"No no, buddy, this is a frost giant, and that's the hulk."
My son pointed at the hulk and said, "David."
So if anyone knows how to clarify fiction from historical reality for a two and a half year old let me know.
I would just stop reading the Avengers, but my kids love them. Noah knows all their names and at least one interesting fact about each. His first and still best joke is:
Me: What color is Iron Man?
Noah: Pink!
Even Hannah is learning their names now. There is nothing so adorable as seeing my 18 month old in her little ballet skirt, hair in pigtails that stick up like antennae, point to the book and squeal with glee, "HULK SMASH!"
Perhaps they connect so well with these characters because they are in fact baby superheros. Noah is Circuit, master of technology.
Justin had stumbled in from an ER shift and collapsed in bed at 6:45am. It was now 7:15am, and I was desperately trying to get my kids together and out of the house without making the usual atom bomb exploding racket that accompanies our mornings. As I got Hannah ready Noah wandered in and pulled out a little people house. We got this toy secondhand, and it has never worked. It's supposed to make house-like sounds when you push the pink buttons, but in a year of owning it, it has been utterly silent. A smile of relief crossed my face. He selected a quiet toy, finally! In the still of the morning, suddenly a telephone rang loudly. It wasn't my ringtone, or Justin's. I looked around furiously for the offensive and LOUD ringing. It wouldn't stop! I looked down and saw Noah pushing down the pink telephone in the house's living room. He grinned at me. Then he pushed down on the pink washing machine and it blared a swishing sound through the house. (My actual washing machine isn't that loud!) I snagged the bewitched toy and handed the child my Ipod.
My Ipod is special. The on/off button is broken. You have to hold the menu button down for a good fifteen seconds before the screen will blink to life (which will only happen 75% of the time). And it freezes. Daily. It is at once a blessing and the bane of my existence. There have been times when I seriously considered smashing it against a light post and being free of it. When I handed it to my son, I assumed he would not have the patience or know-how to get it to turn on (since half the time I can't). I turned back to Hannah for five seconds. I swear, it was only five seconds! Suddenly Abi's mix song 1, Blaggards, "Big Strong Man" blasted out. (Just keep walking, nothing to see here.) I whirled on my son in disbelief. "How did you do that?" I wailed. Noah, dropped his head and froze. Chiding my poor parenting skills, I lowered my voice. "It's ok, buddy. Here, you can keep it." I said retrieving the mutinous device and handing it to him.
I hustled the kids off to Nana's house for the morning so daddy could manage some sleep. I was drying dishes and chatting with my mother, when she stopped cold and uttered, "What the ...?" Their gas fireplace was burning brightly. I was about to scold Noah for turning it on, when my mother informed me that the fireplace had been broken for months.
Someone get that kid a cape with a screwdriver on it! Circuit strikes again!
And we all already know that Hannah is the Purple Tornado. She has the unique gift of destroying everything. Perhaps the two of them will grow to be arch enemies: Noah on a continual quest to bring order and electronic light to the universe as his baby sister spins destruction and chaos in a pretty purple vortex.
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