Whining Enthusiast

Whining Enthusiast

I’ve written about my son’s whining before.

Of course I’ve written about it before. It’s such a large part of my day-to-day existence, the presence of the whine, the powerlessness to do anything about the whine, the desire to drink lots of wine because of the whine, that how could I not have written about it before?

But that was foolish. Because in the time since I wrote that post, things have taken a turn. And I’ve learned that whatever whining that I was, ahem, whining about back then was hardly whining at all.

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The Boy Who Cried Gibberish

The Boy Who Cried Gibberish

A few people have mentioned to Mom and Buried and me that Detective Munch has a good vocabulary for a kid his age. I don’t disagree, I mean, I’ve got him speaking jive, singing Christmas (and Beastie Boys) songs, and telling people “See ya later, alligator!” He can say some solid stuff.

Of course, he’s only two, so his vocabulary isn’t that good. Plus, a lot of the things he says are barely recognizable as English, and are probably only decipherable by me and Mom and Buried, if at all. And that so-called good vocabulary gets a lot worse when he’s distraught.

When he’s upset, whether it’s because he’s being a brat or because he got a boo-boo, words go out the window. Which can make solving – or even identifying – the problem quite tricky.

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Inside the Toddler’s Studio

Inside the Toddler’s Studio

Back when Inside the Actor’s Studio was a thing (it may still be a thing, but Kate Hudson has been on it so…), I used to enjoy the stupid quiz at the end, from James Lipton’s beloved Bernard Pivot.

Two of the questions involve sounds:

What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?

The actors often respond with similar child-based variations on these answers, usually something to the effect of “children laughing” or “a child crying.”

Stupid actors.

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