The Weirdness is Still Here

I've been conversing with Tate quite a bit lately, as a mother tends to do with her child, and some of the things that come out of his mouth just blow me away. Some are cute, some are funny, some are....weird.

Today he was running around doing Very Important Things while I was getting dinner started. I kept asking him to shut the laundry room door so the baby wouldn't get in there and he kept kinda vaguely blowing me off (at two? Seriously?? I thought I had a good 5 or 6 years before the selective deafness really set in). Finally it came to this:

Me: "TATE! Please shut the door, honey! Mommy's busy!"
Tate: "OH MY GOSH! OK, SWEETHEART!"

Well, at least the love is there.

Also, this is just so....odd. Tate is obsessed with our grocery store. Or, as he calls it, "goo-see cah". Like, he wakes up in the morning and asks to go to the goo-see cah. Or he's eating lunch and in between bites asks to go to the goo-see ca. Lately he's been getting really specific and asking to go the "Festi-ba", which is Festival, the store by our house. This morning Eric was looking to get the demon out of the house for a bit and give me a break and he asked Tate if he wanted to go swimming. Tate replied he would much rather go to the goo-see cah.

This went on for quite awhile. "Tate, honey, Daddy's going to take you swimming! You can play in the fountains!" "NO! Want to go to Festi-ba! Festi-ba, please!" Pretty soon it escalated into a screaming toddler banging his heels on the floor pleading for a grocery store fix. It's like his version of crack. He needs a hit of the fruit department and deli counter at least once a week to keep the shakes away.

So, they went to Festi-ba. I needed milk anyway.

And good Lord, when that kid gets a thought in his head he latches onto it and does. not. let. go. He has this little card that came with one of his Thomas tracks that has a picture of Peter Sam on it. Peter Sam is this weird, kinda hickish train. But this is a synopsis of about a 10 minute chunk of my afternoon today.

Tate: "Mommy, I got a card! Look, there's a card in my pocket!"
Me: "Yep, cool!"
Tate: "Mommy, look! Is that a card? Yeah! It's a card! Of Peter Sam! In my pocket!"
Me: "Yeah, Peter Sam! He's pretty hot!"
Tate: "Hmmm....where's my card? Where'd it go? Oh, there it is! In my pocket! Mommy, it was in my pocket!"
Me: "Wow, that is totally amazing!"
Tate: "I have a card! Peter Sam is on my card! Do you have a card? I have a card!"
Me: "No, I don't have a card. I'd like a nice big glass of wine, though. You got that in your pocket, by chance?"

And on and on and on. It's like a broken record. He finally wandered into the other room, still chattering about that stupid Peter Sam and I was able to get a moment of peace to wait for the ringing in my ears to subside. All was good until I was in the bathroom daring to escape to pee, when there was a knock on the door and a little voice calling:

"Mommy? Did you know I have a card?"

You don't say.