The first thing I did this morning was kill a cockroach. I made Colleen leave the room and then I strangled it with my bare hands. No mercy. Actually that’s just what it felt like. What I really did was pummel that putrid bug with a small garbage can over and over until the splats stopped moving. Go tell your friends, jerk face. I don’t need the Orkin guy. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. Second thing I did was cook breakfast one-handed for the small child whose life depends (partially) on me. I held him in my right arm while I scrambled and cooked eggs with my (generally clumsy) left hand. The eggs came out fluffy and delicious. The boy ate and the morning birds chirped. So by now I’m feeling like a combination of Bill Murray killing gophers, Chuck Norris kicking ass, and Julia Child being Julia Child. Time for Walker, Texas Ranger to shove that smugness somewhere the sun don’t shine. About 30 minutes after breakfast, Declan decided he was ready for Round 2 of face-stuffing. So he toddled over to the cupboard and pointed up toward the place where my cinnamon oat squares used to be. “No more,” I said. “All gone.” And then I tried to give him Cheerios. Bad move. Tears, sadness, flailing head and arms. I put him down and he toddled over the to the fridge and pointed. I picked him up and opened the fridge. He pointed to the pasta and said “Pah.” I said “Not now.” Tears, sadness, flailing head and arms. He toddled back over to the cupboard for a repeat lesson in disappointment, and after that, it was back over to the fridge for the same thing. I suggested toast with peanut butter. This was met with something bordering on acceptance. So I toasted and buttered and plated this Geneva-worthy compromise and got ready, once again, to revel in my parenting genius. Two small bites of toast later, he did the sign for “all done.” So I took the tray away. And then he cried and did the sign for “more.” So I put the tray back. And then he smiled, picked up a piece of toast, put it down, and once again did the sign for “all done.” Hmm, I thought. What does this mean? So I pointed to the toast and asked him, “All done? No more toast? All done?” He smiled and did the “all done” sign again. So I took the tray away. And this time he cried louder and then did the sign for “more.” More what? I wondered. So I put the tray back on. Wrong decision. Tears, sadness, flailing head and arms. Hello, humility. Eventually I put an end to that by moving him into a different room, sans food, and the day progressed nicely. He pushed the stroller around the house like a race car driver. At each fork in the road/room, I asked him, “Which way?” and each time he pointed and responded “Dat way.” I think he likes making decisions. He wanted to turn on the humidifier in his room but it was out of water so I told him, “This needs water. Dada is going to get water.” And then I took the top of the humidifier off of the base and went into the bathroom to fill it up. When I got back, he’d put his water cup on the base of the humidifier. I’d told him what was needed and he listened and tried to solve the problem. I love this kid. We went to the Children’s Museum and barely spent anytime in the baby room (for kids 3 & under). He pushed a shopping cart around the store.
The first thing I did this morning was kill a cockroach. The last thing I did before driving to work was the opposite of alpha male. I cut vegetables and fruit into tiny pieces for a lunch I didn’t get to see. Appropriately humbled and certainly grateful for a typical morning.