Parents Are Liars

I learned where all those myths your parents told you come from today. (Go read that article, it's pretty good)

Mogli didn't want to take a bath. While he was procrastinating, he hit his head somehow. He has a special talent for causing himself injury. He, of course, was making a much bigger deal of it than it deserved and telling me he couldn't possibly take a bath now because he needed to go lay on the couch and watch Phineas and Ferb so his head could heal. I told him that getting in the bath will be a much better way to make him feel better because the warm water will help the blood flow so it won't get as swollen.

I totally made that up.

He believed me though. He got right into the bath, and reported that his head was much better when he was done. In twenty years or so, he will be telling a child to get in the bath because it reduces swelling, and he'll be sure it's true, when really it is just something I invented because he was dirty. The wisdom of our parents is a marvelous thing, but when I realize that I am the parent who is meant to be wise... I'm a little bit scared, and suddenly a bit more skeptical.

Parentally Devious

This time of year brings out a lot of memories. Every Thanksgiving I think about the year we ate at a cousin's still partly unfinished house. I don't remember many details, except that they had a lot more snow than had fallen at home, and the unfinished portion upstairs seemed much larger than it actually was, and full of potential. I have a permanent image in my mind of my uncle emerging from some mysterious place behind a wall (and by wall I mean frame without drywall). I'm sure it was actually quite ordinary, but in my mind I am still in awe of whatever went on there.

Some of the fondest memories involve decorations. For three months, our house was adorned with all sorts of extra holiday novelties. Among the October knicknacks were a wax ghost-in-a-pumpkin that smelled like happiness, and a spider that I can only describe as sharp. November included a pair of squirrels dressed as pilgrims and a cornucopia. December, of course was the most ornate month of all, with trees and lights and candles. Putting up decorations--especially Christmas decorations--was always the greatest thing imaginable. Once I came home from a friend's house to find all the Thanksgiving trinkets already in place because someone important (probably grandparents) was on their way. I still feel the heartbreak some 2 decades later.

There was one thing I never understood about the decorating process however: my mom always made us clean the house first.

Why, if we are putting a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, do we have to clean the kitchen? It was a baffling riddle. Nevertheless, it happened pretty much every time. Today, at last, I fully realized the beauty of that arrangement.

Mogli was (is)  desperate to get Christmas underway. He began begging to get the tree out before he had even had breakfast. I explained to him that we needed to clean the family room so we had a place to put everything while we rearranged furniture and sorted through lights and decorations. About 5 minutes later it was done. Not wanting to lose any momentum, I told him he needed to get his room clean before we could do anything fun (standard practice). He went right to it without so much as a "whyyyy-uh?" (anything but standard).

In fact, he barely complained all day. I just had to find some way to connect a request to the prospect of a Christmas tree, and he couldn't get it done fast enough. He vacuumed Captain Hook's mess of muffin crumbs three times, the second and third without even being asked.

I shamelessly exploited that kid's desire to have a Christmas tree all day long. As a result, there is a tree in my house almost a week early. And I'm okay with both of those facts.

Pee

So Mogli fell asleep in the car on the way home tonight. Naturally, I carefully tucked him in when we got back and went about the business of getting to bed myself. About thirty minutes later I heard him get out of bed and walk down the hall and into my room. I assumed he needed to pee and was, as he often does, checking to see if he can get in our bed, and, upon hearing that he cannot, asking to be tucked in after he relieved himself. “I’m in hear bubby” I called to him. But then I heard the tell tale tinkling sound and guessed he would finish and climb in my bed and I would move him momentarily. Something about that tinkle just didn’t sound right though…

He was still standing at the scene when I walked in (but what he was doing can barely be described as standing). In front of him was a Spin magazine with Paramore on the cover that had previously been dropped there haphazardly. It–and the floor around it–was soaked in urine.

“What are you doing?”

Just an unfocused stare and another wobble in response.

*sigh* “Go get in bed bro.”

After another unfocused glance, he attempted to comply. He made it halfway down the hall before he forgot what he was doing and began wandering, ending up back by my side a moment later. My second attempt at sending him to bed only earned a quick circle, starting toward the door and coming back to where I was standing in a few uneven steps. I carried him to his bed, where he immediately resumed his deepest sleep without so much as a sigh to hint at his escapade.

I suppose we’ll never know if the magazine was just the first target he saw, the unfortunate bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time, or if he has simply decided he doesn’t like Paramore. Regardless, I’ll be on high alert any time he gets up in the middle of the night from now on.

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Now playing: Paramore - Decode
via FoxyTunes

Shots

I recently mentioned several unposted posts. One of them chronicled the adventures of Mogli's 4th birthday extravaganza. It involved Chuck-e-Cheese, seven hundred some odd tickets and the cheap toys purchased with them, cake, ice cream, grandparents, and lots and lots of balloons.




Along with turning four comes a doctor checkup. Being that his mother is a nurse,not to mention he's already had his share of emergency visits, he isn't afraid of doctor's offices the way many children are. In fact I dare say he was excited. He has backed off on the growing thing, only in the 84th height percentile, down some 10% or so from last year. He was declared fit as a fiddle, and the doctor told him he could have his kindergarten shots if he wanted them. He told the doctor that he quite likes shots, and yes he would appreciate having them post haste. No sense waiting around to get sick when such a fun thing as shots are available, right? He came home and showed me the dots on his leg and was just as pleased as could be!

Well, I went to class, he visited Grammy, and by the time I got home he was singing a whole new tune. It went something like "you can't pick me up or put me down or make me go to bed or let me stay up or give me a hug or let me go or stay here or go in the other room and I can't hold still or move because my shots hurt me too much."

Maybe next time he'll think twice

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Now playing: Wilco - Shot in the Arm
via FoxyTunes before volunteering for early medical treatment.

Awake

...is not a word that should ever describe a three year old at 2300 hours. Nevertheless it does mine. He wants to sleep in my bed because Mommy's at work. When he sleeps in my bed however, no matter the distance between us initially, he invariably rolls over and proceeds to kick me in his sleep. He inherited that trait from his mother.

Often when he doesn't want to go to bed I will strike a bargain with him; if you lay quietly for ten minutes and don't fall asleep you can have the drink of water you've been asking for, for example. Well he just tried a bargain of his own: I lay down two minutes and if I'm still awake I can get in your bed! So I countered: You lay down and when you fall asleep if your still awake then you can get in my bed. He thought that was a great idea, and I haven't heard a peep since.

coming to you like a rope in a chain store

I like to make stuff. I can't draw but I love to take pictures. Not of people though. At least not when they're posing. That turns it into a chore. I like to create songs. It's one of my favorite pass time activities. I do wish I could remember all the songs I've made up over the years. Like that one that came to me in a dream so clearly that I awoke at 2 AM and started playing it with barely a thought. That song was mega awesome, but doomed to be nothing but a sleepy time memory. I tell Mogli stories at night. Often they are about my grandfather's many and varied adventures. About equally as often they are completely fabricated, usually loosely based on a subject or concept he chooses and I expand upon as I kneel bedside. I know it's a success if there are no off topic side notes. Actually I usually know before it gets to that point. From time to time I'll think I'm doing something great with the chosen material, a spaceman who rather unexpectedly and inexplicably meets a bear fishing for example, only to be unexpectedly and inexplicably interupted with a question about why no one else's race car is as fast as his.

I'm going to write a book.

Song Of The Day

Today's song is "Underground" by Ben Folds Five. I made this particular selection because Mogli has been singing it continuously the last few days:





Need I say more?

Mogli Is Now This Many

Mogli is now this many:



Hard to believe, right? I can barely do it. He pretty much had the coolest birthday ever. While I was busy quitting my job to move on to a better one, his Mommy took him to the aquarium with a cousin. They saw sea horses and alligators and an octopus. Afterwards they headed to McDonalds, where I joined them and Mogli got a sweet Spider Man toy. After running home for a few minutes we headed over to the pool where he wore himself out quite thoroughly in his efforts to prove that he is not afraid of anything. His Batman party was also a success. He was delighted by all the attention, and the presents and cake too. Grandmas, Grandpas, aunts, uncles, and cousins came over and he took LOTS of pictures of soon-to-be-Aunt Melly. He went to bed happy, and went to sleep about the time his head hit the pillow. So did we.

Road Trip Blues

Meet Mogli:



He's a delight. Normally quite amiable and fun.

Normally.

Last week we took a short road trip to Ogden. Mind you, Mogli is potty training. Without consideration to the circumstances we allowed him two drinks shortly before we left. Everyone see where this is going?

Just at the on ramp he started yelling at the top of his lungs "I needs to go pee!!!" So the very next exit we were stopped at a gas station. Not ten minutes after getting back on the road the yells began again. And again. And again. One time we couldn't stop soon enough, and he peed just a little in his pants. Long story short, it took us easily twice as long to get to Ogden as it normally would, and he was stuck sitting in his own urine.

When we got there we ran into another convenience store. I was running as quick as I could, and as I frantically searched for the restroom, I felt my arm get warm and start dripping. Yep, I was peed on. The rest of the trip there were two urine soaked gentlemen.

Isn't parenthood fun?