I guess for now I’ll work on keeping Mr. Potato Heads eyes out of SB’s nose and try to stop him from eating rolly bugs. Baby steps. But I’m not going to give up on the motorcycle/baldness lie, at least not until he calls me on it…
Last week I took SB (small boy) to the Pediatrician for his 2.5 year check up. Now I need to preface this by saying that his doctor is a God among men, he juggles, plays with SB, he surfs, recommends sushi bars – oh, and he’s incredibly kind and competent. All kinds of good stuff that you want in a doctor.
So on the way to his office, SB was all excited about the juggling balls, and I, being a good if rather naggy mom, reminded him to say please if he wanted the doctor to juggle. We finally got there, and when the God of all Pediatricians walked in, SB blurted out, “please where are your balls?” I realized then and there that first of all, the ground NEVER swallows you up when you want it to, and that I was doomed to a lifetime of embarrassing little moments like this one.
Another gem he likes to pull is when we get in elevators – he tells people to get out, or says, “I no like that man/lady/whatever”. Then, depending on the person’s child tolerance level (or CTL), we either share a hearty chuckle, or ride in stony silence with SB glaring at the person the entire ride. My theory is that people who have kids are a bit more tolerant since they’ve lived through these
hellish memorable moments.
Which brings us to the delightful woman at Costco we encountered a few weeks ago. As most parents know, you have to pick your battles and there’s nothing SB hates more than riding in a shopping cart (unless it has one of those damned cars attached to the front, then I’m stuck schlepping a motor home around the store). So for fun at Costco, we run into the freezing produce section (on a side note, why is it kept at Arctic tundra temps?) and he screams and laughs, I grab the raspberries and we make a quick getaway. Anything for a thrill. So we did our usual shenanigans, and when SB screamed, a rather evil, witchy looking older woman said, (and I swear this is true) “what an argument for birth control!”
I give myself bonus points for not murdering her and hiding her behind the produce (it’s cold enough to hide a body for a while, I’d guess). I did lay into her with a rather scathing retort (without using bad words, of course), and then followed her around the store when SB started melting down and screaming about being in the cart.
Parenthood has so many moments for enlightenment and growth. I try to avoid them at all costs.
So it appears I’m starting a blog today.
Lately it seems like my life is being orchestrated by a small person who’s incapable of putting on his pants and who firmly believes that shoving blueberries up his nose while being chased by a panicked woman is a fun time. Thank God two year old boys can’t run for office – the world would be full of irrational dictators who think that a perfect day involves painting the dog green. The bossiness (is that even a word?) is off the charts. The other day small boy (going forward he’ll be referred to as “SB”) sat down on the couch and said, “Mama, bring me my dinner.” It’s a good thing he doesn’t know how to snap his fingers or I’d be in big trouble. I have alarming visions of SB 30 years from now, in a wife beater, yelling for his woman to bring him a Coors Light and a corn dog. All because of me.
In the background, while I’m typing this, I keep hearing, “Mama, MAMA!!! Is Doc Hudson here today?” I’ve now learned the hard way to NEVER tell a two year old that something’s coming in the mail – especially something coming from China via E-Bay. Every day for the past week there’s been a discussion about how the mail works and every day for the past week he’s chosen to ignore me repeatedly and ask again if Doc Hudson’s here. Like if he keeps saying the same thing over and over, it I’ll finally get it through my thick skull that he should be HERE. NOW.