Owen's Quarterly Update {2 and 3/4} - Ice Cream Off Paper Plates

My boy is nearly three years old. How is that possible?? The months fly by with Owen. He keeps our days very full; he’s a busy boy. I simultaneously love writing about Owen and hate it because there’s just too much to say about him.

So let’s not waste time with a lengthy intro. Without further ado, here’s what Little O has been up to for the past three months.

Owen learned his full name and he loves to drop it. Every time someone says “What’s your name?”, Owen immediately responds “I’m Owenmartinkopp,” saying his first, middle and last names all together as one word. When we were at a children’s museum a couple months ago, there was a horse on display named Buttercup. Upon hearing the name Buttercup, Owen said “Oh, I’m Owen Cup!” I almost died. Owen thought he had the same last name as Buttercup. How cute is that?

Owen has strange (sometimes worrisome) ways of showing affection. When he’s in a loving mood, he likes to give “bellies.” A “belly” is hugging with bare tummies touching. It can be a little awkward, especially when he wants a “belly” while under a blanket and whispers in your ear. Adding to the creepy factor, the other day he walked in on me while I was getting dressed, saw me in my underwear and said “Mommy, you’re wearing blue underwear. They are beautiful. I love them.” Shit. My kid has an Oedipus complex and he’s only 2.

Along with rubbing bare bellies and admiring underwear, Owen is still obsessed with his package. Recently he took his toy sword and shoved it in his pants, with the sword sticking out directly in front of him. Then he took off running around the house calling it his “penis sword.” He even hung a small toy box by the handle from his “penis sword” to test its strength. Owen expresses a great deal of concern and sympathy for me since I am not blessed with a penis. When he dances, he turns his hips and thrusts out his crotch and says “I’m swinging my penis!” Then he looks at me critically and says “You can’t swing a penis so you can’t dance very well. I’m sorry, Mommy.” Geesh. I don’t get equal pay and I don’t have a penis to swing. Who knew female oppression was possible from an almost 3 year old? Guess I should give up on dancing and stick to cooking dinner and folding laundry.

The hurtful comments regarding my lack of a penis are only one example of Owen’s many zingers. Here are a few more that he’s thrown at me:

“What’s the BIG IDEA?” (quoted directly from Donald Duck, that little annoying a-hole)
Testing my patience levels, Owen does something to agitate me purposefully and then agitates me further by shrewdly saying “NOW do you have any patience left, Mommy?”
“GO squeeze out a POOP!” (which is basically the 2-year-old boy version of “go f**k yourself”)
Almost everything I suggest is met with a vehement “NO WAY.”
He likes to tell me I’m wrong. He’ll even set me up for failure. For example, he’ll point at a picture and innocently ask me what it is. I respond “It’s a frog.” Then Owen immediately and joyfully corrects me, “NO, it is NOT. It’s a toad.” (and, dammit, he’s always right)
“That’s DISGUSTING.” (usually said when he sees his dinner plate)
When I tell him no, he mimics my angry parent face and yells “You’re making me go bughouse!”

Sometimes he can be sweet though, mostly when he wants to butter me up. When he asks for something and I give it to him, he says “You’re my favorite girl! You’re my best. I love you, Mommy.” He knows I’m a complete sucker for the sweet talk. When I build a “castle” with Owen’s blocks, he gives encouragement: “I’m proud of you, Mommy. You’re a good girl.” When we pretend to hide from “monsters” under a blanket, Owen whispers, “We’re having fun, aren’t we?” And even though my hair is getting frizzy from the blanket and it’s hotter than Hades under there and Owen’s hands are all over my face and Lord only knows where his hands have been, I have to agree with my little guy — we have fun together.

Owen’s memory continues to astound me. He recounts events that happened over 6 months ago in great detail. He doesn’t sit still very well for story time, yet he somehow manages to absorb the words and memorize the pages. “Little Blue Truck” remains one of his favorites and he inserts quotes from the book into conversation. For example, we recently got a flat tire and when Owen retold the story he said our van “got stuck in muck and mire,” just like the Little Blue Truck.

Owen is such a typical boy. His pretend games usually involve monsters, dragons, pirates or tigers. He acts like he hears something and says “Is that a lion? It’s coming to get us! Let me go check.” He’s constantly rescuing and saving me with his toy helicopter and fire truck. And despite being awful at it, he loves to play hide and seek. Usually, as soon as I close my eyes and start to count, Owen announces “OK, I’m going to go hide behind the rocking chair!” Either Owen doesn’t understand the concept of the game or he thinks I’m incredibly stupid.

Owen is rarely afraid and ready for any adventure. He sled down a steep hill by himself for the first time and the first words out of his mouth were “I wanna do it again!” He sees airplanes in the sky and remarks that he wishes he could fly up there. Clearly he did not inherit my many fears. (Seriously, I went sledding down that hill one time and nearly pissed my pants.)

His energy levels match his adventurous spirit. Owen does not crash. Ever. This kid just keeps going and going. He likes to get our dog excited and then basically all hell breaks loose in our house. Owen recently asked me why I was rubbing my eyes. I explained that I was tired. Owen thought about this for a moment and then said “My eyes are not tired.” (No shit, kid. I’m pretty sure my eyes are tired because yours aren’t.)

Perhaps the biggest change over the past few months has been Owen’s appetite. Owen used to eat barely anything yet when we visited the doctor for his check up at 2 and a half, she told us that Owen was gaining weight and we might need to monitor it. And then ever since that appointment, Owen has been ravenous. He suddenly started to say “I’m hungry!” which he never did before. While eating chicken, he says “Hmmmmm, this is DEEElicious! In my tum-tum-tummy.” When we were taking a walk in our neighborhood on a nice day, Owen smelled food grilling and said “Something smells really good. It must be a hot dog.” Another testament to his newfound gluttony — the other day as he was shoveling ice cream in his face he said “Candy corn are my favorite. This is too.” At least he has the same taste as his mamma.

In addition to his new interest in eating, he started to watch television (thank god). He can actually sit through a movie. Mostly he half-pays attention to the TV as he plays with his toys. But occasionally I find him standing very close to the TV, mouth gaping open as he stares at a cartoon.

Here are a few more highlights from the last three months:

Owen might be the most talkative child ever. If he’s awake, he’s talking. Loudly. As someone who has to live with Owen, I can confirm that silence IS golden.
About a month ago, one of our cars broke down. Seeing my upset face, Owen reassured me: “It’s okay, Mommy. We’ll go to Target and get a new car.”
Lately whenever we’re in the van, Owen asks “Are we there?” every time I brake. This means I get asked this question approximately 1000 times during every car ride.
Whenever I smell a fart or poop, Owen likes to blame the dog. He insists “I’m not pooping. My butt’s NOT stinking.”
Owen is a strange kid. He’ll spend 10 minutes (a long time for Owen) intently picking dirt out from between his toes. One day he randomly said to Richard “Daddy, get inside my butthole.”
Bedtime rituals are as interesting as you might think with Owen. As soon as I mention going upstairs to bed, Owen says “Who’s gonna come if I take a nap?” Apparently he thinks he’ll get a visitor every time he sleeps since I used to bribe him by telling him Nana would come over if he stayed in bed. Owen demands milk at bedtime and also insists that I leave his bedroom door open (which might be because I told him a few times that the boogie man would get him if he got out of bed).
When he wakes up in the morning, Owen silently enters our bedroom. I stir from my sleep, sensing a presence over me. When I open my eyes at 5:45am, there’s my creepy son staring at me. Then he energetically says “The sun is up! I want to go downstairs and play.” FML.
Owen finally understands that selfies are cell phone pictures. But he doesn’t comprehend selfies completely, since one day I found him aiming my phone’s camera, saying “I’m gonna take a selfie of the TV.”
Before I had kids, I admit that the word “shit” was a frequent part of my vocabulary. It still is in my head. But when speaking out loud I have totally (and by totally I mean mostly) replaced the “s” word with “crap.” In retrospect, this may not have been the best replacement choice since Owen now says “Oh crap” every time he drops a toy. He sounds like a crotchety old man.
When I ask Owen if he’d like a slice of cheese, he says “I certainly do.” When I ask him if he’s ready to go outside, he says “I certainly am.” I have no idea why “certainly” suddenly became his favorite word.
In the middle of church a few weeks ago, Owen pointed at the crucifix over the altar and yelled “Mommy, look! Jesus is wearing underwear.” I’m surprised he didn’t drop his drawers to show his solidarity with JC.