Category Archives: RowanTalk

Heard around the house.

When your youngest child has difficulty pronouncing family names, yet no one can keep from poking fun at him.

Nora: “Rowan, say ‘Nora.'”

Rowan: “Nor-nor.”

Nora and Frances: (giggling)

Nora: “No, Rowan. Not Nor-nor. Nor-UH. Now, say ‘Nor.'”

Rowan: “Nor.”

Nora: “Say ‘Uh'”

Rowan: “Uh.”

Nora: “Good, now put them together: Nor-UH.”

Rowan: “Nor-nor!”

Nora and Frances (cracking up): “Nooo!”

This went on like this for about five rounds, each time with Rowan saying the parts correctly, but resorting to ‘Nor-nor’ when prompted to string the syllables together, much to the girls’ frustration and delight. Finally, he countered with Nor-NUH, which we all deemed was progress.

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And, while he can’t say his name correctly, he can certainly HEAR when his name is being said back to him incorrectly.

Nora: “Rowan, what’s your name?”

Rowan: “Oh-nin”

Nora (giggling): “Oh-nin?”

Rowan (also giggling): “No! ‘Ooooh-nin.'”

As if elongating the long /o/ sound somehow makes the silent /r/ more audible.

Nora (mockingly): “Oh, so your name is Oh-nin.”

Rowan: “No! ‘Ooooooh-nin.'”

Hahaha. We have a lot of fun around here. Poor guy. 🙂

Bedtime play.

The girls were so tickled by my retelling of the events that led to their brother charging into their bedroom the other night, that I thought it best to capture the moment here before it’s soon forgotten. 

Typically, Rowan falls asleep nursing. Calmly and dependably usually. However, the past few days he’s been like a wild animal at bedtime. It could be due to the fact he’s overtired since we’ve been on vacation time. Or maybe it’s the opposite—he’s getting older and just doesn’t require as much sleep. Or maybe I can just blame it on my usual culprit—teething. Who really knows. 

Anyway, the other night, after Rowan had performed several acrobatic feats while somehow miraculously staying latched, he’d decided he was going to be finished with the nursing business, yet remain quite wide awake. 

We played a little game of turn-taking, with me asking him to put his head down and him saying a whiny ‘no.’ Then, he’d proceed to roll around on the bed. Following that, he crawled way down under the covers until he disappeared, popped his head out, and then crawled back in again. He also spun around in circles, breakdance style, stopping with his head at the opposite end of the bed and doing a few—nicely executed I might say—rounds of downward dog. 

Across the hall, he heard Liam begin reading bedtime stories to the girls and he stilled to listen. Then, he crawled backwards down off the bed and headed for the door, not wanting to miss out on any fun they might be having without him. 

“No,” I warned firmly. He disregarded me and walked to the door leading to the connecting bathroom. He jiggled the knob this way and that, unable to maneuver his small wrist the quarter turn necessary to pop open the door.

Not one to give up quickly, he tried the other bedroom door, which led to the hallway. Jiggle jiggle. Jiggle jiggle. No luck.

So, he climbed back into bed, which is generally a real struggle and fun to watch, with the joint effort of hands gripping the sheets and feet kick-climbing up the mattress.

Then, we began again:

“Rowan, put your head down.”

“No.”

“It’s time for bed. You need to close your eyes.”

“No.”

Roll around. Under the covers and out again. Spin, spin. Crawl backwards down from the bed. Walk to bathroom door. Jiggle jiggle. Doesn’t budge. Walk to hallway door. Jiggle jiggle. No luck. Climb and scurry back into bed. Repeat, repeat.

After about five rounds of in and out of bed, he finally managed to jiggle jiggle one of the doors open. He took two seconds to look back at me as if asking permission. I gave him a stern look, although how I wasn’t cracking up, I don’t know. He took my lack of words as a go-ahead, and wasted no more time. He headed off in the direction of the girls’ room.

I heard them all squeal when they saw him: “Rowan?! What are you doing in here?”

He was pleased as punch to be there, and did not appreciate at all being removed a minute later. As I had had quite enough of his bedtime shenanigans, I let Liam take over. Of course, he had Rowan to bed in under ten minutes then. “It’s because you don’t walk him around,” he explained when I gave him a disdainful look.

No, I don’t. It’s not the mother’s job to walk the kid around. It’s the mother’s job to nurse if she chooses. And if that doesn’t work, well hell if I’m going to do anything extra. 

Anyway, I climbed into bed with the girls and told them all about how Rowan jiggle-jiggled the doors about a hundred times, climbing back into bed between rounds, before opening one and making his great escape. Their giggles were proof they were so genuinely delighted by the imagined actions of their little brother. I couldn’t help but laugh along with them.

My son can successfully identify his penis, but not his mother and father.

It seems I’ve fallen off the writing wagon. Last night I favored listening to an engaging Radio Lab episode. And the night before last I accidentally got consumed by looking at area rugs on my phone. Two hours later I decided going to bed was a higher priority than writing a blog post.

Tonight, I’m trying to fit it all in while the kids take a bath. 

Speaking of bath, let’s move on to the topic of tonight’s post. My currently naked son has been able to identify his penis for nearly a month. Wahoo!

Like most males, he’s fond of his manly bits. He likes to touch and explore his anatomy in between diaper changes, in the tub, and generally, any time he’s naked. I’ve been naming his parts for awhile now, and this is the only one which he can successfully point to or look at when I ask, “Where’s your penis?”

However, ask him where his belly button, or eyes, nose and tongue are, and he looks completely baffled. 

Also, it should be noted that, nine times out of ten, when you ask him: “Where’s mama?” Or, “Where’s daddy?,” he just puts his hands on top of his head. Doesn’t even look in the direction of the mentioned adult. The other one time he raises his hands straight up in the air— a vestigial action from his very first parlor trick “How big is Rowan?!”

Just perfect.