If the word ‘cellulite’ comes out of that kid’s mouth, I’m selling him on eBay. Free shipping.
Liam was having an “off” weekend a few weeks ago. Yeah…”off”…we’ll just leave it at that. One of the few tactics that consistently works to redirect his energy when he’s freaking out is to ask him if he wants to help you with something. Doesn’t matter what it is. You could ask him if he wanted to help you amputate your leg with a rusty butter knife and he’d be jazzed to hold the wash rag in your mouth steady so you could bite down on it. He can be mid-screaming-fit with tears cascading down his chubby cheeks and if, in the few seconds of silence provided when he has to take a breath, you can quickly sputter, “Hey! Want to help me do laundry?”, he’ll turn on a dime, waterworks and yelling gone, and say in the most pleasant and earnest little voice, “Weem help Mum-Mum!! Weem is a *great* helper!”
This particular weekend, I was getting ready to color my hair. I had planned to sneak away to the bathroom by myself for half an hour, but sacrificing the rest of the family’s quality of life wasn’t worth that, so I invited Liam along to “help.”
“Hey, Bean! Want to help me color my hair?”
I’m sure this sounded like a much more interesting endeavor to my three-year-old than it actually was and I could tell later that he was somewhat disappointed that I had decided to forego using the rainbow of broken nubs from his Crayola box and had, instead, opted for a bottle of goo in a very suburban shade of brown. Warm Medium Brown, actually. Man. Could there be three more neutral, boring words strung together EVER? They should have just called the shade, “Nice.” Well, it was Nice-N-Easy, so I guess they did in a way. This is getting more depressing the more I write!
Liam was extremely interested in the array of plastic gloves and bottles I removed from the “Nice” box. He looked at me and asked, “What color is Mum-Mum making her hair?” (I’m not sure when this third-person-speak of his will end, but I kind of like it right now. Might be awkward in the 5th grade if he still sounds like Tarzan.)
“Ummm…well, just brown, buddy. I’m actually trying to make the gray hair brown so it all matches.”
He looked at me, confused.
“Some of Mummy’s hair is gray. See?” I pointed to several colorless sprigs but could see that he wasn’t focusing on them. “Um…here,” I said pointing to a more prominent patch of gray at the top of my forehead. I put my finger on my forehead under the white patch .
“See there? What are those?”
Liam studied the area above my finger and sat back down, unimpressed.
“Wrinkles.” He said matter-of-factly.
You. Little. Shit.
Now. Here’s the thing. I don’t think he and I or he and ANYONE have ever had a conversation about wrinkles before. How the fuck did he know to say, ‘wrinkles’?? Are the lines and valleys on my face such that they embody the purest essence of wrinkliness and therefore transcend the normal flow of knowledge and learning, standing on their own as the epitome of “Wrinkle?” He knew without knowing that they were wrinkles. See? Depressing!
On the plus side, I now have at least two things in common with Gandalf, who is awesome. So, there’s that…
You have three things in common with Gandolf. You hang out with Hobbits.. er, um… little people, that eat about 14 times a day.
WickedStepMoms last blog post..Signs, Signs, Everwhere there’s signs!
Yeah. Kids rock.
Mine told me that my butt was “kind of” big a couple of weeks ago. So now I tell everyone and anyone who will listen about his girlfriend Lily to make him squirm. Pay back is a bitch.
Maybe selling them on eBay isn’t the way to go - I’m unsure of the return policy. However, we could come up with some exchange program. How would you like a very opinionated 4 year old girl for the summer? She comes with the “I don’t want to take a nap” and “Mommy your belly is big!” programs already installed.
Kerries last blog post..We’re Live People!
Gandalf has cellulite?
=-)
TeeHeeeHeeeeHeeeeeeeHeeeeeeeeeeeHeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I would be willing to do a trade/exchange! Mine comes with a built-in smartassometer, that can determine your level of “I’m about to beat you senseless”, at which time it should dial it down a few notches, although the filter for this feature is currently on the blitz.
Oh yeah, and I can throw in all his 15yr old buddies that can eat you out of house and home in a matter of hours, for no fee.
I’m 4′10″. I’m 32 years old. Children are always measuring themselves against me. They mark with the blades of their hands from the tops of their heads to my shoulder or my nose or the top of my head. Sometimes they slant their hands up to convince me they’re as tall as I am. Then they invite me to go play in the sandbox. Of course, I go. I have to.
Mays last blog post..Uh oh …
One presumes the similarities aren’t with the beard….
My angel (now 21) was 2. I was in the bath trying to escape from the 3 kids, (baby was 2 mos) lying back in the bathtub. No lock on the door, so in come the older two - Dad was supposed to be watching them. I told them to leave me alone and they could stay. ‘Angel’ says ” Why do your boobies hang down to your belly-button?” They couldn’t believe how fast I jumped up and ushered them out the door!! Punks.
selling the kids on ebay. pretty nice idea. never came to my mind before. although i thought of selling them in offline auctions.