If you’re ever wondering if it’s a good idea to purchase $100 worth of beads, sparklies and plastic jewels for your three-year-old to use as play food while he pretends to cook soups with innumerable ingredients, the answer is no–it is not a good idea.
I’ve been asked what I’m doing posting updates in the wee hours of the morn. I wish I could say that I’m doing it after returning home from a great show or party or both, but the reality is that Twitter doesn’t pass updates through until it’s good and ready. Combine that with my AT&T; phone, which only sends MMS when it’s good and ready–sometimes days after I send them–and you end up with updates in the middle of the night. I’d get more worked up about it, but the universe is moving toward a state of entropy anyway, so why fight it.
This also explains the state of our living room.
I have one question for three year olds: Why?
Last week, or the week before that–the one filled with sleepless nights…as if that narrows it down…3B was playing dress up at school and married his best friend. I don’t know what his best friend was wearing, but apparently, 3B was resplendent in his pink dress. Not a traditional color, I know, but he’s a modern kid.
I have one thing to say to three year olds: Stop it. Now.
3B’s been trying to figure out death these last few weeks. I’d love to help him with that, but shit, I’ve been trying to figure that out since Dad died when I was 16. Then again, 3B’s still young enough to be able to comprehend the truth without being distracted by all the clutter he’ll collect as he goes through life. But still it’s sad to watch him ponder what would happen if Mama died–he doesn’t seem as concerned about my passing–or really start to understand what happened to Barky. If only I could find a way to guide him to the truth so he could grok it.
Speaking of grokking, that’s all his sister does these days: grok by eating. Everything must succumb to gumming by the ravenous baby! It’s perhaps indicative of our general level of planning that we spaced our kids out so that just as he’s able to have toys with tiny disconnected parts, we’re raising a baby who’s quickly learning to hoover up any minute loose choking hazard she finds.
OK, one more thing for three year olds…a question: 90 percent of the time you’re what makes life worth living, the other 10 percent of the time…well…have you ever considered putting out a little more effort to move that number up to 95 percent?
So, now that we’ve got a little hoover around, how does that $100 worth of beads, sparklies and plastic jewels look? Like nothing but five pounds of irresistible choking hazards. You wouldn’t be far off if you said we’d had moments of buyer’s remorse.
But then, we watch him play with them, and how happy they make him, and how they will entertain him for an hour or more, and they seem miraculous.