Practice

Justin has a baby-doll. Well, more accurately, it's on loan. I assured Father of this when we brought it in so he wouldn't have a conniption fit. ;-) The pink stroller is also on loan. Justin enjoys them both. He likes to push the baby around in the stroller and then hand it to me to "burp."
Tonight he decided to put the baby to bed. He dragged it in the bedroom where Father and I were talking and tucked it in carefully with my shawl, murmuring to it the whole time. Then he laid his finger on its little lips and said "Shh, shh." It was adorably sweet. I suggested that he sing it a lullaby, so he cradled it in his arms and sang what he could remember of the one I usually sing him at night, which is mostly the first three notes and the word "lullaby." He'll make a good father someday.

Washing hands

Justin made up his first song this week, which he sang as we went to get his stool so that he could wash his hands (one of his new favorite pastimes, so long as Mama doesn't get involved with all that cleaning-between-the-fingers stuff). It sounded like this:
"Ool, anna ool, anna ool, ash-ash."
Translated, the lyrics are as follows:
Stool
I want a stool
I want a stool
Wash-wash!
Not bad for a first attempt. It even had something you could more or less call a tune. I was proud of him.

Justin's vocabulary is expanding. Yesterday, when I told him the names of colors on some stickers, he echoed "geen." When we were walking home from the gym I pointed out various cars and one that was "black, or possibly a dark purple, or blue--difficult to tell at this distance." He smiled his mischievous smile up at me and said "uhple!" He loves to mimic.
One of the funniest things he likes to mimic is Mama tickling him. He will wiggle his fingers on his chest, grin widely, and say "gickle-gickle-gickle!" When I pretend to be a monster and say "rar, rar!" he will roar back at me and then charge me, hands held high and expecting to be picked up, swung around, and tickled some more. When he wants to be cuddled sometimes he does it without prompting. Sometimes he just comes and gives me a hug, or leans up against me, like he did when I was cleaning the tub today and prior experience told him my arms were temporarily unavailable. He's a very sweet baby.
We had the repairmen out today to fix some lights that have been crashing from the ceiling at random intervals, and Justin was fascinated with their work. He watched them and talked to them quite incessantly about the "dight" they were fixing. I just had to chase him away from the fiberglass and screws!

Christmas Tree

We decorated the Christmas tree after Justin was in bed one night. He's liked it since we put it up, but did pretty well with not touching it. The ornaments, however, are another matter. Being a big sister taught me to hang breakables well over baby reach height, but we have some adorable little wooden ornaments a sister of mine gave me that I hung all over the tree. Justin found them irresistible. No matter how many times I explained that the tree and ornaments were not to be touched, I'd walk back in the room five minutes later to find him holding wooden ornaments in his chubby little hands. Upon seeing me he would walk quickly towards me and hold out the ornaments, saying earnestly, "Uh-oh! Uh-oh!" It's so hard not to laugh while disciplining toddlers!
The funny part is that, while for the sake of consistency and future trees and keeping him away from the lights and all that I have to ban touching the tree, I don't care very much. The wooden ornaments are sturdy enough for his cautious examinations. The whole battle is keeping him distracted from the real issue, the stockings. Their hangers are heavy and sturdy to support full stockings, but they're heavy enough that they could hurt him if he pulled them down. I was watching him carefully, ready to pack them up and find some other way to hang stockings at the first tug. But he hasn't touched the stockings. He's too busy stealing Christmas tree ornaments. And he's such a creature of habit that between those and his singing Frosty, I don't think it's going to occur to him to get into the real trouble. I love diversions.

Our Church has an anologion, a formal chant stand. For those of you who've never seen one, I'll describe ours. Imagine taking the part of a music stand that holds music, and putting four of those back to back, leaning in, so that they form a pyramid shape. Then put the whole thing swiveling on top of a hollow column where you can store books, and you've got the basic idea. Ours has a hexagonal column and, since we only got it about six or eight months ago, nothing in it as yet. We have an adequate bookshelf so it's mostly empty. Its emptiness is probably encouraged by the fact that Justin likes to climb inside. It's a good little nook and he likes tight places. He's been fond of the chant stand since it arrived--he used to use it to hold on and walk before he was comfortable walking on his own, and he likes to climb inside, pull the door closed, and then kick it open. As he's gotten stronger, this has presented something of an issue. He can kick it hard enough, now, that it flies open and rebounds.
I tried to stop him doing that because I was concerned that it might put stress on the hinges, but it is very difficult to stop a toddler from doing something in a situation where he really can't make any noise and neither can you. Discipline at the chant stand is a tricky business. And while Justin is pretty obedient about avoiding things he's told are no-nos right out of the box, as it were, he's very stubborn about relinquishing toys or activities that have always been allowed and are suddenly forbidden as he gets too strong or mobile or whatever for it to be safe anymore.
This morning he broke the chant stand. He climbed inside as usual, insisted on having the door closed (since it's carved ornately he will put his little fingers through the carving and pull it closed if you refuse to close it for him) and then, after a few minutes, kicked it open as usual. Only this time the door went flying. It being an Orthodox Church, nothing happened. Father continued chanting and the two or three parishioners there for a weekday mid-morning service heard the crash but tried to ignore it. I picked up the door and put it out of the way, and the service went on. I had a look at it later and it should be an easy repair--the nails just came out. It needs a hammer and some wood glue and it'll be fine. The thing was built sturdily enough but it wasn't intended to take a toddler repeatedly kicking the door open. I guess I really have to teach him not to now.

Snuggles

Justin is a very snuggly toddler, a marked improvement from his babyhood. When he was six months old I used to envy all the other parents in Church with babies snuggled into their shoulders, arms draped affectionately round their necks. Justin's reaction to all this was confusion. Until the moment when his eyes defied his final struggles and closed, he was wide-eyed, head up, checking out the world.
I don't think age has produced the change, though. I think it's weaning. Nursing, of course, provided consistent, built-in snuggle time--several hours a day when he was little, not to mention most if not all of the night. And now that he's all but weaned he usually responds favorably to requests for hugs and kisses. He likes to cuddle when he's tired or when he's hurt, and sometimes in the morning when he wakes up he'll get in our bed, snuggle up with us and go back to sleep. Father and I are both snuggly people so we're glad our son is too. It's making it easier on me to wean him, which definitely has its emotional challenges.
To try to compensate for the fact that nursing will soon be entirely absent from his life, I've started rocking (something else he didn't use to like) and singing to him just before bedtime--and naptime if I can manage it. Today I was patting his back and he started patting my arm. When I put him into his crib and lean down for one last hug sometimes he grabs my head and holds me there. I love baby snuggles.

Yesterday, after Justin's nap and while Papa was still at Church, Justin and I sat down to wrap presents. Or rather, I sat and he stood. He rolled (and wrinkled) wrapping paper, played with ribbons, considered swiping the scissors, and systematically crushed a small gold bow I gave him to prevent him from crushing all the others. A good time was had by all.
But I got hungry, so I put some muffins in the oven. When the twenty-minute timer went, I checked them. Predictably, they had some browning to do, but they were cooked all the way through, so I took one out as a snack to tide me over. This, however, caused an imbalance in the snack force, previously neatly tied with mozzarella sticks and grapes for Justin and smoked gouda and grapes for me. Justin wanted some of my muffin.
"No," I told him, "It's hot."
He insisted.
"But it's hot."
He pointed at the muffin and requested some emphatically.
"Fine," I said, "but be careful; it's hot."
I tore off a small piece and gave it to him. "Hot," I warned again.
Usually he handles a piece of food for a minute and then realizes it's too warm for him, sets it down somewhere and comes back later. But this one popped straight into his open mouth. It stayed open. His eyes widened. For a second he tried to breathe around it. Then he began to cry.
"I told you it was hot!" I pleaded.
"Waaah!" said Justin, and spit out the muffin on the carpet.
I picked it up and put it in his bowl. He hadn't chewed it at all. When it cooled down, it would be fine. Five minutes later, the timer on the oven went off and I went to get the muffins out. I was still hungry so I got myself another one and came back to the present-wrapping. Justin asked for some.
"But it's hot!" I protested. "Eat yours!"
Justin explained the situation patiently. That one was hot; he had tried it. He wanted some of mine. I saw his point, but I refused to share. Eventually, he ate his muffin.