…acrobat classes predictable failure. Asked why he didn’t want to do any of the activities or return the next week, Peanut replied, “I don’t want to go to a class where they tell you what to do.”…
…Butter’s third ear infection in ten weeks, all of them ragingly infected, was diagnosed by his mom and a borrowed otoscope. Subsequent visit to pediatrician included the marveling MD’s “I can’t believe this thing hasn’t ruptured, and I can’t believe he’s smiling!” Hours later, it ruptured. And Butter continued smiling….
…progress through the house made increasingly difficult by four year old blocking routes of egress with arms akimbo and the petulant demand, “say the magic word.” Process has become tougher after the first magic word, “Damnit” lost its effectiveness. Passersby now asked to name the magic fruit, which I’m convinced he has not chosen in advance. He just listens to us list fruits until he hears one he likes. Arms drop, and passage is granted….
…pudding day this week featured homemade butterscotch pudding. Huge hit. Repeat performance requested…
…a week of sleeping at least part of the night next to a sick, wakeful baby has left my contorted neck (heaven forbid I have a pillow anywhere near a baby or rest in any way other than sniffing his sweet breath) so stiff I can barely move. Wondering now if his ear infection has somehow given me meningitis. Trying to find the funds to get us both some chiropractic adjustments because, hey, why the hell not at this point.
It’s going to be all okay and good. You might keep a pocketful of nickels, and pay for safe passage. This guessing fruit is bullshit and as you note, leads to profanity, which I’m okay with. Not judging, just saying, the best kind of problems are the kind I can throw money at. Get him a tin can and he can wear it around his neck, 40s beggar style. Drop a nickel in the can and on your way you go.
You know, I don’t want to attend anything where they tell me what to do, either. Being told what to do sucks. Which you should point out to him, the next time he orders you to tell him the magic word.
Slam dunk for Witch! That’ll lurn em! Ka-POW!
I hated swim class for the very same reason. I was gonna punch the bitch who dunked my head one more time like a toaster. As was told to me, I jumped out of the pool, took my Olive Oil bathsuit off WHILE WALKING AWAY through the gym, I flung it on the bleachers, pranced into the dressing room naked, came out changed and ready for the car. That was all she wrote. Class was out!
Tara, this is why you make it through your days in better condition than I do. Nickels. Brilliant.
Kitch, agreed and agreed. Except he doesn’t think telling people what to do is the same as being told.
jc, Peanut has the same allergy to swim lessons. I find it vile that swim instructors dunk. Seems abusive. Olive Oil swimsuit imagery priceless, as is that of nude unicorn prancing with the freedom of F-U! Lesson over, indeed.
I choked on my water, laughing at your first paragraph. My son JUST said the same thing about soccer two days ago. The exact same thing!
Is it bad if I suggest you stick your fingers in your ears and give Peanut the slip when he corners you into naming fruit? Maybe throw him a curve ball like tomato or avocado…It will keep him guessing…I am with Kitch, tell him you don’t feel like being told what to do either…
I often wonder what the hell is wrong with pediatricians sometimes…Seriously, an additional four to eight years gets you a degree in a**holery?
That’s actually a very good reason why not to enjoy a class.
I’m sorry, but did you say ‘homemade butterscotch pudding’? *my favorite*
Ugh, ear infections. Mr T had like 6 infections in 3 months without a proper diagnosis (needed ear tubes!) when the 1st Ped we had when we moved to the ‘burbs, and it wasn’t til I listened to my gut and found a new Ped that the whole issue got resolved. EIs are the woooooorst.
“I don’t want to go to a class where they tell you what to do.”
Ah, yes. That was my first born’s philosophy during those classes, too. I would tell you that this changes by the 4th grade, but…oh wait, it doesn’t. Which is why we are sent these lovely, happy-go-lucky, why-sure-I’ll-do-it-with-a-smile-on-my-face second borns.
Pudding day! Pudding day!
I think I’m going to stop going places where I’m being told what to do, too. Who needs acrobat classes? ;)
Healing thoughts to Butter and your poor sore neck!
Jane, did you expect it the way I did? Bollocks on them, the adorably independent. They’ll never learn the flying trapeze, you know. ;-)
Maria, I’ve tried the fingers in the ears because he’s been doing that lately, too. Somehow, though, I’m not allowed to do the things he does. Go figure.
letmestart I did, indeed, say homemade butterscotch pudding. Because it is, again today, Pudding Day! (Tubes scare me. Ear infections scare me. Back to back to back illnesses in an exclusively breastfed baby scare me.)
Gibby, yours and mine and Jane’s ought to get together and refuse to listen to each other’s directions sometime. Should be a fun gathering of iconoclast wannabes.
Evenshine, you’re dang right! Come on over any Tuesday!
Fie, thanks. Sick sucks. So does being told what to do. So, really, does having to tell someone what to do. I’m gonna stop going places where I have to be in charge. Somewhere magical where there are no accidents or cavities or germs or tired kids who need to hold hands or buckle up or brush or wash or sleep. Doesn’t that sound like heaven?