Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Twitter Dee Dee (I'm Twitter Dee Dumb)

If you have no idea what this Twitter thing is all about, get in line behind yours truly. The way I understand it, people constantly give short updates on what they are doing. I guess the updates are called "Tweets"? I guess you can sign up to get other people's constant updates, but to that I say, "TWHAT"? and "TWHY"? That sounds kind of annoying to me.

I thought I was successfully avoiding the Twitter craze, but I recently discovered that I'm not. You see, my 2 1/2 year old son is a twitterer, or a tweeter, or twhatever. He does it

It starts in the morning, with, "I have Puppy!...I'm going down the stairs...I eating my waffle...I dropped my cup...". Throughout the day I hear, "I'm building a tower...I'm going down the slide...I'm making this puzzle...I'm eatin' a snack...I'm playing with my friend", etc.

He also likes to get updates on what I'm doing throughout the day. "Mommy, your hair is wet?... Mommy, you eating yogurt?... Mommy, you getting dressed?..." These inquiries MUST be answered immediately, or I will be forced to hear their repeated echoes rattling around in my feeble brain for hours, like the tune of a song you hear but can't get out of your head. "Yes, Dylan, my hair is wet... Yes, Dylan, I'm eating yogurt... Yes, Dylan, I'm getting dressed..."

One day this past weekend, while dining at Hoss's, my potty training sweetheart shouted, "MOMMY! YOU WENT POTTY ALL BY YOURSELF?!? YOU WENT PEE OR POOP ON THE POTTY?", as I made my way back to our table. "Yes, Dylan, I did. Pee, if you must know". "Where's my damn sticker?", (I asked a red faced, laughing Jim, not Dylan).

Turns out, I was right on with my assessment of Twitter. It IS a little annoying. But, in case anyone is wondering, I'm about to turn off my computer. Then, I will walk up the stairs. Then, I will brush my teeth, wash my face, climb into bed, sigh, and snuggle down into my pillow, before falling asleep. Oh, sorry. I skipped something. I will also pee on the potty, all by myself.


Anonymous said...

Dude . . . I could have written this exact same thing! Cooper is my repeater - over, and over, and over again (and louder each time.) Maren is currently in the 'Why?' phase, and has taken it to such a level of extreme that I actually dug through the silverware drawer the other day in search of a dull spoon. Apparently the lives of little people require an ongoing narrative!

Anonymous said...

Sadly, that is pretty darn close to what Twitter is like, or at least what my husband jokes it is like. And then I was checking Twitter and was able to tell him who the Penguins drafted, signed or released when he couldn't check, and I got to laugh at him!

A few of the Burgh Moms are taking our toddlers to the zoo this weekend. Would you and Dylan like to join us?

Take care, lady!

The Girls' Mommy said...

HA! I LOVED this :)

Katie is our Tweeter. And every Tweet is prefaced with, "Mommy-". ALL DAY LONG. Makes me nuts.

Lisa (Jonny's Mommy) said...

Jonathan doesn't so much tweet these days as he does scream things at me. "Mama! MAMA! MAAAAAAMMMMMMAAAAAAA!"
or "SHOE UNTIED!" which is a HUGE crisis in this freaking house.

Yeah. I wish he tweeted.

And I have glow in the dark Batman stickers. Do you want me to send them your way?

Burgh Baby said...

Oh, just you wait. It gets better. Heh.

Steph said...

Hahahaha.... funny :)

JCK said...

This was HILARIOUS, Jen! You are SO right on with the constant TWITTER we hear on a daily basis.

Dylan could show us how it is done.

Jenn @ Juggling Life said...

You summed up my reservations about Twitter perfectly.

Janet said...

I don't twitter either. My brother-in-law started twittering before there was a twitter. he'd stop by the computer and email whatever he had just done, whether it was making a pot of coffee, taking a shower, or drinking a beer. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't twitter either, even though it was invented for him.
I'm getting the "Why?" am I doing everything, but yes, DeBoy does often marvel that I go to the bathroom by myself.