A couple of months ago I am putting Lil b to bed and I start doing a random character. For no real reason, the character that I jump into on this particular night is an old Jewish grandmother, or bubbe. To become a bubbe, I hobble around his room like any elderly woman might while I talk about my day. In my best Jewish old lady accent of course. This is supposed to be a spur of the moment, one-off type thing to ease him into bed one night and never mentioned again.
For whatever reason, the character resonates with Lil b and he starts to ask for “Boobie” the next night and the following night, and so on. Now it’s to the point where I have to practically become this old broad every night when I put him to bed! Don’t get me wrong, Boobie is great. She tells stories about growing up in New York. She tells Lil b all about her day at the beauty parlor, or the butcher shop and the choice cuts of meat…and how big they used to be compared to what you get now…and how everything is so expensive. The best thing about Boobie is that she gives super wet, sloppy kisses, which I think is what stuck with Lil b in the first place. (you perverts get those dirty thoughts of Boobie outta your head right this minute!…sick bastards)
This is all fine and good and only happens for a few minutes each night…no harm, right? My ass…Since Boobie is now an official family member, I am strapped with the task of coming up with new material for her every friggin’ night. I feel like one of those shitty standup comedians that travels the country telling the same jokes every night and then binge drinking himself to sleep in his budget motel room. (the only embellishment there is the comedian part) Needless to say, playing Boobie gets old. Especially on those nights where I have had a bad day and all I want to do is drink myself in to an autoerotic dream world. You try getting off when you’ve been portraying a crotchety old Jewish lady…(Now I know what Howard Stern feels like…)
Needing a break from Boobie, I have had to come up with an acceptable substitute. I sometimes become Slim Jim, the crazy cowboy that yells his own name every 30 seconds. I have a French chef character when it comes time to feed the kids. They call him Chef Daddy and he snobbishly serves them processed foods for breakfast on the weekends. There is “Ze German”. He comes out rarely as he and Boobie don’t seem to get along all that well for some reason. And finally, there is Frank The Tank, my personal favorite.
FTT is a fairly new character. He talks in a Gomer Pyle voice, but acts like the Will Farrell character from Old School just after he does the beer bong. Only, I take it a few steps further and I actually pin Lil b down on his bed and punch the life out of him. (Ease up CPS dorks, I don’t hit him in the face where you could see the bruises…body blow!, body blow!) The first time I did FTT, Lil b loved him. I don’t know what happened, but the next time I broke into character Lil b was having none of ole Frank and he went into instant fit mode. Me being me, or Frank being Frank, this only eggs me on to take it up a notch… to the point that Lil b is huddled in the corner of his room sucking his thumb and quietly rocking himself into a happy place.
It is about this time that Mommy rescues him and bans FTT from upstairs in an effort to keep Lil b from developing a few personalities of his own. That being said, FTT still comes in very handy when I need to get Lil b to quiet down or get back into bed…All I have to do is fire up the ole tank and start the fist guns in motion and he squeals with delight…or terror…yes, it’s definitely terror as he sprints back to his room yelling that he hates Frank…silly kid…I am probably causing some kind of psychological damage…Guess I had better get my cane out and put on my grandma dress…my baby boy needs his “Boobie”.
A quick note that I wanted to share with you all regarding a commercial that I recently saw on a channel that my 4-year-old frequents. Typically, I do not pay much attention to the crap that is on the television when M is watching. I make the mistake that many of you make in that I trust in the “children’s programming” format of the network with which my daughter is enthralled.
So, I am sitting there picking my nose or adjusting my junk as I often do in my spare time when my attention is brought to a commercial on the TV. View the commercial now and then rejoin my discussion below so that we are all on the same page:
Now that you have witnessed at least some version equal to that which I saw. My question is simple; what are we teaching our children with games like this? I may be an idiot, but what I see in that commercial is that handling, playing with, and collecting feces is fun. Not even during the depression was playing with your own, let alone animal shit a fun thing to do. Fine, they added some happy colors to the fake dog shit so that it’s appealing to everyone and a good time is had by all…playing with faux shit. I can only assume that there is no realistic feces smell included. I don’t know about you all, but if I let my near 2-year-old watch that commercial, I would soon have a mound of randomly collected turds in my house.
What is a kid to learn from this game other than, “If I collect the most pieces of shit, I can win in life”? What about that game tells a child that feces is disgusting and carries bacteria and diseases? Nothing! Instead, they make shit seem colorful and fun. Hey kids, it’s okay to scoop up that turd from the yard. In fact, take a bite because we have colored it to look like a friggin’ candy cane. Plus, it’s worth 5 points! I can only imagine the repercussions involved on the first day of school when my kids show up with a cache of dog shit or worse acting like they own the joint. According to this game, shit is the new bling. “You like my new grill? Yeah, it’s thoroghbred horse shit, dawg. Fo reals”
This game is not the only source directing our kids to embrace poop. Mr. Hankey has been around for years and recently the Easter Bunny movie made it socially acceptable to eat rabbit shit. That movie alone has made me start systematically eliminating the rabbits from my yard. I feel like the Hitler of bunnies! Something has got to give…I think I will just keep my kids playing Chutes and Ladders or Candy Land …at least until I see them gnawing on the furniture.
Tonight the Wife and I were slapped square in the face with some harsh reality…from our four-year-old. While battling through yet another meal of brow beating M to eat something, she decides to pull a Maverick/Goose fly by of the tower.
For those of you that don’t know M that well, she is the most loving little girl I have ever known. I know this sounds like proud-parent-syndrome, but I am not exaggerating. If there’s a chance for her to hug or kiss on Mom, Dad, or Lil B she is going to take it and she will run it into the ground. In fact, tonight she licked me on the cheek as if she were a friggin’ dog, er…cute little puppy. However, the over-licking and kissing are for another day.
So M is sitting at the table when she decides that, rather than take a bite of dinner, she will deploy her patented delay tactics and tell Mommy that she wants to give her a hug (one of multiple hugs deployed during any given meal). M drops her ordinance of hugs and then, instead of her typical reroute back to base (her chair), she decides that this mission is going to require the use of nuclear force.
Upon completion of the hug mission, M steps back from Mommy and drops this 5 megaton whopper, ” Mommy, do you have a baby in your tummy?” After what seemed like an eternity of silence and several awkward wordless exchanges between Mommy and Me, I burst into a hearty belly laugh. Meanwhile, Mommy is sitting at the table with fail-smile trying to figure out how to tell M that there is no baby in her tummy without letting on that this comment cut Mommy to the bone.
So Mommy tells M that there is, in fact no baby in her tummy as she fights back a wave of tears. I am over across the kitchen belly laughing when M says to me, “Daddy, do YOU have a baby in your tummy?” The laughing abruptly ends and Mommy and I enter a few moments of quite self-reflection while M awaits a response. “No, neither Daddy or Mommy have a baby in our tummy.” One would think that this would end the line of questioning and everyone would proceed with dinner. Not M. She disputes what we have told her and goes further to insist that Mommy does have a baby in her tummy. This goes over like a lead balloon.
After adamant refusal from Mommy, M finally relents and goes back to pretending to eat. The rest of the meal is a blur of sorts because both Mommy and I are locked away in the depths of our own self consciousness trying to assess the damage from the massive bombs that had just been dropped by our sweet, innocent daughter. Not to be insensitive, but I felt how the survivors of Hiroshima must have felt as they crawled out from the rubble to see that their entire existence had been wiped out. Fine, I am a overexaggerator. Regardless, the seemingly innocent questions from our daughter had obtrusively opened our eyes. Yes, Mommy and Daddy are severely out of shape…
Our evening ends with gentle hugs and kisses as the kids are tucked away in their beds (while internally struggling with issuing M a severe beating…we’ll show her little ass who’s out of shape!). Mommy straps on her trainers and knocks the dust off the ole treadmill while I retired to the pool with my awesome sixpack…of non-light beer. I can only assume that the next line of pregnancy questioning will be directed only at me…Cheers
I am sorry that this has become such a habit to have to apologize at the beginning of every post for not posting more frequently. Alas, I am busy at work, busy with the kiddos, and truthfully, I am quite possibly the laziest person that you know.
Regardless, on to the long-overdue update. Let’s start with M since you all know her a little better than Lil B. M is approaching the start of her 2nd year of Pre-K at the little Christian school. She has progressed nicely as far as curriculum is concerned. She is also making interesting strides in her social development. At the end of last year she was anointed “Most Friendly” by her teachers. We were proud of her for not being the thumb-sucker that sits in the corner and shits herself while not having the communication skills to let anyone know about it. However, we have recently been made aware that our daughter is the cause of much drama at the little Christian school. Apparently all of her classmates want to play with M and she has not exactly rolled out the welcome waggon to some of them. While we understand that someone known as “most friendly” might draw a crowd in the realm of the 4-year-old, we are not prepared to have other parents complain that our little baby is excluding her peers. The important thing here is what we do with this information. There are several ways to look at this situation. We could be happy that our daughter is the object of every post-toddler’s desire regardless of who she has to step on to reach the pinnacle of Pre-K stardom. Or, we could scold and punish her for not being nice to others and try to strain some sort of life lesson out of the situation. In the back of my mind I feel as if I am creating some kind of pre-pubescent sorority super-bitch…and I kind of like it. I mean, why should my little girl have to be scolded because some half-wit’s parents can’t handle that they have a child that is an undesirable playmate. Problem solved! M, continue on with your natural selection-style of making friends. I feel like Will Farrell in Old School as he takes a tranquilizer to the jugular, “Is this bad?
On to the main man who is going to carry on the Henderson name, Lil B. The last update I did probably had Lil B shitting in diapers and crying like a little bitch about every little thing. Well, I am unhappy to report that nothing has changed! As Lil B nears his 2nd birthday we find him in the throes of learning the english language. While he has a full grasp on conversation (in his mind), he is in that stage in which only us parents understand what the hell he is actually saying. It usually involves crying about a lost member of his entourage. You read correctly, B has an entourage. He has “Baby”, “Rabbit”, Giraffe”, and “Puppy”. When I say entourage, I mean it in every sense of the word. Lil B is NEVER seen without at least one of his trusted comrades. Although, I did notice that none of B’s boys were around when he decided to carpet bomb the kitchen.
It is our own fault. See, Lil B had a gnarly diaper rash and we were trying to let that nasty thing air itself out. So one afternoon I get the kids home and decide that B’s bomber needs a little time outside of the diaper. I slap some shorts on him mainly because M is a little too fascinated with the difference in equipment between the two of them, if you know what I mean. The shorts are designed to avoid M screaming, “PENIS! PENIS!” while pointing and laughing at her nude little brother. That being said, B is going about his normal business of free-balling and following M around one afternoon and things are running quite swimmingly. They aren’t fighting, B isn’t tackling or pulling M’s hair and M isn’t using her height advantage to withhold coveted items from B. Basically, a nice little afternoon in my world. Meanwhile, as I half nap/half ignore the kids. Mommy comes into the kitchen and screeches. I am shaken from my slumber and run into the kitchen thinking that B has fallen on his head (again) or that he has kicked M’s ass again when I almost step in a trail of turds. If I were tracking small game it would not have been difficult to track Lil B from the string of nuggets that he had laid down across the kitchen floor. As I scrape up last night’s dinner reincarnate, I am reminded of one of the many reasons that we are now dog-free. I also made the tactical error in thinking that this was a one-time event. Two kids almost potty trained, and I recently got my first bathtub bombing from Lil B. To make matters worse, I was distracted by a heated game of Disc Driving on my iPhone while I let him play a bit in the tub. I am startled from my game by the garbled sounds of Lil B saying, “Poo Poo”. I give a half-ass glance in his direction and my mouth falls open. Sitting proudly coated in Mr. Bubble is Lil B. holding up a piece of shit the size of a cucumber. He is grinning ear-to-ear with the pride that he has finally connected the term of Poo Poo to its reality. I swipe the ex-dinner from his hand and pull my best fade-away into the toilet. Splash! Nothin’ but net, err…water. I know that B will grow out of his bombing phase, so I am not too worried. Plus, I get to work on my jump shot.
So, you all can see that I have two midgets in completely different stages of childhood. To add to this, I have both sexes to deal with and believe it or not, they are completely different in demeanor from birth. I am thankful for this challenge because I was beginning to get a little bored with being Superdad. Obviously, if you have read all of this you have lost time that you will never get back. Thank you for reading and watch out for those toddler land mines!
I would love some input from you other parents on this one…Our kids seem to have developed some genetic mutation that has given them the super power of projectile vomiting at will. Of all the genes from the multitudes of generations gone by that are carried in my wife’s and my blood, our kids both get hair-trigger gag reflexes.
For instance, B has thrown up on a restaurant table all of the 3 times that we have taken him to a restaurant. You may be thinking, “Wow, they don’t get out much!” You would be correct. We clean enough toddler spew up at our own house. We don’t need the added cleanup duty coupled with the embarrassment that comes from seeing fellow patrons bury their faces in disgust or gasp out in astonishment as they watch our entire meal get glazed with a thin layer of milk spray. You can understand why I no longer eat donuts.
Don’t think that I am leaving M out of this. The poor kid can get a little tickle in her throat, or have a little cough and que the chunk-works. On top of each of them having these separate issues, they both hose down a room with any period of prolonged crying. I recently purchased a John boat and fashioned strap-on buckets for both kids just to get around our own house. Our friggin’ carpet looks like a cheetah with all of the spots. We have been putting off getting wood floors for fear that they will warp under the constant layer of regurgitated food. I even went so far as to trace back our lineage on Ancestry.com to see if some distant relative mated with a fly…or an Irishman. I found a lot of the latter. Coincidence?
On a somewhat lighter note, we decide to take the kids to the Fort Worth Zoo last weekend. The weather is great, the crowds are low, and the kids seem to be holding down their food, so off we go in search of flamingos and elephants. (Don’t think for a second that I didn’t thow the puke buckets in the car) Nevertheless, things are going wonderfully when we happen upon the chimpanzee exhibit.
Like most kids, our kids like the chimps, and any monkeys for that matter.
So we linger at this exhibit just enjoying watching the chimps chase each other around their habitat. It is about this time that I notice a small group of chimps that is up on a high rock above the rest of the group. There are about four or five of them hanging out up there. As my gaze begins to shift from them to the chimps down below something stops my eyes dead in their tracks. I quickly snap my head back up to the rocky outcrop. OMG! Is that what I think it is? Holy S@%*! There is a male chimp just kinda lying back against the rock similar to how a I might sit on the couch and watch a Rangers game.
The reason that I know it is a male is that this guy has the hugest erection that I have seen on an animal outside of a horse (different story…there was beer involved…a lot of beer). As I stand there in amazement of this chimp’s endowment, a female sitting next to him hops up and straddles “Mr. 3-legs”. Am I dreaming? Have I fallen asleep watching internet porn again? This female hops on, grabs the 2-footer that “Long Dong Chimp” is packing and sveltely guides it..well you know what happens next.
It is at this time that I practically blind M with a ninja-like hand to the eyes/headlock spin maneuver to set us down the path away from the chimps. I am almost wishing I had my own puke bucket…As we walk away I can help thinking about the schlong on that chimp. I guess if we consider that Man won the war of evolution with his opposable thumbs, I have to say that chimps won at least one battle…
Ahh the holiday season. The weather is crisp (usually). Football is in high gear. The aroma of fattening treats fills the air. Francine, our Elf On The Shelf, makes his annual pilgrimage from the North Pole to play a month-long game of cat and mouse with our children. Described in this manner, the holidays sound like a fun, stress-free time with Santa, Frosty, and the gang. However most of you already know how cruel the holidays can be at times. Here are a few super happy fun holiday tales from my family. Hopefully, I have not pulled the trigger to the shotgun in my mouth by the time you have finished reading…
Holiday Decorating: Other than the actual putting up and taking down of holiday decorations, I do not mind a little festive decor. I rather enjoy seeing the lights that adorn the neighborhood homes and businesses. This being said, try decorating a Christmas tree with a 4-year old and a 16-month old. I drag the decorations in from the garage one excruciating box at a time. Meanwhile the wife and kiddos destroy the den unpacking the boxes. Despite the mess, the initial setup of our tree looks normal. Within 3 hours of hanging the ornaments the bottom two feet of the tree are as bare as the tree had been in the woods…before it was sacrificed in the name of baby santa jesus. We must have collected the wayward ornaments from around the house and replaced them only two or three times, when we succumbed to having a bottomless tree this year.
Francine: Let me start by singing high praise to Carol Aebersold and Chandra Bell, the creators of the Elf on the Shelf. Without our little Francine, the holiday season headaches would be ten fold. The relief that comes along with threatening your child with no Christmas if they misbehave is truly a gift in itself. I cannot tell you the joy that I feel when M acts up and I get to use the F word (Francine) to put her back in check. Ahh the delightful sounds of M fanatically crying, “NO! NO! NO!” as I pretend to call Francine on my cell (yes, he is sitting right on the shelf in front of me, but the phone adds a dramatic flare). However, I am not sure what the long-term side effects of using the EOTS might be. We have noticed M having a conversation with Francine on multiple occasions. I am talking full-blown two-way conversation. I just hope that she is not actually hearing Francine talk back to her or we will have a schizophrenic on our shelf.
Toy Assembly: Is there any activity in the world that is more painful than assembling toys on Christmas Eve? I almost wish that fat ass Santa was real so that he and his fairy posse could fight through toy assembly while I watch internet porn, er I mean bake Christmas cookies for homeless kids. This year we are tabbed with the assembly of the Barbie Dream House. This “toy” is almost large enough to house Lil B and as you might have guessed, it comes in 4000 pieces. Approximately 2 hours and 2/3 of a bottle of Crown Royal are down when we place the finishing touches on Barbie’s new crib. All the work (and hangover) was worth it to see M’s face Christmas morning, and more importantly to see Lil B doing his best Godzilla as he destroys Barbieville. He is eerily reminiscent of the giant marshmallow man on Ghostbusters…
Christmas Light Viewing: One of my favorite childhood memories of the holidays is when we all piled into the family truckster and headed out to Bishop Hills or Southwest Park to look at the Christmas lights. We mention seeing lights with M in an area of Plano that is known for its Christmas light display and naturally, she seems excited so we plan the event. We shuffle dinner around so that we are eating along with the Senior Citizens, we bathe the kids in the speedy dual bath, slap some PJ’s on them and then just as darkness falls, we are off to see some lights. A quick stop at Starbucks for mom and dad suddenly turns ugly when they inform us that they are out of Pumpkin Spice. Mom had to be subdued by a chop to the throat while I order us a peppermint mocha in place of our normal latte. This is not good and should be taken as a sign of things to come. As you can imagine, the traffic flowing through a neighborhood that is well-known for its light display is similar to rush hour traffic. Once you enter the subdivision, you don’t leave until the subdivision is says you can leave. We take our place in the car line and crawl down the first street filled with lights. I am unimpressed, but holding faith that the good stuff is further back in the maze of overpriced houses. Apparently M is unimpressed as well. Approximately 3 houses in she wants to go home and does not stop whining until we pull out of that subdivision some 30 minutes later. Lil B enjoys the lights so much that he instantly falls asleep. I am thoroughly underwhelmed by the “famous” display and Bishop Hills sounds pretty good right about now.
This & That: Lil B has officially entered the biting stage. He shows no pattern for how he selects his victims and certainly shows no remorse. Mark my words, if that little punk bites me again he is going to be looking like Sloth from the Goonies when I finish with him.
M & Lil B are starting to play together and this is such a wonderful time. We are trying to soak it in before the fighting begins and the years of tattling and brawling ensue. Speaking of playing, Lil B is quite the Barbie fan. He particularly enjoys Ken in his sleeveless tuxedo…pink tuxedo…I am thinking that if Ken were real, he would look more like Perez Hilton…
For any of you guys out there that are looking to escape the fam for just a bit from time to time, I have a solution for you. Install an outdoor TV. I have done this and it is quite possibly my greatest accomplishment (other than the creation of the two kids…which led to the outdoor escape TV…hmm). Seriously, if your patio accommodates, get the escape TV or forever risk your sanity.
In my last post (https://genericdad.com/2010/09/01/cant-we-all-just-get-well/ ) I teased a review of our first family trip to the mountains of New Mexico. 2 kids, 2 frazzled parents and a wagon full of belongings…
My family recently acquired a cabin in the Sierra Bonita mountains of New Mexico. Upon hearing this news we decided that we must get up there and check the place out immediately. The long Labor Day weekend provided just such an opportunity to embark on a most memorable journey.
Based on previous expeditions, we knew that Lil B was not a good passenger and so we decided to hitch up our wagon and ride to Amarillo late Thursday night. The theory behind riding at night is simple. The kids are used to sleeping during this time and they tend to sleep much the same during travel. The first leg of the journey starts flawlessly. We hit our schedule to be on the trail by 7:00pm. The only significant event from this leg of the journey was the awesome Pink Floyd-like lightning show that we were treated to for two hours. The subsequent huge thunderstorm with high winds and torrential rains was not quite as entertaining. Regardless, we pressed on and made it to Amarillo in near record time.
After a brief overnight stay in Amarillo, we hit the trail for leg two of our expedition. This leg of the journey was one of the more difficult to endure for several reasons. The first reason being that we had joined into and official wagon train with my family and being from a small town, they do not like to ride on major trails. This forces the wagon train off the beaten path so-to-speak. In fact, there was a portion of the this leg where the trail degraded from paving-to dirt-to-boulders. Yes, I said boulders…Imagine yourself trying to navigate an unfamiliar trail littered with boulders while the wagon that you are following kicks up so much dust that you cannot see the trail to avoid the larger boulders, so you inevitably hit all of them. Couple that with a one year-old screaming at the top of his lungs because he is being tossed around like my skid-stained undies in the dryer. Regardless, we pressed on and were eventually rewarded with the site of a beautiful log cabin…where our right rear tire immediately deflated due to the boulder gash it received on the way in.
The next 48 hours are almost blissful enough to make one forget about the arduous journey that had just transpired, nor dwell on the one that lie ahead…almost. There is just something about being in the mountains that washes away all of my stress and my problems fade to the back of my mind. I don’t know if it’s a lack of oxygen due to the altitude, or maybe I am just at home in the mountains. I truly hope that I end up living in a mountainous location some day, but I digress. I got to take M fishing for the first time and it was a beating to say the least (could be an entire post of its own). However, she had fun with her cousin of similar age throwing rocks and catching crawfish. She also got to take her first (of many) ride on a 4-wheeler with her Grampy, which she loved. Lil B was happy just to have someone hold him and he even got to taste test many of the indigenous rocks. Grammy saved the day by bringing the girls their own new backpacks crammed with activities. They had a blast.
Of course we knew that the trip had to end, but as we were loading up the wagons I could not help but feel as though we had just gotten there. The third leg of our expedition got off to a rough start. We stopped no less than three times to let Cousin A tinkle, then we made the mistake of stopping for lunch in one of the desolate towns down the mountain. A long hour later we are back in the wagons and headed east to Amarillo. Just as we reach what has to be the absolute middle of nowhere, we see a sign “DWI Checkpoint Ahead”. WTF? That can’t be right, can it? As we top the next hill we are greeted to six NM state troopers at the intersection of state highway X and nowhere road Y. I am sure I was missing something, but there just didn’t seem to be enough traffic on the back roads of eastern NM to warrant a six-vehicle DWI checkpoint…thank God I only do heroin. After the mystery checkpoint we arrive in Amarillo for a brief overnight stay.
The fourth and final leg of the journey was a blur because I had to find a happy place within. Somewhere between Vernon and Wichita Falls I am contemplating those skiddy drawers again. Only this time I am thinking of using them to gag my screaming son. Poor little guy is just not built for the road. On the bright side I think he may have a future in opera. At one point of the final leg my 3 year-old had to intervene and put a stop to bickering going on in the front seat. It is at this point that I check out for the rest of the way home. The wagon and horses were on cruise control…and so was I.
We Shall Return
We will be going back to NM for sure. However, our wagon training days are officially over. I love you, Southwest Airlines…and I love your free drink tickets.
I fear that my baby girl may be growing up too fast. I first began to notice this a few months ago and the evidence continues to accumulate. I can trace this all back to the beginning of summer when we pulled M out of her regular daycare facility and enrolled her in private “insert religion here” school. Lower your eyebrows and wipe that sarcastic “Ooh La La” look off of your face and let me explain.
M changed schools for a couple of reasons really. We were becoming more and more irritated that her original daycare kept putting her with the younger kids each afternoon in an effort to combine children. They do this so that they can release teachers as the parents trickle in throughout the day to pick up their spawn. M is also now in her Pre K years and we feel that she should be getting a head start on her education. These things considered, it was also less costly to send M to the private school with an actual educational curriculum than it was to keep her at the daycare where she played with two-year-olds and hand-me-down toys. So, you could say that we were motivated by finances as much as the desire for our daughter to get edumacated. If she’s not educated, how is she going to support me in my golden years?
Back to my theory on M’s recent maturity spurt. Since she started the private school, I have noticed my three-year-old daughter having in-depth conversations with her new friends about fashion, of all things. We sat at her recent open house and witnessed our toddler daughter having a conversation with her 4-year-old friend. Their conversation ranged from shoes; to what accessories each had on; to sharing a delicious snack. This is nuts…I have seen high school girls have this same conversation! Gone are the days of Dora and Wonder Pets. She is almost exclusive to DVD’s such as Toy Story and her crazy-ass Barbie movies. (Have you seen any of these? They are creepy)At this rate she will be animation free by Christmas! Her choice in bedtime stories had transitioned out of Brown Bear, Brown Bear and Fancy Nancy into all the Judy Blume she can get her grubby little paws on. I think I even caught her looking at the stock tickers in the Wall Street Journal the other day. To say the least, my baby is growing up, and way too fast…and I don’t like it one bit.
Where is my little snuggler? Where is the girl who wants Daddy to help her do everything? It used to be, “Daddy, will you snuggle me?” Now it’s more like, “Bio-Father, would you mind so much as to pass me the Grey Poupon? And while you are out running my errands, pick up my dry cleaning. I have an event with the girls from the club and I need my Minnie Mouse skort.”
I don’t even know where to start…
I am about to walk out onto the back patio last Saturday evening when my three-year-old daughter screams, “Daddy! Watch out for Mr. Buttons Tyroome!”
“Huh? Who is Mr. Button?”
“Mr. Buttons Tyroome! He watches over our patio.”
My wife and I exchange looks as if we have both just realized that our daughter is a certifiable nut job. I am starting to think that M might have a little schizophrenia. I knew it skipped a generation, but I had prayed that my kids would not be afflicted. Yet here I am having a conversation with my toddler about an imaginary overseer of our patio. Of course she may just have a vivid imagination…and no, there are no “diagnosed” schizoids in my family…(I do not speak for my wife’s family)
I inquire further about Mr. Buttons Tyroome and it turns out that he is a rather small (exact size not yet determined), orange little man. He has big ears and a big nose. He has no hair, but wears a hat to avoid sunburn. Apparently he also has keys to our house because today M told me that she saw him in our front yard and, “he used his key to come into our house.” She even went so far as to claim that I was with her, and that I saw him too while she hid behind my legs! This kid is nuts…Do they prescribe Lithium for toddlers?
I kid you not, these are actual conversations that I have had with my daughter over the past couple of days. I am thinking that I need to start digging into my in-law’s family mental illness history. I pray that these are the things that go along with having a child with a vivid imagination. Her mind is simply amazing.
Another example of M’s wild imagination and creativity is that she will pre-script conversations. This will happen mainly when we are playing. She will set up the entire scene. She will Tell Mommy and Daddy where to sit or stand; tell us what each person is going to do; and even feeds us our lines. And now I present Surprise Party by M. R. De Mille
SCENE 1, ACT 1
Mommy and Daddy sit on the sofa and hide. M enters the room.
Mommy and Daddy: “SURPRISE!”
M: “Oh, a surprise party for me?”
Mommy” ” yes, a surprise party all for you!”
Daddy ” We got you presents!”
M: “Presents? For Me? YAY!!”
This is just an example of one of M’s little “plays” , as we like to call them. However, now she is starting to think that she can script real life situations. As you all know, we have issues with getting the poor kid to eat dinner. With her recent screenwriting success, she decides that she can script tonight’s dinner after finding out that we are having food that she does not want. Please enjoy Dinner by M.R. De Mille.
ACT 1 SCENE 1
M: Eats ONLY a banana for dinner. NO TACOS, and NO BEANS
M: “Can I please be excused?”
Daddy: ” Of course you may be excused and you can go watch TV!”
I just sit there scratching my rapidly greying hair in amazement. What is this kid going to be like when she’s a conniving teenager? We are so screwed…
Mom and Dad are really starting to miss our little angel. We both get home from work this evening and all that we talk about is that we both have gone from enjoying the spare time that we have had to wondering if GG has fled the country with our baby. We scarf dinner down so that we can jump on Skype with M to see how her day went (and to see if she shows any sign that she recognizes her birth parents).
First things first; I must congratulate Skype, or the operators of our respective computers for a first attempt connection this evening. So, we make the connection and after a several minutes of looking at the ceiling in GG’s house, we actually see M’s adorable face. The adorable face that is burned into our memories is not exactly what we were met with this evening on the computer, but under the greasy hair and yogurt-caked face we see our little baby. Both GG & M look equally zombie-like to their appearances last night, but something else is different tonight.
Our normally untamed spirit of a daughter is looking sulky and is kind of quiet. We tell her that we miss her and she is quick to tell us that she misses us too in a whiney, tired voice. This statement is followed by a hug…yes, she actually hugged the computer. It was the sweetest thing that she has done since she has been away from us. Mom and I exchanged tear-filled glances knowing that out daughter’s time at Club GG is nearing an end.
We are regaled with the tale of today’s adventures mostly by GG as M lie quietly on the sofa. Our little zombie must have just fed on some fresh brain (which has the same effect on a zombie as turkey does on a live human) because she was beat. GG spells out that M is, “M-I-S-S-I-N-G Y-O-U” and our hearts melt. In a wierd way, we feel loved by the daughter that so quickly abandoned us and hurled potty names at us just last night. Speaking of potty name-calling, you will be happy to know that M decided not to insult her dear parents tonight. I don’t know about you, but we are thinking that the end is near.
Of course, we are taking her lapse of love to be merely tiredness for the time being because we have been burned by this bluff before. We will see how M feels in the morning when she awakens to a full schedule of swimming, shopping, or raiding third world countries for their jobs (see Installment 2 https://genericdad.com/2010/06/14/into-the-wild-installment-2/) We have the eerie suspicion that we will be having bathroom insults hurled at us by day’s end tomorrow. Stay tuned…