Turbo has gotten in the adorable 2-year-old habit of repeatedly saying to me, "Mom, look at me," whenever he has something really important that he simply must tell me right away. It often goes a little something like this.
Turbo: "Mom, look at me."
Mom: [can't look because she is simultaneously making dinner an entertaining an overtired and ready for bed Smiley.]
Turbo: "Mom, look at me. [pause] Mom, look at me. [very short pause] Mom, look at me."
Mom: looking, "Yes, my patient darling?"
Turbo: "Kachow!"
This is followed by a huge grin and an expectant smile as if it's the first time I've heard something so completely fantastic. I oblige with an "oh, wow!" or a hearty laugh.
This weekend, I was very proud of myself for responding to the very first "Mom, look at me" and when I was staring him straight in his eyeballs and he still repeated, "Mom, look at me" it suddenly dawned on me: oh my word, he's talking about his feet. Or, more accurately, his feet are the ones asking me to pay attention.
So, I make an exaggerated movement to clearly indicate that I am now, as instructed, looking at his left foot, which, by the way, is raised off the floor and ready with a little kick and... you guessed it,
"KACHOW!"
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