Benjamin just asked me to find his purse. Oh man. What he is looking for is his backpack. I wish he'd stop referring to it as a purse. I also wish he'd take off EmJ's mary janes.
He is becoming quite the problem solver. Yesterday, I found him standing on his stool trying to yank the keys off the key hanger thing-a-majig. I ran down and stopped him (before he pulled the whole thing off the wall), but told him I was proud that he was being such a big boy. He replied, "I need keys. I got stool." Duh, mom, any moron could figure that one out!
One of his new favorite phrases (besides yelling "Gina Bardooooooo" at the top of his lungs) is "I not!" Benjamin, don't go in the road. "I not!" Benjamin, don't splash the water out of the sink. "I not!" Benjamin, look both ways for cars. "I not!" So, last week when I was painting and climbed the step-ladder, he said, "Not careful, mom!"
He's also apparently been watching a lot of TV. This morning when I asked him what he dreamed about he said, "Johnny Test on Cartoon Network."
And as if I didn't have enough commotion in this house, Samantha is sitting here next to me, in her swing, trying to sit up and GET OUT! Ack! She's a Willie clone. Welcome to my nightmare. She'll woo you with that adorable smile, but all I see is crawling in two months, jumping off the piano in a year, RUNNING EVERYWHERE, babbling the ear off anyone who will listen, not eating dinner because it's waaaay too boring, and sitting on the toilet yelling, "Somebody, come talk to me!"