My Do It!

My children's independence is a great source of pride. Oh, look! I'll say. She just marches right in there and doesn't look back! Or, I've never had to teach them to do it, they just do it! Independence is a hallmark of good parenting. Either that or complete neglect, but I'd like to think it's the former. "My do it!" has been the battle cry of all my children.

But sometimes - sometimes I just want to tell them to let me do it.

Sometimes, I don't have half an hour for you to fiddly fart around with your buckle. Just sit your ass down and let me buckle it and let's go. I have shit to do.

Henry, sensing that his two year birthday is upcoming, has decided to adopt the WAYS OF TWO a little early. For those of you not familiar with the WAYS OF TWO, let me explain: It means your kid becomes a total asshole about ridiculous things. Mostly, things to do with independence. Independent dressing, independent car seat getting into, independent eating. It means that if you dare to take the wrapper off a cupcake, you are risking a meltdown of epic proportions.

It means that you have to take the cheese stick out of the fridge, hide it behind your back, take the wrapper off, then re-wrap it before you hand it to your child to "unwrap".

It means that he will walk around with his shoes on the wrong feet, because he likes them that way! It feels good!

It means that there is nothing too heavy for him to lift, or too tall for him to climb, or to difficult for him to figure out. He is TWO, and you can not fuck with TWO. You know nothing, Parent! I am TWO!

Today, as we were running late to drop Julia at preschool, and I dared to pick him up to put him in his car seat, he threw a tantrum. I'm dodging head butts and trying to use my elbow to fold him down at the waist (like a stroller, or an ironing board, children bend if you apply pressure in the right places), and he is screaming and kicking his legs. Julia, who is calmly sitting in her seat waiting, rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath, "Kids."

The wisdom of five.

Are You Going to Eat That?

There are moments in your life where time stands still. When it seems you are a disembodied spirit, floating above, peering down at your corporeal self doing something incredibly stupid. From the ether, your spirit-self opens its mouth in a vain attempt to communicate, but all that escapes is a whoooosh of air. In your head, you scream- that is not chocolate!

It is too late.

I seem to lack that spilt second decision making skill. Somewhere between the thought (what is that?) and the action (placing mystery object in my mouth), there should be a moment of hesitation. A moment where my brain kicks in and says, hey, wait a minute.

I have put an embarrassing number of things into my mouth without first determining their origin, or considering their current state. All of my children have gone through the Cheerio stage, where their primary snack has been the ubiquitous "O". As a result, Cheerios were often found in the deepest, darkest corners of bags and cars and bras. Channeling my Depression-era ancestors, I was loathe to toss them out, and often, too often, ate them instead. I remember very clearly one instance where, taking off my bra after a long day, I discovered a Cheerio clinging with desperation to my right breast. It had, no doubt, been there most of the day; it had imprinted a tiny circle into my skin and had long lost any crunch it may have had.

Naturally, I ate it. And as I chewed the stale, slightly soft morsel, I thought to myself - am I really eating cereal off my boob?

Toddlers love to share their food. Preferably after they've mashed it and smashed it, rolled it around in their chubby fists until it can only be described as grimy, and - if they really love you - they'll even pre-chew it. The Husband will say, 'No, thank you!' over and over until even my very persistent children give up. I, on the other hand, will smile and pop the piece in my mouth and eat it with relish, even if my brain is yelling what the fuck are you dooooooing???

I like to think it's because I love them more.