Day1: a neighbor cat murdering bunnies in the back garden ; fighting the crowds fun in the sun at Boulder Creek Festival; “energy gummies” that came with a crash like the hangover of a frat boy’s graduation night bender, (this was a rookie mistake on my part, I am rusty with my Boulder rules- NEVER take anything a crunchy girl on the Pearl Street Mall gives you, even if she’s a legit vendor;) exploding mason jars of beer in the back seat of The Mr’s Jeep and some very unfortunately-placed wettness on my pants from said jars; assembly of a patio storage box that made putting the Cozy Coupe together seem like stacking Jr’s “1,2,3” blocks; “all natural mosquito repellent” that does NOT repel; and a carpet of dead/dying insects on the floor of our garage that can only properly be described as “of Biblical Proportions.” Off to quite a start.
Day 2: a morning greeting that included a monster toddler poo blow-out before my first cup of coffee even got cold waiting for me to drink it; a short trail hike to a favorite pizza joint, during which I discovered everyone thinks that even a hike on a joke of a trail in the foothills is “outside my comfort zone,” :::cough cough::: Colorado Native here :::::throat clear cough::::: ; a lounge singer version of 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop”; finding that the uber-sucky-to-assemble patio storage box has a faulty lid that I will have to replace (sigh); getting scraped on one of my extra large bug bites by Jr’s shoe, causing an explosion of itchtastic-ness that resulted in actual tears; and the errecting (giggle giggle, tee hee,) of a bug zapper on our property. (If that isn’t suburban, I don’t know what is.)
Day 3 is just starting, but it is going to include The Mr. using an electric hedge trimmer that is probably too much tool for a trimming newb perhaps overkill for the job at hand, (pray for my shrubbery.) Maybe we will make it to the overcrowded concrete swimming hole pool, maybe we will just keep doing what we are right now: running as fast as we can in circles screaming “I’M A DINOSAUR!!!!” (ok, that’s not really what I’m doing… but we can revisit that statement after a few long-weekend-bonus Mimosas.)
As the Mr. is snoring away upstairs at the moment, I find myself much as I was 2 years ago at this time – reclining on the sofa, fuzzy-warm ball of pooch curled in the bend of my legs, snoozing quietly smushed against me. Only 2 years ago, as I drifted off, pleasantly full of Pasquinis, Pillow Pet wedged under my 37 weeks pregnant bump, supported and cradled by the sofa-back, I had no idea that my next trip to the loo would change everything. I thought that ‘pop’ was Jr giving me a little nudge from in there, objecting to my getting us up from our comfy spot.
Binky-the-wonder-dog barely blinked when I exclaimed “Oh!” I looked at him – “did my water just break?” He sighed and repositioned himself on his end of the sofa. I did what any reasonable, educated mother-to-be would do.
I googled “did my water just break?” Google- not as cute as my dog, but way more informative in this situation.
Then stuff and things happened: Blah, blah, hilarious drive to hospital with The Mr. running lights while I expressed pain in increasingly horrifying ways…. yadda yadda, crawling into L&D like Gollum across the floor, requiring mucho assistance from The Mr. to remove skinny maternity jeans while speaking in tongues….. bibbitty bobbity exorcist anesthesiologist arrives and I reclaim my composure through the magic of drugs and stop asking to be hit over the head with a frying pan; and 12 plus not short hours later, after just the smallest application of the glorified salad tongs, Tah-Dah -Jr.!!
And a minute later he came home, and the next hour he smiled, rolled over, sat up…. and the next morning he was eating puffs and had a mouthful of teeth, and that afternoon he went from doing his infamous bootie-scoot to a few steps and then a run. I turned away a second and he was 1 year old, and we were packing his things and moving from the cozy nursery in his first home and into The Casa, and now a few short days from then he is talking like he gets paid to do it and will be driving the car and leaving for college next week.
No? Ok- but that is how these past 2 years have felt. 2 years ago I was just as I am now, couch and dog and snoozing in front of the TV. Just a few hours away from absolutely everything.
I am SO not the “no more than 1/2 hour of TV a month for little Timmy,” kind of parent. We are a TV loving family, and Jr is no exception.
When he was teeny tiny and sitting in his little buzzing seat on the table, he LOVED the theme songs for “King of the Hill” and “The Big Bang Theory,” (even when he got older – one of his first words was BANG! which he would yell at the end of the latter, before giggling his baby head off.)
On Sundays I would park his Rock and Play next to me in the main room of the Tree House and make an ass of myself interact as we watched Play With Me Sesame, and Elmo was his first baby love.
Now that he is older and more interactive (he will be two next week. TWO! Sob, stop time, stop – TOO FAST!) he sings and giggles and dances and repeats and generally woops it up in front of some Sprout/Disney Jr/Nick Jr programing.
I can’t say I will be losing any sleep over that, so whatever.
HOWEVER – pre-kiddo, I will say that I thought Barney would NEVER show his puffy purple kissser in my casa, no way, no how.
Um yeah.
Barney is awesome. Barney could roll up in his Barney bus, unpack his Barney bags, and take up residence here and I would be totally down, (might need to tail-proof some things, but I will make it happen if needed.)
Who is NOT awesome?
Dora. Dora is a Shouty McShouterson. Dora (and her cousin or brother or WHATEVER, Diego too,) needs to take it down about a bajillion notches. Instead of that, however, Dora is constantly telling MY KID to say things louder.
“We need to call ice cream trucky RIGHT NOW – will you help me?”
:::pause for kid to respond:::::
“LOUDER”
Hell no, not “louder” Dora – mommy no likey the screechy. Cierra la boca, por favor! (See, I did learn something other than how to ask for the bathroom pass in Spanish class – suck on that “Senora Tried-to-fail-me.”)
Who else is NOT awesome?
Cailou. Did I spell that wrong? I don’t care. Because I agree with his internet nickname “Cryou.”
What the hell did we do to you Canada, that you have sent us this whiner to infiltrate our TV time? I am uber-ok with expressing our emotions, with showing images of boys who aren’t ashamed to cry, etc, but that Charlie Brown looking pre-schooler WHINES everything.
Growing up is not so tough, except when he’s had enough (always,) and then he whines like the whineiest whiner EVAH.
Stop. No really. I don’t actually want my kid to think that whining is an acceptable form of communication.
Zip It, baldy. And your little cat, too.
Every time I hear him screeching, I hear the chorus of this gem from the South Park Movie
Here is the thing – Barney is nice. Barney has a good message. Barney makes my kid want to come give me “a great big hug and a kiss from me to you.” Barney is anything but annoying.
Give me some Barney and plenty of Sesame Street (I mean really – Sesame Street, fun for kids, fun for adults, and the things my kid knows that have come from Sesame Street AMAZE me,) and we will be singing and dancing and giggling with glee – no shouting or whining allowed.
Reluctantly Suburban 