When I used to post every day it was much easier to collect my thoughts. Now it’s as though I’m going through negatives from rolls of film I shot last year…very few images are as compelling as they were when I framed them.
[Now that I’ve lost most of my readers by mentioning film and negatives, I can continue without the same level of self consciousness.]
Here are some rules I invented this week, the official week of “I give up, I’m going to toss out at least half of my old rules because I can’t make it through another Three Year Old without caving in a good percentage of the time.”
1. Though we never, ever buy unplanned items at the store, making a policy, instead, of taking a photo of your desired item and putting it on your birthday list for grandma, this is your birthday month. During that month all rules are suspended, I freaking give up, and you can talk me into anything. Because if we see it today and you know we’re buying it because there isn’t time for the regular photo-email-grandma-purchase-wrap-mail cycle, I’m not going to make you wait for two weeks just because you happened to finish gestating on a particular day. Here. Happy early birthday. Again.
2. When you find a very new special rabbit friend in the Jelly Cat aisle, I will propose that you need her today because you have a new bed and new beds need new friends. That should set you up for a life of knee-jerk consumerism and awesomely promiscuous behavior. Three cheers for my parenting. You’re welcome. Only because you have a new bed and a new love. Remember that.
3. I know we’re all whole grain and organic and protein at every meal, but as long as there’s no good reason, if you want a chocolate croissant for a snack and rice cakes for lunch and two lollypops, one for you and one for your new bunny, why then I think half a peanut butter sandwich is enough protein for the day. You don’t want that, either? Fine. How about some cheese puffs? Just because, remember. Just because.
4. When you propose using your own money for something relatively inexpensive and promise to pay me back, including tax, when we get home, I reserve the right to ask for the money, take the money, then give it right back. Because you’re adorable and I can handle a $9.99 plus tax much better than you can. Plus, you offered to pay for your own and gleefully suggested I buy a companion model for your brother. You never once noticed that’s not fair. I love a guy who is so caught up in making active and thoughtful choices that he doesn’t worry too much about everything-equal versions of fair.
5. The times you kindly remind me that Leega isn’t my new bunny, and that your brother gets to decide if he wants his bunny covered in sand and dirt and muddy grass; and on the occasions you then eat your entire burrito and drink your whole smoothie, you clearly need chocolate. Have some. No, have a lot. In the name of the bunny you defended. And the smoothie you…oh, hell, I have no good reason. Have some chocolate.
6. Because you’re both such troopers and you try so hard, despite fighting like cornered rats about everything under the sun, I’ve started adding lemon balm to my daily quart of chamomile. Because while you make your way, the last thing you need is an uptight, shrewish guilt-gifting mother.
Enjoy your lolly, new bunny friend.
Just one, sweetie. I know they’re good, but it’s important to have growing food, not just treat food…ah, hell. Sure. Have four. And some chocolate. You’re already a mess.