Hot Doug's

Nicole and I were tossing around the idea of going down to Hot Doug's, since Uncle John and Aunt Sam have always raved about them. On Saturday, they have "duck-fat fries" and their daily specials usually include sausage made out of all sorts of game.

Today's menu, for example, includes sausage made of alligator, sausage made of lamb, sausage stuffed with bacon, and so on.

I was telling Gamble that we were thinking about going to a place that served all kinds of sausages, made out of about any animal he could think of eating.

"Okay," he said, "How about giraffe?"

"Touche," I thought.

Lives for Snack Time

Of all the little things that Gamble does to get on our nerves daily (he is four, and that seems to be his job), perhaps the worst for me is the holy time of eight o'clock, when Gamble receives his much desired snack.

I don't know exactly how it happened. Snack time has become the meal between dinner and bedtime, though much closer to bedtime than dinner, and it's become an entitlement. Possibly because he was such a good boy for so long that it was hard to refuse a healthy request later at night. Perhaps because he's four years old and his 2T pants still look gangsta hanging off his waist.

Note, just because we call it snack time, doesn't mean that it's junk food. Most nights he settles for a yogurt or a half a can of pears, but there are rare nights when he receives a treat during the day and knows that if he's good all day, he'll get to have something really yummy before brushing his teeth and heading off to read in bed.

But he nags. As soon as he's done with dinner (could be as early as 5:30), he's asking whether it's eight o'clock. He can tell some times, and if he really thinks about it, and it's on a common half hour, he won't need to ask. But he doesn't have a concept like "how much longer" in his mind, so he asks.

And asks.

And asks. Sometimes as frequently as every five minutes. The other night, he was warned that he would be told when snack time was and continued to question so persistently that his special snack was taken away in favor of something else (he was asked to choose a different snack).

I think the Taco Bell commercials are affecting him.

Rolling

Not only is Random babbling. She's rolling and scooting. Put her on the floor, and she's figured out that she can continuously roll in one direction to get farther.

On the other hand, this morning, she was crawling backwards in a straight line. "Look, Nic!" I said. "She's receding!"

First Words

Random's been babbling a lot less randomly these days. Very purposeful sounds.

And Saturday?

"Ma ma ma ma ma."

Over and over. All day. Mama mama mama.

Mama mia. Those who didn't see it coming, raise your hands. Right. No one.

The Shortest Distance From Type A to Type B is Random

She used to sit and smile so complacently.

Now she flails around wildly. Not unhappily, mind, but in a crazed, I'm-a-party-girl sort of way.

No, not Nicole. Well, not right this minute anyway.

It seems our cute little Type B has begun to learn the ways of her environment and appears to be taking pages from the First Letter of Gamble to the Party-On-ians (no, not the party-onions; they're way too small).

She's nuts; she's wild; she's boogie fever on crack. Nicole said that she doesn't want to cuddle anymore in the morning, and will only settle down if Nicole lets her lay on our bed without touching her. Not only do I know how she feels, I think I'll look a bit askance at her the next time she suggests that it's only Gamble and I that are cut from the same cloth.

All this energy just in time for Nicole to stay home with them full time. This has Reality TV written all over it.

Blankets Have Birthdays

Unbeknownst to us, blankets have birthdays, and although only Aunt Masha is qualified to give us any kind of reasonable date, Gamble announced that "Greenie" and "Blue-ie" not only have the same birthday, but that said birthday was last week.

On the same day as one of his classmates.

This sort of weirdness is daily with him. It's only really recently that Greenie and Blooey (as I think of it being spelled, kind of like "Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie") have become first class citizens of planet Gamble, up there on par with the immortal Poole and the transforming Kim.

He occasionally will jump up, run out of the room, and get both his blankets from wherever they were. "They were crying," he'll explain without ceremony.

He'll occasionally talk to them, kiss them, etc.

Does he just need more attention?

Articulate

You can hear it coming.

She's trying to get words out. It seemed to happen overnight. I don't see her as much, but Nicole said Random's been babbling real syllables for a couple days now. It's absolutely amazing to hear, and music to my ears.

For example, tonight she said, "Dadoo-gliarma". See? See?

She said, "Dadoo? Grab me in your arms-a."