Duh, Mama

I've been struggling with the Christmas tree decision.  My logical brain knows that we're going to be traveling for Christmas so we're not going to be here anyway.  If we put up a tree, it's going to be a month of "No, sir!  Don't touch!"  On the other hand, it's Christmas and my Wombat needs a tree.  Your Daddy is wonderful.  He'll do anything I want, all I have to do is say the word.

So I compromised.  I got my small fiber optic tree from my classroom (and took our large, sad tree from last year to replace it).  It's small enough to fit on the dry sink in the living room which means you can see the tree, but you can't actually touch it.  You were fascinated when I turned it on this afternoon.  You spent several minutes slowly walking up to the dry sink to get a good look at it.  Then you'd tiptoe backwards.  Then you slowly walk back up to it.  It's not perfect or exactly what I had in mind, but you're happy and that makes me happy.

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For weeks, you have been saying, "Me-Me."  I just figured you were saying a variation of Mama.  We'd go through all the vowel sounds.  "Ma-Ma, Me-Me, Mo-Mo, Moo-Moo"  Nothing.

Today, I finally got it.  Granny and Grandad gave you a set of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse toy organizer.

It looks like this...

You decided to get beside the organizer (a clear no-no).  Granted, you figured out that you are not allowed to move the organizer.  Then you were looking at the pictures of Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, and Goofy.  You pointed to the picture of Mickey Mouse and clearly said, "Me-Me!"

Oh. My. Gravy!

It finally clicked.  You haven't just been saying a variation of Mama.  No, you've been saying Mickey!  Once again, I'm so proud.

That's my boy!