Blog Therapy

Lately as I’ve been thinking about whether or not I should update my blog and continually choosing the latter, I realized that I’m constantly complaining about the monster down the hall I call my son. Don’t get me wrong, I love him. I slept through 12 hours of intense labor (those lines were really jumping!) and pushed for an hour to get him here. He turned my world upside down and it’s never been better. It’s amazing how your blood pressure can skyrocket and your heartbeat go from comfortably calm to lethally dangerous as that 3 foot-tall miracle runs in and yells “Why’d you do that Calvin?!! Go to your room and sit on bed!” Excellent. At least he punishes himself, but what could it be this time? A whole roll of tp unrolled straight into the toilet? No no, that was 3 weeks ago. A box of 500 q-tips dumped in the toilet? No wait, that was 2 weeks ago. Maybe he decided to play Joker and paint his face with my waterproof mascara again, because that was a lot of fun!


Generally the crime is unfathomable. Not something my complex 22 year-old brain can think up. In this particular case I’m not sure who suffered more. Me, the one who was nauseated by the smell of Desitin all day in his breath, or him, the one who brushed his teeth with it. Am I bitter that I’ve had to throw away 3 discs that had been snapped in half? Yeah a little (one was Saving Silverman for Heaven’s sake!), but I’m just grateful that none of those came from our prized collection of all 10 seasons of FRIENDS. Am I bitter we had to take the handles off of the dresser? Making it difficult for an adult to wedge their fingers in the sides but just right for a child to still weasel his way into it? Or that our baby gates are now permanent fixtures in our home? Actually drilled into the door frames or Calvin can just ram into it and push it out. I can’t even tell you how proud I was when I watched him lay one of his trucks on its side on the very edge of his bed, stand on it on his tippy toes, and then take his arm and whack all of his dvds off of his shelf. Pretty clever kid, but still can’t figure out while all of his movies skip. When this happens he takes it out and says “It’s scratched and dirty! Do you see that?!” (Oh my gosh! I just had the scene float through my head from “The Ringer” when the handicap kid yells at Johnny Knoxville for scratching his cd. It’s exactly like that! Perfect.) He’s so intense about everything. Sometimes when I look into his eyes I can almost see fire and pitchforks. But then... his eyelashes get in the way and this boy comes to mind:

By raise of hands, who remembers this child? I know it seems like so long ago, but yes, this is indeed Calvin aka Baby of the Year 2006. And don't you forget it! I bring this up for 2 reasons: 1. Because this was pro’ly the proudest day of my life (and I don’t care if it was a drawing) and 2. This is the boy I still think of him as once we’ve put him down for the night. The boy who puts the foot rest up for me whenever I sit down on the La-Z-Boy. The one who puts the mirror up to my face and says “Ohhh, Mommy’s sooo pretty.” (Does that mean he’s sweet or just well trained? I don’t think I care.) And the one who sings the whole Little Einsteins theme song with me (which is so cute I’m seriously considering posting the recording but probably won’t since I’m singing on it too). So the next time I’m grumbling about jell-o, pudding, calamine lotion, hand sanitizer, foundation, exfoliant gel (thanks Uncle Joe!), hair gel, Vaseline, Desitin, or Ali’s Ear Care gel smooshed into my carpet, it’s only because this is my outlet and the only way I can find humor in it. Plus I think if I can get him doing arabesques and plies with June (Little Einsteins) on tape I’ll have all the satisfaction/black mail I need to go on! Thanks for your support, you guys are such great listeners!