of the room. You know, so she could pretend that she definitely, certainly, one hundred percent for sure was NOT just busted. No way.

Once there, she casually leaned against the couch, furrowed her brow, raised her hand with her index finder outstretched, and with a firm tone of voice shook that finger at me as she said “MO.” Twice. Like in case I missed the first time she scolded me.

I about fell over laughing. Funny kid. She hasn’t mastered the “n” sound, but boy can she do a spot-on impression of me!

Would you post bail?

Jellybean is a tiny little thing, but BIG on personality.

Lately, she's been testing boundaries. Repeatedly she does something she knows she's not supposed to, and when you catch her in it, she'll literally either jump away, or toss the offending item away from her....if she could figure out how to finger her sister, or blame the cat, oh - she would! Busting her is funny, but it can go on all.day.long.

This is the stage of life during which my friend called her son a velociraptor, since he was 'testing the boundaries' to see which fence wasn't electrified.*

She isn't verbal yet, but she sure is communicative. You know exactly what she wants or doesn't want to do...and lately, it's a lot of things she doesn't want to do. Not because the activity is, in itself, offensive, it's just that she's being.....opinionated. Wants to control her own destiny. Head strong. Stubborn.

As M said to me the other night in his pre-sleep fugue state, Jellybean's going to be the kid that gets us called down to the precinct at 2am.

Let's just say I was knocking on wood......


*I was going to say bonus points for anyone that got this reference, but since there are only two recent movies about dinosaurs that are decent, gah, you all got it. So, yeah, never mind.

Scrap Heap

For a long time, Monkey's been into Robots. Robot pajamas, robot books, robot flashcards, robot movies....and robot artwork. Anything about robots, she loved.

Now, alas, I fear they've been scrapped for the almighty PRINCESS obsession. (I confess, I like robots better. But it's not about me.)

A few years back I found this awesome robot print off of Etsy. It's cool. And it's hung with place of pride in Monkey's room ever since she moved into the Big Girl Room. (It was also in her nursery....)

Until about a week ago.

Monkey asked me to take it down. Even insisting that I remove the nail from the wall - as if she knew I might sneak back in, once she was asleep, to rehang the offending piece of artwork. (wha...me? crap, my kid knows me too well already!)

When I asked her why, she told me it was because it was "looking at her all night."

When M asked the same question, a few days after I took it down, he got the exact same answer. Only, he asked how she knew that at night, the robot didn't close its eyes?

Monkey gave him a look, and said, " because it's not REAL, daddy...." The funny part was that you could literally HEAR her eyeballs rolling around as she told him this.....

Digital native

These days, there is a lot of talk about digital natives versus digital immigrants. As in, those that are born to it versus those that learn later in life. I am a digital immigrant. I only got a phone (and data plan) that could handle texting in any quantity because that's how my babysitters communicate. Now that I text I confess I really like it. But I had to be convinced.

Monkey and Jellybean, on the other hand, are bound to view texting as downright archaic by the time they demand their own phones: they are growing up with this technology and will never realize that life didn't always exist this way.

Kind of like when my mom would tell me the story of what a big deal it was when the first family in her neighborhood got a color TV. I was flabbergasted that TV had ever even existed in black and white! And somehow, putting a man on the moon always seemed like something that - of course! - we could do. Mind you I was born less than six months after that event...but to me, life had always been that way.

Jellybean is funny. Her temper tantrums in public almost always involve me denying her access to my phone or blackberry. When we were in DC back in December, we let her play with the DVD remote at the hotel because it didn't matter if she turned it on or off, it wasn't like the whole system would turn on (versus here, where we have one godwand with ALL the devices programmed into it). And even at one year of age, she'd hit a button, then turn and look at the TV expectantly...she knows how remotes work. (god I can hear myself now....Jellybean, I had to walk up hill both ways when I was a kid, and I even had to (the horrors!) get off my tush and go to the TV to change channels, can you believe it? Also, I had dinosaurs as pets, since I'm that old....)

Jellybean's love of all things electronic includes a blossoming love affair with the humidifier in our room. Even when we latch the door in a semi-closed position, she'll wiggle in between the door and the jamb, barely eeking through, so that she can go turn the humidifier on, then off, then on, then off....it's love, I tell you. In fact, anything that she can turn off or on is adored. And some toys? They're getting left behind....alas, no battery or electricity required.

Microeconomics

Monkey is really really REALLLLLY into princesses these days. And, while I certainly didn’t start this obsession (I’ve no clue what the Disney Princesses names are, except Cinderella. And is Snow White a princess or what? It’s rather confusing to me….someone pass me my toolbelt, I want to go tinker and fix something…) I haven’t quashed it, either. If she wants to be a princess, then so be it. It’s better than wanting to be a reality TV star, right? Right. Ha. (and for the record? The first person that lets her watch a reality TV show is excommunicated. No joke. That crap’ll shrivel your brain.)

Most of the time, this princess obsession leads to silly conversations about magic wands, and the wearing of twirly dresses and sparkly shoes. No problem!

Unfortunately, sometimes the princess obsession leads us into rather………..um………..interesting conversations.

For example, the other morning Monkey announced to me that since she was a princess, she “NEEDED” a castle. Not sure what prompted that, but I immediately put down the NYTimes Real Estate Section (ooh, busted) and addressed her “need.”

I attempted to gently explain that since castles are rare, they’re hard to find and even harder to buy. Monkey wasn’t having it.

“But I NEED one mom, I’m a PRINCESS.”

Guess my microeconomics lesson on scarcity isn’t working.