-
spoiled?
It’s been like Christmas here lately. Every day we’ve been getting new things. Some things, like this easel, I bought but most everything else has come in the mail. We are one bunch of spoiled brats when it comes to getting fun things in the mail. And most of those fun things come from you guys! So thanks a lot you spoiling spoilers!
Just kidding. Of course we LOVE snail mail and I will try to blog about each little wonderful thoughtful thing we have so generously received but it’s going to take some time because, did I say it already? WE ARE SPOILED!!!! And we’ve gotten a lot of things!
While we are on the subject of spoiling, I should add that Toby wasn’t very happy with me regarding the purchase of this easel for Baby Bug. He is away on another business trip and you know how it goes, when the cat’s away the mice will play! By playing, I mean painting of course.
I’ve had it in my head to paint several paintings while he is gone. It’s so much easier to paint and make a mess when he is not around to get after me about cleaning up. Toby hates clutter and while I’m not a very cluttered person in general, I am very cluttery when I’m in the middle of a project. My motto is: I make BIG messes but I clean them up in a big way!
So anyway, I had it in my head that if I got Baby Bug her own easel then she might leave my paints alone. “Ha ha, very funny” you say? It was a thought. I don’t know how well it will work. As you can see I need very little justification to go out and buy Baby Bug something neat and fun to play with. Especially when it only costs twenty bucks! How could I not buy it! Of all people who should have an easel, I think Baby Bug should have one. Right? Right!
Hmph.
Toby does not think so. You know why? Because he thinks she is spoiled. He thinks that she will not feel her talents as an artist are special (Don’t you love how we already assume she is a talented artist?) because she has everything any artist could ever want before she is even old enough to realize that these things are special. He thinks that she doesn’t care where she colors or paints. She draws on the wall, the couch, the floor, on paper, not on paper… etc etc. What’s going to make an easel special to a two-year-old?
Bah Humbug. So maybe he has a point. But this is also coming from the guy who doesn’t think she needs a puppy or a goldfish either. Cold-hearted, I say!
I guess we just have different ways of looking at things. I’m a little short-sighted, thinking about how I am going to get through the day and keep my little busy bee occupied. Toby is thinking of her career as an artist. I say, the easel won’t hurt but maybe I’ll hold off on buying her a laptop. She can use mine. (!)
Toby comes from a very different childhood than I did. I was smothered with gifts even when my parents couldn’t afford them. I remember photos of me at birthday parties sitting in the middle of mountains of presents. Do I remember any of those presents specifically? Maybe. Not really.
Does Toby remember his presents? Yes. When he was ten (not two), his dad gave him a single-reflex camera. I don’t think it was anything fancy. Just an old beat-up Pentax (correct me if I’m wrong Ponnays… Toby is out of phone distance) but that camera was everything to Toby. It still is.
-
Goodbye Antilop!*
See that face? That’s the face of a big girl. A big girl who doesn’t need her high chair anymore. With much trepidation, we finally took the high chair apart and stuffed it in the coat closet. We don’t need it anymore! But it’s still there just in case we do need it, along with all those wool coats we never use.
I say all this confidently but inside my chin is quivering and I’m grasping at the last straws of my former life. Baby Bug may not need the highchair anymore but her mommy does. Especially now that I am protecting my new couch cover like it were some rare piece of China. “Don’t you get near my white couch with those yogurt covered fingers!!! Sit down at your little table!” I say over and over and over.
I miss my old life.
I know I made the couch cover so it is washable for this very reason but I just don’t want to wash it yet. I want to save that chore for some undetermined date in the distant future. Maybe after I take a course in sailing because that’s how big that cover is and I’m going to need some special training to be able to stuff it into a washing machine. What day is laundry day? The first of Pain-in-the-Neck. So let’s just stay away from the couch with that leaky sippy cup of hot cocoa. Okay?
Getting Baby Bug used to the idea of eating at her own little table was easy. She doesn’t miss her high chair a bit. The problem is keeping her at her little table while she eats. It is a work in progress. A labor of love. Probably one of the hardest things I’ve done so far. But as Toby constantly reminds me, if I don’t do it now it’s only going to get harder.
Why does life have to be like that? I’m so much better at going with the flow. If only the flow would go the way I want it to go.
I had an epiphany the other night while I was out to eat with my mom, my sister-in-law and my two nieces. We were eating at a family restaurant that was moderately noisy so it was okay that the kids were acting up. But there was an elderly couple sitting next to us and every time Baby Bug shrieked (she’s been doing that lately when she doesn’t get her way) I could see them wince.
I know they just wanted to enjoy their Early Bird dinner of a shared steak, baked potato and mushy broccoli. They probably looked forward to it all week and had a coupon even. I could just see it in their faces that sitting next to the Zoo at feeding time was not their idea of a senior night out.
Sure, I know this is life and if they were nice people they would remember the olden days when they had toddlers and smile and tell me that they grow up so fast or something. But also part of me remembers being that snotty person who always vowed to have perfect children who never misbehaved in a restaurant. Yes, that was me. Feel free to kick me in the shins.
I said something about Baby Bug wanting to get down out of her restaurant high chair (that barely holds her in since she is skinny enough to wriggle out of the germ-encrusted buckle) and my sister-in-law commented that of course she wants to get out when she’s done. She doesn’t have to sit and wait for others to be done when she is at home, does she?
She was right. Baby Bug does not usually have to sit and wait. Usually, I plop her in the highchair, turn on her favorite channel on the television and nuke something nutritious for her to eat while I go about preparing dinner for Toby and myself. Then, when she’s done I swoop her off to the bathtub, Toby eats in peace and we have quality splash time.
In theory, it would be great if we all ate together as a family at the table at six-o’clock but that’s just silly talk. For one, Toby works weird wacky hours and for two; I just don’t have my act together early enough. To pull that off, I’d have to be starting dinner at three or something. I just don’t love cooking that much. It already feels like all I do all day long is plan, prepare, eat and clean up after meals over and over and over again.
Sometimes I think we should just invent a pill we can take for nutrition and be done with the whole mess. Too bad I like to eat.
So my plan is to teach Baby Bug to sit and eat her dinner at her little table. What a grand plan it is. Thankfully, Toby is on board with this plan and has spent a couple of dinners sitting in the tiny chair next to her eating his dinner too. (They make quite the cozy pair.) When she wants to get up, he is very firm. He’s so much better at that than I am.
Slowly, I think she is getting the hang of it. Hopefully, she won’t develop an eating disorder over the whole ordeal. Just kidding. We’re not making it into that much of a drama. But at the same time it will be nice when she can go to a restaurant with me and sit like a big girl for longer than two minutes.
*Antilop is the name of the high chair.
