Con-Hosey

So as you know, I write this blog for Zoe. And I know, we’re many years from her being able to fully appreciate it (or even realize how may weeks it’s been since my last post). But still. Sure hope she doesn’t look back on these and say, “What the heck happened in Jan-Feb ’12 that made mom so lazy?”

Anyway. Here we are. And I’ve actually got lots of backlogged events to share, but in the spirit of getting something LIVE, I’m starting with an easy one :)

For many, many, many months, our Friday nanny Blanca has been taking Zoe to this very horse to “ride the horsey”. She loves it. One might say, she’s obsessed with it. Now that she’s old enough to make some strong associations, not a Friday passes that she doesn’t talk Blanca into taking her there.  And at 50 cents a ride, I’m pretty sure at some point this little horsey might just break the bank.

In the meantime, it’s worth every quarter.

One night about a month ago, on a random Tuesday, Zoe was playing in the living room and started a minor meltdown, out of nowhere. To make this story make sense, I should mention that Zoe’s “talking”. (read: stringing words together that we can’t quite make out…) So when her meltdown was accompanied with “con-hosey, con-hosey, con-hosey” and frantic pointing to the corner of the room, we had no idea what was going on.

So, as usual, we took the clueless parent route:

  • “Use your words.” (Zoe: “I’m using them, idiots.”)
  • “We’re not sure what you need? Do you need help?” (Zoe: “Con-hosey. Con-hosey. Are you old people deaf?”)

Then we realized she was pointing in the direction of a big jar of coins. Quarters. And she was saying “Coin. Horsey.” Yep. She wanted us to take the coins (silly gooses) out of the jar and take her to the horsey (big dummies). Thankfully a) we figured it out and b) my brilliant husband instantly told Zoe that only Blanca took her to the horsey, and only on Fridays. That she’d have to wait. Miraculously, she got it. Agreed to “ride the horsey” on my foot (for free), and moved on.

Disaster averted. And that’s why the horsey you see here is riderless. There’s not a chance we’ll be taking her to that horsey (in fact, she was in the car when Bart pulled through the parking lot and let me jump out & take a picture). Parenting rocks.

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