Word of the Day: Bay-buh

Oliver's vocabulary is expanding -- and ever changing. I started this post a couple weeks ago when his most-identifiable word was "Bay-Buh," meaning bagel, which he wanted for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But, alas, time has passed since then and he's not nearly as obsessed. The bay-buh is definitely still one of the favorite food groups, though, and we make sure to always have some on hand.

He doesn't vocalize the Cinnamon Raisin part, but that is undoubtedly his preferred flavor. He didn't go for the blueberry I bought last week in a pinch. He does know, though, that they are kept on top of the fridge and points and grunts in that direction often. I know he shouldn't have them for every meal, but I usually give in if he's already eaten some semblance of protein or fruits/veggies. For awhile there, I thought he might turn into a bagel.

I still feel like he's on the verge of adding a bunch of new words to his vocabulary, but for now, there is still a lot of babbling and mamama and dadada with multiple and varied meanings therein. I'd blog about more of them, but some are just too difficult to map out phonetically, especially his other favorite food: CHEESE! (In this case, he is the product of his parents genetic make-up and predisposed to a love of cheese. Although, I suppose nurture plays a role, too, since we always have cheese around.)

Oliver's word for cheese is kind of a chhhh sound, but made by holding the teeth in clenched position and loosly pushing air through on either side of the tongue. It's a very difficult thing to depict phonetically -- kind of like letting the air out of a tire-sound, but just kind of -- and I have yet to be on-the-ball with the video camera. I have yet to give up either. I probably just need to set him up. Me with the camera. Daddy slowly opening the fridge to show Oliver the inside of the door where we keep the good stuff -- Processed American Cheese slices -- YUM!

Nature vs. Nurture: Baseball

It’s a pretty common question I ask myself. How much of Oliver is just Oliver plain-and-simple – a 15-month-old little boy – and how much is he a product of his environment? That age-old question of nature vs. nurture.

On Saturday, on our second of three trips to Target of the weekend (pathetic, I know), I thought his behavior spoke loudly and affirmatively “Nature. I am who I am, regardless of experience.”

I had my back turned, deliberating the all-consuming question of what kind of outdoor trash receptacle we should buy, and when I turned back around, he was reaching for a wiffle ball and bat with all the grunting and whining of a little boy wanting a piece of sports equipment. So, of course, Daddy gave it to him.

At this point, I tried to deconstruct where he was getting this desire for the ball and bat. I mean, Eric and I could not be less interested in sports (with the exception of the tangentially related beer drinking). Then I was thinking that he might have seen our neighbor coaching his daughter in tee-ball earlier in the day (talk about forcing the nuture-factor), but it was also unlikely since they were down in the yard and we were busy up on our deck above. Or maybe he caught a glimpse of the Cubs on TV somewhere, also extremely unlikely since we don’t watch much TV and almost never sports. But ultimately, I concluded that he’s a boy and a love of sports must be innate.

I was excited to get the new toy home, to open it and let him play with ball and bat separately. I was especially curious to see him play since he hadn’t been overly interested in the balls I bought him from the going-out-of-business sale at Right Start earlier in the week (Tip: 30% off over-priced is simply regular-priced, not a steal by any stretch of the imagination. I’m such a sucker for a sale.)

However, in the interest of passing time and staying out of the house (where he otherrwise seems to get into more trouble than anywhere else), we hung out at Target a bit longer and let The Monk hold on to his prize.

Instead of swinging it around with a hey-batter-batter-hey or begging to have the package opened, as one might expect regarding a new toy, he insisted on pushing it around the store, holding it out in front of himself with the ball end down, and pushing it down the aisle, under the counters, into corners – using the plastic-packaged ball much like a janitor scraping gum off the floor. And really, really enjoying it all the while (as evidenced by this action shot below).

Against my better judgment, I tried to show him how to swing it, but again, he wasn’t interested in that use at all. He just kept pushing that thing around like a vacuum cleaner (also, unlikely as a learned behavior since I never vacuum myself). And he wouldn’t let me have it back. And he wouldn’t get back in the cart. And he wouldn’t follow us toward the check out. He just kept pushing in all directions and groaning (his focus mantra) and babbling (his joyful mantra). So needless to say, it was a long exit out of Target on that particular trip.

In any case, he has had as much joy from the thing at home as at the store and has not shown an ounce of interest in removing the packaging from around the ball. It’s really quite fun to watch. Next innovation will be somehow attaching a mop to the end of that thing so he can clean his own smooshed bananas from the floor.