Jun
14
Manifestations
Filed Under Uncategorized | 88 Comments
We’ve been spending a lot of weekend time at a local park area which has a ton of secluded hiking trails that are easy for the kids to navigate. There’s one spot that’s particularly nice for picnicking, so when it became apparent the sun was going to make an appearance on Saturday (hallefuckinglujah) we packed up some snacks and a Frisbee and settled in for a long morning of lolling around in the grass and letting the kids run wild.
It was great fun for approximately fifteen minutes, when all of a sudden we heard this enormous rumbling coming from the maintenance area at the trailhead. It got louder and louder and we were all standing on our toes like meerkats trying to see what was out there when JB whipped around, caught my gaze, and silently twirled his index finger in that instantly-recognized gesture we’ve all seen in a thousand movies featuring dramatic military or police activity and if there’s an official name for it I don’t know what it is but I know it as ROUND UP THE TROOPS AND LET’S GET THE FUCK OUT OF DODGE.
Seconds later, it burst into view and sat there idling for a moment like Christine and as I frantically stuffed the last of our gear into the backpack I caught sight of Dylan’s mouth, which had dropped open into a perfect little O of horror.
A riding mower. Goddamn if it wasn’t a Parks & Rec riding mower, roaring into life and busily trundling through our previously bucolic picnic field in order to maintain the trail or use up the weekend budget or, you know, send a mower-fearing 2-year-old’s brain exploding right out his ear-holes and precede every single one of our future picnics with a worried discussion of “Dere’s no lawnmower Mommy? Dere’s no lawnmower Daddy? Dere’s no lawnmower?”
It’s always nice when you can end a festive family outing with the shocking appearance of a childhood fear come to life, you know? Maybe next time we can arrange for some vaccination needles to drop out of the sky.
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In totally unrelated news that will be of interest to almost none of you, I decided to stop running BlogHer ads and host my own instead. The BlogHer folks have been great to work with, but I’ve been wanting to do something different for a while. Instead of pimping giant conglomerates who often provide—let’s be honest—questionable products, I’d like to offer that space to cool independent businesses, moonlighters, artists, and other people who have stuff worth talking about.
If you have something to promote, email me! Let’s make ads not suck.
Jun
10
Terribawesome twos
Filed Under Uncategorized | 53 Comments
Dylan doesn’t eat dog hair any more when he’s mad but he does blow raspberries. Furious farty little raspberries, and it is both hilarious and maddening.
“Dylan! Get down from there, please.”
“PBBBLT!”
I keep trying to get it on video because it’s really the sort of thing that needs to be seen and heard to be fully appreciated but by the time I locate the camera he’s usually dialed back down from his White Hot Mouthfart Rage and has moved on to the second stage, which involves picking up toys and throwing them back to the floor while staring directly at me in order to fully communicate how motherfucking pissed off he is that I intervened on behalf of his personal safety, HOW DARE I.
He is so very two lately, you know? Talking up a storm and basically an actual no-shit functioning kid in many ways, but with the emotional consistency of a SuperBall. The strangest things set him off, like if he doesn’t get to open the door first when I come home from work. God forbid Riley’s the one to turn the handle because it’s instant Dylan Armageddon, a meltdown of epic proportions that’s like being greeted by a rabid pitbull that’s also on fire and shooting bees out its ass and also its arm is a shark and it’s made out of poison.
We tell him to go to his room for a time out when he gets too firmly mired in jackass mode and I sort of can’t believe he actually complies but he does, shrieking all the way down the hall like a firebell before slamming the door halfway off its hinges. He stomps around and throws things and and sulks and blows farts for a while and howls “NO!” when I ask him if he’s ready to come out and then eventually he goes all Memento and comes strolling out like hey, what’s up, why’s everyone so tense?
Sometimes when he’s feeling affectionate he calls me MeeMee. “Hi MeeMee,” he’ll say, hugging my legs. Then he grins and bends over. “Look at my butt!”
Oh, two.
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