Yesterday afternoon, the kids and I were having lunch. Chubs was sitting pleasantly in his high chair with his tray bearing a baby-buffet of chicken, pineapple and some crackers. Princess was seated directly across from him in her booster seat munching on some pizza. Her pigtails were sagging, his head was sweaty, we had all had a busy morning outside in the nice weather and it was finally time to eat and regroup before nap time.
I grabbed my favorite pineapple yogurt and some leftovers as I joined them at the table. Sitting in between both of the munchkins, I inwardly sighed as I ripped the foil lid of the yogurt. Lunch time was always an awesome time since it was the pre-cursor to the ever anticipated nap time. Plus it was always even more awesome when I had this
“ Yogurt which should be classified as a dessert” I thought to myself, eating a spoonful of the creamy amazing-ness and escaping away to a mommy-vacation via food.
Princess was chatting about how much she loved pizza and Chubs was chomping down on the pineapple, letting the juice dribbling over his fat bottom lip,down his clef chin and onto his orange polo shirt.
Normally that would have made me cringe, but with my magic yogurt and the quickly approaching naptime, I couldn’t help but think
I glanced over at Chubbers again and he smiled his wide-toothed grin with pieces of fruit smashed between his pearly whites. He chuckled at himself (he’s his biggest fan).
I smiled back at him,
“You silly man. Look at you! You’re making a mess.”
He smiled again with his eyes this time. And then he started blowing raspberries, or as we call it, “spitting”.
Tiny particles of pineapple and pineapple juice started to spew across the kitchen, towards myself, Princess and various cookbooks on my shelf.
My smile immediately turned upside down,
“No! We do not spit at the table! We eat our food…”
Princess took this as an opportunity to exercise her big sister authority,
“Chubby man, no spitting!”
He buttoned up on the spot and smiled.
I must admit, I was taken aback by how quickly he co-operated. Normally it takes at least 3 or 4 back and forth bouts of spitting/reprimanding before he chills out.
Pleasantly pleased, I turned back to my lunch and continued to eat. No sooner did I start eating again, did Chubs start blowing loaded raspberries.
This time, before I had a chance to say anything, Princess was standing on her booster seat shouting,
“Mommy said no spitting! No Chubs!”
I turned my back to Princess, facing the boy full on. He signed “again” to me, by placing one index finger in the palm of the other hand. Was he asking me if he could keep spitting? That’s odd. I shook my head and enunciated “NO” to him.
“No you can not spit again.”
As I was doing this, he stopped and his big brown eyes seemed to stare beyond me. After a moment he looked back at me with an impish grin, signed “again” and started to spit!
I started up the “no spitting” thing again, and was hearing a Princess echoing me in my instruction. Suddenly he started to pick up the pace, while signing frantically “again!”. He started spitting more, this time louder and more excitedly.
Confused, I spun around to catch Princess in mid-sign signing “again” to her brother behind my back. She stopped abruptly and looked sheepishly at me.
My eyes widened at what was happening. She was silently egging him on, while pretending to be helping me!
“What are you doing?!” I asked Princess as she started to toy with her pizza, avoiding my glare.
“Um. Is Chubs in trouble now?”
I could not believe my eyes. Or my ears. All those sign language lessons came back to bite me in the butt. At 2 1/2 Princess had already figured out the best kept secret of sibling rivalry. She actually tried to get him in trouble! By signing to him but brownnosing up to me. If I didn’t turn around, she would have totally gotten away with that.
I was impressed by her cleverness but baffled by the scenario that just took place.
“I have to call Daddy” That always my way of getting out of the situation.
“I like your diamond, Mom” She offered as I picked up the receiver.
I looked at her in disbelief.
“Are you for real? This is stuff I used to pull in middle school!”
I shook my head in confusion. I thought they grow up in stages. Like baby, toddler, kid, then teenager. Not toddler then teenager.
“Ooof.” I slumped down into the sofa and dialed Camera Guy’s number.
He picked up,
“Hi it’s me. We’re just having lunch and oh, you’re never gonna believe this one…”