The boys are back

Their reports, that is. The boys themselves never left, more’s the pity. So the reports are back, though not necessarily monthly. There used to be a rationale for such regular updates on their pooping and so forth, as the pace of change in each (boy, not iteration of poop — though, come to think of it, that too) was so quick. That rate of change has slackened a great deal, but some token documentation on a regular basis still needs to be done. So we’re taking this up again on Come friendly bombs, though maybe more like quarterly than monthly. Or whatever the mood will bear. We’ll see. Let’s get down to it:

McQueen cake dry run

Today Adam is five Malkoviching years old. This frankly freaks us out. It seems so recently that he was that tiny wrinkled red squalling stick of a baby that would fit on your forearm, fragile egg of a head in your palm, non-existent ass in the crook of your pitying elbow. He changed so fast in those days, changes that were a major impetus behind the founding of isoglossia to begin with. The changes that come now are not so outwardly visible but impressive on the inside — the curiosity, the swelling cerebral cortex, the incessant earworms. He’s FIVE and sitting here at my feet singing “Jingle Bells” in a constant, error-ridden loop, and making me question my dogmatic abhorrence of Christmas. I feel I ought to have put together something a bit more momentous in recognition of this milestone, but this is what I was able to throw together.

Element boy

Adam’s recent obsessions include the scientific, as we see here in his proud displaying of “THE BEST PRESENT EVER, BETTER THAN TWO MCQUEENS”, a Bulgarian-language periodic table of the elements, upon which he’s become fixated lately. He’s also been making great progress with reading and writing, though the quantum leap is still in the offing in both areas.

Vex me not sorely

Alek? You have been pissing us off lately. First of all, this potty-training opt-out is just not on. May the Malkoviching first we put you on the potty, with the goal being a September start date for Kindergarten. Now it’s clear that it’s not going to happen for a January enrollment. You’ve been making all kinds of progress, sure, but evolving more sophisticated ways of making your older brother howl in pain or frustration is not the kind of progress we consider productive. The poop goes in the POTTY. Get on that.

Thomas the tractor beam

Worse yet, your sleeping schedule has deteriorated as your behavior has become more chaotic, willful, violent, and generally Tasmanian. You were a great sleeper as a baby, in stark contrast to Adam, but as a two year old you frankly suck.

Sorry, three year old — in a month you’ll be three and it seems like those god damn terrible twos just become more and more unbearable for you and for us.

Quit that thrashing.

SHUT UP.

Oh, all RIGHT. Here’s your Malkoviching choklit mook at zero four hunnerd you unspeakable pants-shitting baby. I am tempted to hold any further reports hostage until you agree to our demands: release your deuces into the proper receptacle.