Kolbe "Kwotes"

Back to the firecracker!

Kolbe Kolb is just a few days away from being two-and-a-half. I can't believe it! We've made it half way through his third year of life! And my, have things changed in these past six months. The most notable, of course, is Kolbe's new found ability to express himself in actual words. He went from saying roughly eight to ten words at age two to pretty much endless talking all the time at two-and-a-half. It has made life much, much simpler for me, now that I can understand what he wants. On the contrary, there have been multiple times where I've found myself thinking Now, now, self...I know you'd give anything right now for him to stop talking, but try to remember the time when you were desperate just for him to say anything at all!

Mark says that when I type "Kolbe Kwotes" on here spelled all incorrectly 'cause I'm trying to document the way his precious little dialect sounds, people aren't going to understand what I'm trying to say and therefore won't read it. If such is the case, too bad! After all, in 2026 when my little guy leaves for college, it will be me who will be reading back through all these posts and hearing that little voice in my head like it was yesterday. I know these posts seem small now, but gosh, they are going to be invaluable to me some day! So here we go with some of my recent faves:

Kolbe: Mama, Pa's boots bown wif spots. (yes, they're brown ostrich skin boots)
Me: Oh, really! You're right. They are brown with spots.
Kolbe: And me's boots are back wif bumps. (black fake alligator skin boots)

Me: (upon hearing Reagan crying) Uh oh. We better go, Kolbe.
Kolbe: Betta go? RuRu eepies? (sleepy)

Kolbe: Mama, me coobies nacks?
Me: You want some Scooby snacks?
Kolbe: Yeah. But no dib dat to RuRu. RuRu go *insert gagging sound*. No eat dat, RuRu! Tay?
Me: Okay, I'll just give them to you. I'll make sure RuRu doesn't eat that.
Kolbe: Otay. Dood job.

And now for the cringe worthy ones...
Kolbe: (upon watching me sprinkle a little powder in Reagan's diaper) Dat, Mama?
Me: It's powder for Reagan's diapie.
Kolbe: Me have dat?
Me: No, you don't need any powder. You don't wear a diaper. You wear undies. I just put powder in RuRu's diapie to keep his bottom fresh.
Kolbe: Me puts powda in me's undies keeps me's winger fesh.
(Dear Lord, please don't let him say that one in public!!!)

And last but not least....
Typically Kolbe does not watch me get dressed. Door knob cover, mind you. But a week or so ago he somehow wandered in to my room while I was dressing and caught me in my bra....
Me: Kolb, let Mama finish getting dressed. I'll be out in a minute.
Kolbe: Mama, RuRu eat dose boobies?
Me: (with what I'd imagine to be a terrified look on my face) Excuse me!?!
Kolbe: (wide-eyed and fearful) RuRu...dink...Mama's....moke....dose boobies?
How do you recover from/respond to that one!?! I was hysterical! (yes, laughing. Not crying...though I probably should have been!!!) I guess that comment was par for the course after watching Reagan nurse for so long. Now if he says that one in public, people are going to think I'm letting my child watch sick college humor movies. Eek! That's my Kolbe, for ya!