If a picture is worth a thousand words, a thrown object must be worth at least a dozen, right? Jane still isn't talking much, but she has taken to voicing her displeasure by throwing things. Usually food. And usually onto the floor.
She's kind of like the little girl with the curl on her forehead. When she's good, she really good, but when she's mad, watch out. Especially if she's got a waffle in one hand and a full bottle of milk in the other.
In other news, I got back from Denver on Monday and went right from the airport to Sam's school. He wasn't his usual upbeat self, and when I asked him about it in the car, he told me that Jake, his buddy at school, had called him a baby.
Looking at my son's little face and the hurt in his eyes just broke my heart. I know that kids are kids, and I definitely know that one of the things kids do to each other is test for weak spots. But it doesn't make it any easier.
[Sidenote: I can still recall with a kind of cinematic clarity the day that our entire kindergarten class surrounded a new kid --- his name was Steven and he was wearing a green shirt --- and said, in some kind of weird "Lord of the Flies" unison: "You can't play." And I can remember this kid just bawling his eyes out and trying desperately to get away. I have no idea how long this lasted, probably a minute at most before a teacher broke it up. I'm pretty sure we all got "silent lunch" the next day for it, but I remember at the time feeling both really scared and really glad it wasn't me in the middle.]
Anyway, apparently being called a baby is one of Sam's weak spots. Also, his buddy Jake has two brothers who are in high school, so I imagine he's a little ahead of the curve in the verbal sparring department. We told Samson that if Jake called him a baby today, he should say "So?" and see what the response is.
Actually, I'm hoping Jake has just forgotten all about it. I'm also hoping that Samson doesn't remind him. [He tends to do this. We were at the park one time and a boy pushed him. For the rest of our time there, he kept asking the kid questions like "Why are you mean? Why do you push people?"] Stay tuned...
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About Me
- dada
- Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing. I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer. And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
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