The kid has become a dancing machine. And what he loves dancing to most is jazz. We have a really cheap CD player in his room, and I’ll turn on the CD for him. He’ll shake his little butt around and grin. And then he’ll lean over and turn the music off. He’ll stand for a moment and realize what he’s done, so he’ll lean back forward to turn the music back on. Then he’ll shake his little butt again for a few minutes. And then, of course, he turns the music off. Over and over and over until I can’t stand it anymore and I turn the CD off.
Another game that provides hours (well, 20 minutes, which in Doodle time is the same as hours) of enjoyment. I sit in the glider in his room, trying my mightiest to read. Doodles walks over to me with his Red Sox hat, pointing that he wants me to put it on his head. So I do. He walks across the room, tripping over whatever is in his path, to the table with his Lamaze mirror. He admires himself in the mirror, patting his head a few times. Then he pulls the hat off, declaring, “Off!” Then he walks back to me, tripping over the same toys, and demands I put the hat back on him. This can happen fifteen, twenty times. Then I give up and turn the CD player back on. Lather rinse repeat. Welcome insanity.
