Pessimistic Optimism

Life as I see it… sort of.

Fashion Plate

My boy knows how to get under my skin.  He can turn a beautiful morning of singing and prancing laughing and dancing into one of screaming and crying in a split second.  I don’t know why he does this because he knows I hate to scream and cry.

The other day’s breakfast was a typical one of frivolity over pancakes and sausages smothered in syrup.  My daughter somehow managed, in between giggles, to wolf down two pancakes shaped like the letter “C” and three sausage links shaped like … sausage links, and my son did the same, except that his were shaped like circles, the pancakes that is, and he ended his meal a little differently than his big sister.

Most civilized children either hand their sticky plate to their parent or at least leave it sitting in front of them when they’re done; my little guy decided to be a comedian after his last bite.  The little ham placed the Lightning Mcqueen plate jelly side down on top of his head and smiled for the camera even though there wasn’t one.  The syrup coated plate hung there like a hat until I peeled it off.

Somehow I let this infuriate me.  So much so that I think steam literally shot out of my ears.  I said profound things like, “don’t you know that we just washed your hair last night?” and “I can’t believe you just did that.”  He looked at me and just grinned, which sent me through the roof.  I almost wasn’t going to clean him up to teach him a lesson, but then I realized that his stickiness would spread to all things clean in our house and that just wasn’t worth it.  I even thought about setting him on the floor and letting our dog lick him clean, but the two-year-old would enjoy that too much.

My daughter was already set free from the table when this took place but watched with amusement as her daddy had a meltdown.  She’s seen it before; I go on a tirade for a minute or two, come to my senses and try to laugh about the horrible situation one of my offspring put us in.   This time was no different, by the time I cleaned the boy up, I knew that getting upset was futile and childish, the most important thing was to get even.  My boy better watch his back because vengeance is a dish best served cold or something like that.

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August 4, 2007 - Posted by | family, Humor, kids, life, parenthood, parenting, Ranting

4 Comments »

  1. So was it the special syrup? Should we bring extra when we come up just in case he feels like doing it again. This time we will be sure to have a camera for the candid shot of not the boy but you before and after!.
    See you soon.

    Comment by The Good Uncle | August 5, 2007 | Reply

  2. I enjoy all of your stories, they are so well written I can actually see it in my head. It always brings back such good memories of when my girls were small.
    The memories of things that seemed upsetting at the time are now fond memories we laugh about and I treasure.
    Thank you for sharing as you do.
    Bill

    Comment by Bill Howdle | August 5, 2007 | Reply

  3. *chuckling*
    Three cheers for the kiddo!
    Makes me wanna go out and give it a go myself. There must be something really cool about it.

    Ummmm…..somehow I doubt that’d go over any better with himself than it did with you. LOL

    Comment by mel | August 5, 2007 | Reply

  4. GUnc,
    The syrup was store bought, but special in it’s own way. We’re looking forward to the visit. Bring your best speedo.

    Bill,
    You make me blush. Which has nothing to do with what you wrote. Huh? Thanks for the inspiration.

    Mel,
    Stop encouraging my boy. When he reads this he’ll do it again on purpose.

    Comment by linusmann | August 5, 2007 | Reply


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