The Cutometer
Once again, Isaac has been bending the needle on the cute-o-meter. His most recent expression is when you ask him something he agrees with, he replies in a sing songy voice "Oh, YES!"

I'm sure he picked that up from somewhere.

Also, this morning at breakfast while eating a fried egg on toast, his Mom remarked that he was eating quite well. He replied "I am devouring it, mom. I'm the toast and egg devourer."

Noelle turned to me and said "That's YOUR fault." Guilty as charged.

He also has this new thing he does which involves someone needing to play with him every waking second. He has always wanted to be played with, but now I get home, and as I'm emptying my pockets by the back door (putting my wallet and keys away) a little blue eyed cherub looks up at me and says "Will you be the dinosaur?"

He of course has a dinosoar puppet (courtesy of Great Gradmother Clara) that is one of his favourite toys. Why? Because when it's on daddy's hand, it talks back, and he can of course rescue it. Because most days he's Super Boy, and has a powerful rescue scooter he goes on to rescue various animals that get trapped on high cliffs (propped up on the back of the couch), have fallen into wells (dropped down the side of the couch) or are trapped in caves (tossed under the Ikea chair).

There's a great Tommy Tiernan routine he does (it's on you tube) about his 3 year old boy who has "totally abandoned reality in favour of his own imagination." That pretty much sums Isaac up. Unfortunately, in our house, the job of being the Dinosaur, Chicken, Luigi (the stuffed dog, more later), Eyore, or any number of other animals falls to - you guessed it.

Don't get the wrong idea, Noelle plays with him all the time, but true to form, their playing is more...well...practical. They bake, or do crafts, or play at the park, or whatever. And she is the Dinosoar sometimes too, but for the most part, it's daddy making an idiot out of himself.

So Luigi. A long time ago (ok, about 6 months) Isaac handed me yet another in a string of seemingly endless stuffed toys, and said, like he always does "you be the dog." He is nothing, if not assertive. So I picked up the dog, and was frankly sick to death of the high pitched sing song voice one normally does when pretending to be an animal while playing with a toddler.

So I said, "Hey-a little-a boyo. Howzabouta nice-a calzone." And Luigi stuck. Now I realize this is not the most politically correct playtime ever, but it seems to work. Luigi is a little black and brown dog who ALWAYS wants Calzone, and for the most part gets dog food, and the occasional slice of Pizza. Life is hard. Luigi is also very old, so I get to do the usual "when i was-a your-a age, things were-a deeferent."

I have to amuse myself somehow, no?

Of course, Noelle has her work cut out for her too. What seems ages ago now, after I had read Isaac his two stories, and Noelle took him upstairs to sing him quietly to sleep (yes, that's my fault too. I started singing to him when he was very little, and now he insists on some kind of singing many nights to fall asleep), and he looked up at her with big blue eyes and said, "Tell me a story."

Now Noelle didn't have one handy, so she made on up on the spot, about Oopik. Oopik for those of you who weren't a Canadian kid in the 70's, was a little toy, kind of like a bird, that lived in the arctic. I never had one, but had friends who did. So Noelle told Isaac a story about Oopik, and his friend the very nondescript "little boy", who came up to visit him.

Since then, they have added Walter the sled dog, the Snow geese that transport the little boy back and forth to Oopik's igloo (suspended on a blanket that they hold the corners of in their beaks), the Post Office Lady (the only adult in the stories, who also helps Oopik write letters to the little boy), and a few others.

I have (on the two occaisions I have been called upon to tell these stories) also introduced Nanuq the polar bear, and Harry the harp seal, but I don't think they've stuck.

The kicker came about two months ago, when after Noelle told him what should have been a Caldecott winning Oopik story, he looks up (with requisite big blue eyes) and says "Sing me an Oopik song." That, Noelle decides, is daddy's job.

So up I go, frantically composing in my head as I go, and I sing a version of "Lord of the Dance" with Oopik lyrics revolving around dancing with the Northern Lights.

I know I often comment on how little a hold this kid has on reality, but after writing all this, I realize that we are mostly to blame. We feed it!

Not that it's likely to stop. It's too much fun, and besides, Luigi would get lonely.