Now, the youngest one, 3 1/2 years old, he is really into garbage. Like REALLY into it. No, not the actual, real trash in the garbage can, but... well, okay, yes, yes the actual trash in the actual garbage can, but he doesn't reach in and play with it, 'cause that is disgusting and as the "nanny/too-old-to-be-babysitting-babysitter" I would never let him do that, BUT he is FASCINATED with trash trucks and garbage cans. He has about fifty tiny trash cans, in all the appropriate colors; green(for yard debris, duh), black(for old food and gross stuff like puppy-poo), blue(for recycling, duh again). And dumpsters(for...big stuff, like rowing machines, I don't know). Along with the trash cans, he also has about twenty trash trucks. This kid can literally entertain himself for hours by setting up the rows of cans, and pretending to pick them up and empty the trash into the trucks. Over and over again. I'm not kidding. When he enthusiastically asks me to play with him, it means I just watch him do this. For a long time. And when I try to pick up the cans myself, I get in trouble, because I don't do it right. And if you EVER mess up his rows, HE WILL KNOW! And he will not be happy about it. I read once that childhood obsession with organizing and arranging things in rows, and certain orders/patterns, is a sign of intelligence. Like genius stuff. So, he's probably a crazy genius and more intelligent at 3 years old, than I will ever be.
I'm not going to use his real name, but the little one WAS given a REAL NAME by his parents. However, for the past year and a half, he has insisted on being called different names. First it was "Little Don" the trash truck driver. Then it was "Soapy", which I have no idea where that came from. And now it is "Nicey, the Mommy garbage truck". Yep. You think it ends with the name? You are very wrong. He does not answer to his real name, anymore. If you call him by his real name, you are in for a real treat. And by "real treat" I mean a fit of repetition that is almost enough to drive you clinically insane, "I'm Nicey! I'm Nicey the Mommy garbage truck! I'm Nicey!" It's amazing. Alright, so there is this name thing....but it doesn't end there. He IS a garbage truck, so if you call him a boy, he gets upset. If you refer to his eyes, he gets upset "I don't have eyes! I have blinking lights! They're not eyes! They're my blinking lights!" If you refer to his feet, uh oh "I don't have FEET! I have WHEELS!" His hands? "They're not hands, they're GARBAGE TRUCK ARMS!" And if you mention his clothes, any of them, he gets REALLY upset and reminds you "No! I'm not a boy! I don't wear clothes! I'm Nicey the Mommy garbage truck and I have COVERS!" Oh yeah, and his nose is his "machine" and his mouth is his "hopper" where he chops up the "trash." His food is "trash" btw. Get it RIGHT! Jesus.
