His new favorite toy: a stick. He beats it on things with a look of great concentration on his face, as if he has some specific goal he's trying to accomplish with it, and he doesn't know why his goal isn't happening yet. I'm not sure what he's after, but as long as he's beating on stuff that won't break, I'm happy to let him keep at it.
According to Gareth, all small furry quadrupeds are kitties. When in the presence of dogs, I offer him the word dog and the ASL sign for dog, and he corrects me. Kitty kitty kitty, cat cat cat. He uses both words, to emphasize his point.
BEST OF ALL:
Dan was away yesterday, and Gareth pined for him. In the evenings, Dan usually takes the guitar down and plays classical stuff for Gareth, so I put on the first classical CD I came across, which turned out to be a collection of old Van Cliburn recordings. Gareth stared at the stereo speakers a moment, then toddled over to the piano and raised his arms to ask me to pick him up. So I put him in my lap and let him beat on the keys. He banged on the piano twice, then turned to stare at the speakers some more, knitting his little eyebrows and listening. He went back and forth between playing and listening like that for several minutes, and might have gone on longer if I were less considerate of my next-door neighbors. It really looked like he understood the relationship between what he was hearing and the artifact in the dining room, like he was trying to imitate or play along with the invisible Van Cliburn.