He’s more pissed off on a regular basis about things like why he can’t have a million and five cups of apple juice in one day and our infernal, never-ending desire to torture him orally with that weird plastic stick that has bristles, under the guise of “keeping his teeth strong, healthy, and clean!”
But the sunglasses? Meh. He’s so over that.
And I just can’t help myself. I beg that no one gets offended, but I feel like I have to say, as per some comments on yesterday’s post, that Braden actually has not only 2 pair of sunglasses made to actually fit his face, but he has been given another pair of my old sunglasses to delight himself with. So, no worries, he has sunglasses to play with.
I hid the broken pair from him that night (after he tried to wear them with one side broken off and got a bit annoyed when they wouldn’t stay on), and he never even cared. I gave him the replacement pair a day or so later, and he happily put them on and ran around, no questions asked.
They are really manly, too. Silver Leopard Print, Baby. Yeah. (Of course, again, he couldn’t care less.)
Eh… uh… about yesterday’s post… the sunglasses per se really weren’t the main idea I’d intended for the article to focus you on, rather they created a situation that made my mind stretch a little and my emotions warble and dance. I wanted to share with you the little emotional jig that was being performed in my head and my heart… see if maybe you could dance the steps with me.
By the way (*huffs and puffs, theatrically*), I’m pretty good at figuring out how to fix the silly little things that my 2 year old worries about, in a practical way. Gimme a lil bit of credit as a mom, folks, dang. I’m not a TOTAL moron, really! (No, really. STOP LAUGHING BEHIND YOUR HAND. I CAN SEE YOU, DAMNIT.)
And no offense to anyone, cause I adore you guys (you commented, that means you gave a shit, and I adore you), but there is no amount of super glue or duct tape that could hold the metal/plastic together for long enough to withstand even 30 seconds of Two-Year-Old-Boy-Play. Braden can look at things hard enough to break them, sometimes, I swear. So that made me giggle.
So, anyway… I was just making some connections between this little thing and larger emotions and issues… painting a small picture that mirrors a large and complex one in the adult world?
Bah, sometimes a girl just doesn’t get her point across.
I should stick to fart jokes, right?
These sunglasses have brought Braden great joy for the past few months.
When he first started playing with them, he was a little unsure of what to do with himself. He’d hold them up to his face, turn them, flip them.
Open. Close. Open. Close.
He would wear them on his belly. His navel was protected from the sun’s harsh rays as he spun in circles around our living room, singing.
More and more he put them on his face. Showing them off to everyone. Smiling, laughing. So proud of having them there.
An accident, really. He dropped them and immediately stepped on them before he could still his forward motion. I saw it happen. One of the supports snapped right off.
I wailed inside. My whole body simultaneously tightened and melted for him. I just knew there would be a complete meltdown.
I was wrong.
He sat down on the floor and delicately picked up the two distinct pieces. He was quiet. His mouth was a tiny, slighty open “o” as he sat there, brow furrowed.
He held them in his hands, looking at them, his face full of questions. *melting*
I bit my lip and I told him that I was so sorry, but there was no way to fix them. *tightness*
He just stared at me with his big, blue eyes. *melting*
I told him that they were broken, forever. *tightness*
He kept trying to piece them back together anyway. *melting*
There he sat, holding them up against one another… over and over again, because he just knew that eventually they’d be fixed again.
That is him right now.
The beautiful, innocent child, blissfully unaware that some things can never be fixed after they’re broken, no matter how hard you try to put them back together.
In my heart, I know that my jaded view is not the one I want.
I want to believe, like he does.
Moreover, I never want him to stop believing that.
Oh world, please don’t take this from him for a long, long time.
Maybe there’s time for me to learn to believe again, through him.
Alternate title: “My lips hurt real bad!”
(for the Napoleon Dynamite fans.)
I don’t know why this video makes me so happy, but it does. There is something about the way he applies it, so freaking seriously. Having kids makes you think stupid things are cute. But, yeah.
Incidentally, Vimeo wanted to make me wait 85 freaking minutes before my video was ready for viewing. In fact, Vimeo actually said to me, “Due to a high number of uploads, this video will be converted in approximately 85 minutes. You may now leave this page and we will email you when this video is finished converting.” Really, Vimeo? I have your permission to leave this page? Thank you so much. How gracious of you, Vimeo.
And along with that information, they taunted me with the knowledge that “Vimeo Plus” Members are moved to the front of the line for video converting. Click and you’ll be greeted with, “Buy now for $59.95 a year!”
Yeah. I think I’ll pass. Oh look, there’s a YouTube button on my toolbar!
So, thanks, Vimeo, but no thanks. By the way, Youtube was willing to convert my video right away (I timed it: 3 minutes.) For free. Stick that up your “Vimeo Plus” and spin on it.
Somehow, I don’t think it’ll be as cute as my kid applying chapstick. Just a guess.
The thing that came to mind immediately when I saw this week’s theme, “Chipped,” was Braden’s two front teeth.
I am horribly obsessed with the Chip Status of his front teeth. And it’s not because I’m some freaked out, obsessing mother who picks over every little detail of her son’s appearance.
I mean, it’s true that I’m freaked out and obsessed, but it’s generally over things like how many visitors my website has had on any given day (where the hell were you people YESTERDAY???) and whether or not Conan O’brien will ever admit that we were meant to be together forever, leave his wife, and marry me.
What? He totally sent me a secret message the other night. You think it was a coincidence that he was driving a Lotus on the show? And that the side said, “Team Lotus?” Please. My destiny is finally being realized. That’s all.
The Eagle Flies West at Midnight. I am coming, Conan. Secret message received.
So, my son’s teeth? HE WON’T STOP CHIPPING THEM.
And the only time he ever had a ‘noticeable mouth-related-accident-causing-parental-distress-complet-with-excessive-hyperventilating-and-hand-wringing’ was this:
And after that, one tooth was moved back for awhile, but it repositioned itself. And there was no chipping associated with the incident, at all.
And it only took me 2 whole months to stop gasping for air and clutching my chest.
Anyhow, apparently his teeth have decided that they are made out of that chalky crap that they used to make those “candy cigarettes”** out of, and every now and then, small pieces of them just crumble off into his mouth.
Mmmm, Candy Teeeths.
Every time I notice that there is just a little bit less tooth there in the front of my little boy’s facehole, I get a little more frantic. I am developing a special facial twitch just for the occasion.
I think the Tooth Fairy is even receiving certain frequencies that my brain waves are emitting when I go into this frantic state. They translate something like, “OMFG, ARE HIS TEETH GOING TO JUST ENTIRELY CRUMBLE IN AT SOME POINT, WHAT THE HOLY HELLLLL?!? *twitch, twitch, spazz*”
And yes. I KNOW that it is really not that noticeable. And that he is FREAKING GORGEOUS anyway. Seriously, I live with this kid:
I KNOW he’s freaking beautiful.
I’m not concerned with his looks. But I might just start injecting him with calcium while he’s sleeping out of the fear that this is an indicator of Bone Related Things To Come.
*dies immediately at the thought*
**And by the way, WHAT THE HELL WERE PEOPLE THINKING TO GIVE KIDS CANDY CIGARETTES TO EAT JOYFULLY???
I guess the “candy gun” and the “candy meth lab” did not make the cut during final product testing.
I mean, if >I< got to take a freakin’ nap every day, I’d be shooting SUNSHINE AND ROSES out of my butthole when I woke up.
And don’t even get me started on the pretty princesses, the unicorns, or the rainbows.
Or the tiny, sprightly, little elves with PINK TUTUS.
There would be a veritable fantasy fairytale world around my general anus area.
But this kid? OH HELL NO.
After-Nap time is also known as The Hour of Satan.
There is screaming, crying, flopping around… an all over protest at the very idea of existing takes place. Then, suddenly, it vanishes and Cute Boy arrives. Ready for his snack. But with a little Satanic Grump Angst tucked in on the side.
Unfortunately for him, even his Satanic Grump Angst is so damn cute, I just laugh.
(And the effort sometimes forces a cute, glittery fairy wand out of my butt. Don’t tell.)
In the spirit of calling Lotus’ missing mojo back from it’s prolonged vacation, here’s a rant I’ve been brewing since Christmas day. This may not actually call that spoiled mojoho back all on it’s own–it’s hard to top foot rubs and chocolates, but I’ll do my best to contribute to the siren song.
Dear Revered Big-Brand Toymakers,
Beloved gods of toys, who bring joy to millions of children, I am but a humble mother of one who extends these unworthy suggestions for your gracious and almighty reflection:
- If you are going to rate something 3+, then please make the fracking little pulls and knobs actually operable by 3 year-old fingers. If my kid can’t open Wall-E’s trash compartment and shove the little plastic pieces of trash in there on his own, then take that mofo off the shelf and back to the drawing board. “Maaaaaaaama! Waaaaaaalllllleeeeeee!” has been the theme song of my day, and I’m beginning to fantasize about telling my kid that his Wall-E died and throwing it in the trash. Any future therapy bills will be sent your way.
- Make your trains so that my 3 year-old can put them back on the tracks all by himself. Believe it or not, I don’t want to stop what I’m doing every 90 seconds all day long, to keep a train going ’round and ’round on a little plastic track. Hard to believe, I know.
- Make knobs for twisting easily twist-able. My kid did not train for Christmas with a Grip Master. He does not have miniature He-man fingers. I do not want to wind up that stupid toy even one more time, as long as I live.
- Make on/off switches larger than the head of a pin. And while you’re at it, don’t hide them underneath fur and up the ass of the toy! Okay? Really. Why is that necessary?
All I ask is that you make some small modifications to these toys so that your intended customer can use the damned things without constant parental assistance. I like playing with my kid, I really do. But I don’t live in your fantasy world, where I hover in the background wearing an excited smile, just waiting to be needed while made-in-China character toys break down.
Thank you for your prompt consideration.
A Loyal Customer
When she’s not busy ripping the toy industry a new one or dying her hair pink, Kat blogs at Just Kat Stuff about a little of everything. She claims to defy description. Go over and see if you can sum her up.
December 31, 2008
You were my first full year of blogging on my very own, self-hosted website from beginning to end. That was a happy thing about you. As I have written and published posts on my website this year, I’ve learned, grown, healed, changed, triumphed, laughed and cried.
I had a few trolls, it’s true. And unfortunately, I often take the trolls too seriously. I’m an emotional, sensitive chick with a high need for love and a fair amount of insecurity – it’s easy to slice me to the core. But, yes, trolls are just silly, angry people with too much time on their hands. I think Backpacking Dad said it in my favorite way recently, on Redneck Mommy‘s site:
“I love trolls. They’re so cute when they take their little poos everywhere.”
What’s more important about blogging for this whole year is that I’ve made wonderful friends and received love and kindness, as well as laughter and good cheer, from people I never would have met if I hadn’t stuck with this blogging business.
2008, that was so good about you.
My baby turned into a little boy this year, too, 2008. He had his first haircut and finished getting all his teeth (finally!). He asked to sit in a big chair (!!!), and the high-chair is gone.
My little boy, just this past week, left his crib. He is sleeping in a bed now. *heart beating hard*
He sings songs with words, and dances. He counts to 20 and knows all his letters. He can drink from a juice box and he’s learning how to brush his own teeth. He can take off his socks, pull down his pants, and he’s playing with the idea of actually using the potty again.
He snuggles his cheek up against mine, puts his hand on my other cheek and says, “Hufff-yooo.”
He quotes Spongebob Squarepants and asks me for milk when he’s thirsty.
He looks at me and says, “Aww, duuuude.”
No longer a baby, he is a boy.
This is bittersweet, 2008. My heart gets this panicky, tight feeling as I watch Braden grow so fast, 2008. So very fast.
But then it swells with pride. He is MY boy. I am so grateful for him.
So that has been good, as well, 2008.
I even finally lost the last 15lbs of my “baby weight” and got back to pre-pregnancy sveltness while you were around! That was phenomenally good, 2008. I was so incredibly happy to be moving more swiftly, and feeling lighter. (And fitting back into those hot jeans was certainly not a bad thing – bow chicka.)
Also, 2008, you gave me not just one, but two more babies. What a joy it is to find out there is a life growing inside of you. What an amazing, phenomenal thing that so many take for granted – a thing many of us just brush off as easy, or incidental.
It’s not, 2008. It’s incredible. It’s a delicate, vulnerable thing. A beautiful thing. When a live baby is born, it is a miracle of sorts.
You taught me that, 2008.
That was very much not a good thing. I don’t like you right now, 2008. It’s going to take me a very long time before I can look at you again without tears in my eyes. I want to grab you and shake you until you feel as bad as I do.
I keep trying to be mature about it, 2008, and see all the good things we had together. I keep trying to count my blessings, 2008, because I know they are many!
But you know what?
Right now, I just can’t. And that’s okay. For awhile, I think I am going to let myself hate you with all of my heart.
For awhile, I am going to be a child.
It’s not fair, 2008. It’s not fair.
I’m not your friend anymore, and I don’t want to play with you ever again.
It’s not fair.
2009′s Anxious Mistress,