August 19, 2015
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Clearly my toddler is ready for the big leagues. He has mastered the fine art of persuasive discourse; perhaps he should be a lawyer, pointing his way in court in an effort to convince a jury of his peers who hopefully know how to use a toilet. When that effort does not work, he will roll out the big guns…incessant whining and shrieks until anyone within a five mile radius acquiesces to, ideally, something more benign than world domination.
While I am fully aware my son is plotting something that will likely be posted on uTube as an embarrassing twist of fate that earns significant advertising endorsements, but for the time being he is manipulating his way into drinking from my water bottle. However, it isn’t just the adult-like act of utilizing my hydration apparatus; he also must take off the cap each time before replacing it between sips…obviously Harvard awaits?
My son has even more sophisticated sensibilities, or at least tries to. Eating leftover asparagus tonight that will never be tasty no matter how much I kid myself. In raw determination my son trails in my wake as I retrieve my plate of limp vegetables from the microwave. Using his aggressive pointer finger, he insists on a sample despite my insistence that he will not like it. I can only refuse so long before cutting a piece with great stringy difficulty. He takes the bite, and his fingers immediately take-up the task of spelunking in their recovery deployment. Mr. Man unceremoniously drops the barely chewed asparagus to the floor amid a chorus of “I told you sos.” I hold out my palm in an effort to have the vegetable taken off the floor without me having to actually bend over (Don’t judge, it’s been a long day…). My son picks it up instantly, but shoves the piece back in his mouth with another valiant effort to swallow his vegetable road kill. The next phase begins; he spends the next few minutes chewing and removing this now fairly grotesque and vaguely recognizable mass of green. Eventually he swallows, but imagine my surprise upon viewing his determined pointer at my plate of wilted greens. Oh yeah, he earned his ice cream tonight; the spoils of war…