Katcha does some stuff that I just thnk is funny. He’s all of 15 months old, so don’t expect magic tricks or ventriloquism.
He barks at the dogs. Our dogs, the neighbors’ dogs. Stuffed dogs in the store. When he sees a dog, he barks.
When you take off his shoes and socks he says “Ahhhhh…”
When he takes a big drink he says “Ahhhhh…”
-Rue.
Oh oh can we have a story about him? Pretty please!
Awwwwww, barking at doggies is cute. Now, if he starts barking at you and the Little Woman, or hiking his leg on the furniture, or other equally embarrassing things that I shan’t mention because it’d sound entirely too sick… well anyway, just keep an eye on him, tho I’m sure he’s perfectly normal and perfectly fine and all that. Cute. Really cute… 
Little kidlets just crack me up - especially other people’s kidlets. They’re almost as good as grandkids or nieces and nephews - you can have fun with them then give them back all spoiled and hypered-up. Hey, Rue, if you ever need a babysitter, I’d be happy to help you out…
[sub]hehehehehe - barking would be just the beginning[/sub]
Once upon a time, which is prettymuch right now, there is a little boy. His name is Katcha. Not that is mother ever calls him that, but his mom isn’t a Doper. Not that that makes her a bad person. Many very nice people do not happen to be Dopers. I wouldn’t call The Little Woman a bad person if I were you. She may only be 6" tall, but she could just kick your ass. She’s small, but she’d fiesty.
Not that this is about The Little Woman. It’s about Katcha. Katcha is the second son, so if I were a King and I died, he wouldn’t get squat. Soupo would clean up, but Katcha would be out in the cold. Good thing I’m not a King.
Katcha is all of 15 months old. He weighs in at 35 lbs. “Man,” you say. “That is one big kid. What is he a butterball?” No. He’s just big. He’s proportional, but he’s off the growth chart. We go to the pediatrician next week, so we’ll know just how big he is then. But he’s big. One big kid.
You’d think as big as he is, he’d eat pretty good. He doesn’t. He eats chicken nuggets, fish sticks and goetta. You probably don’t know what goetta is. You could either do a websearch and find out, or I could tell you it’s a local sausage made with pin oats. If you don’t know what pin oats are, you’ll have to do a websearch. Or look it up in a dictionary. That’s what people did before they could do websearches. Look it up in a dictionary, or ask someone. Do what you want.
Sometimes he’ll eat some fruit. Occasionally a vegetable. Not very often, but he doesn’t have scurvy or rickets and he does weight 35 pounds. So he must be eating enough. I change his diapers, and I figure, from that evidence, he eats enough.
He’s a real strong kid. He’ll climb up on the chairs around the dinner table. Then he’ll climb up on to the dinner table. He’ll climb on anything. He’s a real climber. He’d probably climb a giant beanstalk and get the magic harp from the giant. But we live in the “Real World” so he probably won’t get the chance.
Katcha does some funny things. When he sees a dog, he’ll bark at it. Sometimes he’ll crawl around the floor and bark. He pretends he’s a dog. He’ll carry a ball in his mouth when he crawls and bark out of the side of his mouth. He’s funny.
When he gets his shoes and socks taken off he likes it. He says “Ahhhh…” like it’s the best thing ever. Getting his shoes and socks off makes Katcha happy.
When he takes a big drink he says “Ahhhh…” He says it like it’s the best thing ever. No matter what he drinks. He says “Ahhhh…” if it’s milk or juice or just water.
Katcha has ten teeth. The four in front on the top, the four in front on the bottom, and two mollars just came in. He’s got more coming, but that’s all he has now. When he gets more mollars, he can eat Tootsie Rolls. He can’t now because they are choking hazards.
He just woke up and he’s talking to the Pooh Bear in his crib. He likes his Pooh Bear, but he doesn’t take Pooh out of his crib. Pooh just stays in there to keep his blankets safe. I guess. I don’t know what Katcha thinks about it. He doesn’t talk yet. He barks, but he doesn’t talk. I have to go get him up and get him some breakfast. I’ll see if he’ll eat a waffle today. He usually will, but you never can tell.
I don’t have any nieces or nephews. My sibling do, but they are all rat-bastards and won’t return the favor. They have it better, because they get to play with the boys, then give them back. Like grandparents, but grandparents were parents first, so they paid their dues. Unless they are step-grandparents. Then maybe they didn’t have kids already. Not that it matters by that point, because the are old, and that would be dues enough.
Daddy Rue, parent.
Thank you Rue, I am now grinning from ear to ear :D. Incidentally, where did Soupo and Katcha get their names? And does FairyChatMom get to babysit? She’d be cool babysitter. If I wasn’t a grown-up, I’d want her to babysit me. I bet she plays cool games.
Fran
Francesca, put Rue’s surname after his kids’ names.
Soupo DeDay and Katcha DeDay. I thought it was funny, anyway.
Ohhhhhhhh.
[sub]How stupid do I feel now?[/sub]
Rue are you a Cincinnatian? Goetta just seems so Cincinnati to me, but then I am not from the midwest. My 3.5 year old son, Mr C, is just 33 lbs. Granted he’s smallish, but 15 months and 35 lbs is OMIGODBIG.
Your story reminded me of when my daughter was young. She would crawl and meow and lick her fur. I have heard this is fairly common, but I find it strange since we don’t have cats. Anyway, once when she was still quite small and upset about something while she was in “cat mode”, she started crying, the heavy kind of crying where you sob and gulp air in between. But instead of sobbing she “meow’d”. You know, cry cry cry meow gasp cry cry meow gasp. So it wasn’t purely an act.
As for Katcha, don’t worry about it unless he starts to growl and bare his teeth…
The Queen of the Universe (who is now 2.5 years old) has taken to saying “Why, that’s a great idea!” to anything and everything she agrees with. “Lilly, let’s get your shoes on so we can go outside.” “Why, that’s a great idea!” “Lilly, c’mon we’re going to the pool.” “Why, that’s a great idea!”
At least someone thinks I come up with great ideas.
Sadly, I live too many miles away to help out Rue with his little bundle of joy. But in my younger days, I was a cool babysitter. None of my charges ever lost any limbs or digits, and none of the allegations were ever proven…
I can’t wait till I’m a grandma… well, I can wait, since my kid is not-quite-16, but I intend to enjoy Grandmotherhood to the max!
Dog? Cat? Pshaw, I got you beat. My daughter lives in a state of depression because she is not a mermaid. She acts out her fantasy regularly, but when she was 4 the whole mermaid thing hit crisis proportions. Disney aired a movie called The Thirteenth Year, the premise of which is, mermaids live the first 13 years of their lives as regular kids, then they they sprout scales, fins and – finally and magnificently – a tail.
Oh, to have a tail. I allowed Miss Mermaid to stay up and watch this movie and by the time bedtime arrived she was distraught. The kid in the movie got a tail. She wants one too. “I wanna be a muh-muh-mermaid,” she snuffled. “I wanna sw-sw-swim in the sea. … I want a taaaaaaaaaaaail!!!” Oh the wails pierced the night, lemmee tell you.
Katcha is, by the way, just starting the “biting” phase. (Extremely sarcastic “Huzzah.”) As long as her doesn’t get fleas I’m figuring we’re ahead on points.
Puddin’, wouldn’t it be great if FairyChatMom would babysit us? Never mind the whole geography thing, or that we’re all adults and stuff… but we could stay up late and eat pizza and watch movies and have popcorn and play board games and got all wound up from staying up too late and then FairyChatMom, who needs a nice nickname, maybe “Snickers”, but then FairyChatMom is really a nickname so “Snickers” would be a pet name, I guess, so she needs a nice short name we, who are the cool kids, could call her in threads, like I call you Puddin’, but Snickers, how did that sound?, would have to discipline us, and put us in our jammies, maybe give us a bath, because we got all sticky when she disciplined us…
What? The sentence is too long and it makes no sense? And I shouldn’t be talking about “discipline” and “sticky” and Puddin’ and FairyChatMom (Snickers) in a thread I started about my younger son? What? Is there like some rule? Should I get Euty to delete all this?
Well, I’m not going to ask for this to get deleted. If you don’t like it you don’t have to read anymore. So there.
-Rue. (thinking about Puddin’, Snickers and jammies)
That, of course, would be “as long as he doesn’t get fleas…”
And I pad my post count by one more!
-Rue.
Rue, all that stream of conciousness and no answer on the goetta fetish? You could have easily worked that in with Snickers, Puddin’, and discipline.
Would everyone stop feeding my girlfriend (Francesca) stories about babies? She gets broody about this time of year.
Alex
That would be so cool! I would have tartan pajamas and we could play pictionary except we’d draw rude pictures and Snickers would tell us off.
Quick Rue - Alex is here (incidentally - Rue, meet Alex, Alex, meet Rue). Hide under the blanket!
Hi Alex B! How the heck are you? Too bad you are just the second one though. Alex A had a lot of bugs, but that Alex C, now there was an Alex model to be proud of. I guess you just have to live with what you got. Puddin’ probably won’t throw you in the old dust-bin when the newer Alex comes along. So don’t worry. You do have your own checking account though, right?
And is it true Puddin’ is as bendy as she says? Woo-hoo, the stories that girl tells! Like the one about the duck, the Tabasco sauce and six graham crackers. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids. Maybe Gatorade or Ovaltine, so you don’t cramp up. Wow, that would be embarrassing.
And Puddin’, you wouldn’t like to have babies. They smell funny and poop all the time. It’s kinda like having a pet rat. Only without the threat of Black Death. But a pet rat can’t grow up to be a rich sports star and buy you a new house. So it’s really a toss up.
Is my face ever red. I forgot to tell ShibbOleth that I was born and raised in Porkopolis. No joke. We used to be the “Queen City”. They changed that for some reason to “The Blue Chip City”. That was just dorky. When they had the fiberglass pigs all over the city last year, they played up the old name of “Porkopolis”. A guess “Cincinnati” isn’t that catchy. But now I live in North College Hill. We (North College Hill, not me personally) butt up against the City on our south side.
When I said “all over the city” about the whole pig-thing, I meant it. They even put some up on the south side of town. That would be in Kentucky. It didn’t stop us. We put painted pigs wherever the hell we wanted, and they LIKED it too! By gum!
I moved to Indianapolis for a while, but had to come back. Once a city sucks your very soul from you, you like to hang around and see what they do with it. And my family still lives here. You might as well be near family if your souls have all been sucked out by the same city.
The whole “soul-sucking” was a joke. Don’t mess with Cincinnati, they’ll send the cops out to shoot your ass. (Another joke. Your farm animals are safe here.) I still have my soul. I keep it in a jar, buried in the backyard, where it’s safe.
-Rue.
Rue,I like your stories. They usually brighten my day. But with Katcha I don’t think you have much to worry about. When TurboPuppy was about 2, his best friend was the dog. He and the dog would lie on their backs on the lawn and enjoy the sun. They’d frolick and bark around the yard together. TurboPuppy would eat the kibble from the bowl and drink the dog’s water. The only time we really worried about him was the the neighbor asked TurboDog what our kid was doing. TurboPup was fully clothed, squatting over the sand, dropping dog poops from behind his back. At that time we decided having a dog for a best friend wasn’t a good idea. Barking and fetching is fun to watch when they’re little though.
Recently TurboPuppy used the word “freakin” in a sentence. As in, “Robert said someone stole his freakin bike”. I had to stifle my laughter as I asked him not to use that word anymore. (I still swear TurboPup is the most innocent almost 7 year old I’ve ever seen. It just slayed me to hear him say that word.)
With all of the bad publicity they have received lately, I think that they should go back to Losantiville. I am not a native, nor do I play one on TV, but I do currently reside in Blue Ash. Our butt is up against Reading, Montgomery, Evendale and a few other less salacious places. North College Hill rocks! It is so much cooler than South College Hill.
I’d say we should get together sometime, but I am afraid your toddler would beat up my three year old. Or your dog would bite my cat. Or someone would force feed me goetta, without the ketchup.
As it is, I am already sure that someone is gonna shoot my ass.
Oh yeah, babysitting and dogs - how could I have forgotten this? Back in my college days, I tended the young 'uns of my married classmates for a little pocket change. (I was cheap, but not easy) One couple had a teething lad who shared chew toys with the dog!! Mom and Dad apparently saw nothing amiss in this. I thought it was icky on so many levels, but what could I say - I was just the sitter. I guess it wasn’t a big deal after all - that kid is in his 20s now.
But, Rue, I wouldn’t recommend you let Katcha share chew toys with the dog. Get him his own chew toys.