Posts Tagged ‘illustration’

The title is borrowed from The Amazing Mumford seen here:

The Amazing MumfordThe Amazing Mumford using magic to demonstrate the wonders of addition and subtraction.  The magic of math is truly astounding (I wish I’d paid closer attention as a child and maybe I would struggle with math so much)!

So why am I bringing this up, other than my apparent obsession with all things Sesame Street?  Well, Baby C has taken to carrying things around with him as he walks; typically long stick like objects: foam baseball bats, tv remotes, wrapping paper cylinders, drum sticks.

The last, in particular, is somewhat worrisome as the drum sticks are pretty dangerous.  C’s toy drumsticks are hard colored plastic styled to look like caterpillars:

Drumstick or weapon? You decide.

While they are cute, clever toys, these drumsticks also scare the crap out of the dogs as C wildly waves it around as he walks by them.  And given C’s propensity to “hug” the dogs several times a day (which is actually him just running into them with his arms out), these drumsticks often function as weapons more often than they are actually hit on a drum.

I’m sure C doesn’t mean to cause harm, but when the dogs flee from him as he waves his drumstick in the air, C thinks it’s a game and squeals in delight, chasing after them, swinging his toy with even greater ferocity.  I usually intercede before drumstick meets fur, but I can’t help laughing as all my “children” engage in a game of chase.

When not chasing the dogs or hitting the walls with his drumstick, C waves it around as he walks, looking like a miniature wizard more than anything.  I, for one, have been trying to get him to say “A La Peanut Butter Sandwiches” when he does this (an unreasonable request, but it would be funny none the less). However, certain members of my family have different ideas as to what the little wizard should say.

Apparently my sister’s boyfriend, AVP, would like Baby C to be an evil wizard.  The first “spell” AVP tried to get C to say was “Avada Kedavra”, which (if you know your Harry Potter) is the killing curse.  What made this even funnier is the evil, husky voice AVP adopted when saying “Avada Kedavra” to C.

My sister was mortified!

You’re teaching him the killing curse??!?!? Why don’t you teach him something different? EG said, outraged.

Ok. C say “Crucio”. –AVP

That’s not better! You’re teaching him to torture someone.  How about something nice, like “Lumos”? –EG

I only remember the bad ones.  C say “Septum Spectra”. –AVP

NO! What is wrong with you?!?!?  He doesn’t need to know the bad spells.  Stop teaching him those. –EG

Snicker, snicker. –AVP

I was likewise outraged that AVP would think to teach my son the evil, torturous, murderous curses before teaching him the nice ones.  My initial reaction was one of shock!  I’m serious! I was shocked when AVP said “Avada Kedavra” to C!  That’s the killing curse!  He shouldn’t know that!

Once the initial shock wore off I began to realize we were all having a conversation about fictional spells and curses as if they were real!  Why should I be shocked if C knows the make-believe words used in an alternate reality to kill someone?  I don’t know why, but I was.  I understand rationally that there is no such person as Harry Potter, Hogwarts does not exist, and magic, if real, is utterly lost to most of humanity.  Still, that I (and my sister) would react so violently to those two words really says something about us and our imaginations (or maybe our tenuous grip on reality).

I’m still going to try to teach C to say “A La Peanut Butter Sandwiches” because it’s a heck of a lot nicer, even if magic doesn’t exist.  Call me crazy, but I don’t want to hear those evil curses come out of my son’s mouth.  It’s just not right.


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To borrow a phrase from one of my new favorite movies, Up, Dodger has been put into the “cone of shame”.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about here’s a picture:

The comfy cone "of shame"

It’s a heck of a lot better than those hard plastic ones that the vet’s office makes dogs wear.  Or at least I think it’s better.  I’m not sure what Dodger thinks.  I don’t think he’s very happy with any kind of cone.

As a result of his unhappiness with the cone situation, Dodger has spent most of the day pouting.  I tried to tell him this comfy cone “of shame” is better than the plastic one, but he just looks at me with big sad eyes and flops back down on the landing.

After hemming and hawing for the last week and a half about getting Dodger a cone, I finally sent my husband out to get one (in the few minutes my husband was home I sent him away to the pet store–I am an awesome wife).  I did so in a huff; not that I was annoyed with my husband, no.  I was annoyed with Dodger for forcing me to put him in the cone.

Why would this annoy me?  Well, because every time I look at him I feel guilty.  Ooooooh sooo guilty!  Dodger looks at me with his big black eyes and his poor little ears pushed forward under the cone, and I just feel terrible.  It doesn’t help that he keeps running into everything.

My already somewhat clumsy, but very lovable, pittbull has lost his peripheral vision and now catches his cone on everything from my legs to the wall to the baby gate.  Dodger even managed to catch his cone on the garden light when he went potty this morning (meaning I had to go outside at 7am in my nightshirt, picking my way through the dirt and dew, to release him from the mud pile he chose to stand on).  To his credit, Dodger just stood in the mud looking forlorn, making my guilt even worse than if he had been trying to escape.

Because my guilt overwhelms me at times, I remove Dodger’s comfy cone “of shame”, allowing him a few moments of respite, to shake his shame off.  Yet every time I do this, the result is the same: Dodger starts licking his sore paw again (it had healed but he licked all the scabs off until it was raw and sore again, thus the cone).  So once again, I have to sadly fasten the cone around his fat little neck, worrying about it being too tight, too loose, too high, too low, all the time trying to avoid those big sad eyes.

The only upside of this cone situation is that it reinforces Dodger’s diet, as he can only eat when I take the cone off.  However, the treats I keep giving him all day due to my guilt are probably not helping.

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This is a game that Baby C and I frequently play.  It’s fun.

The game instructions go something like this:

Baby is crying.

Step one: pick baby up.  If crying stops, hold baby for just a bit longer and then resume normal activity.  If not, continue on to step two.

Step two: check the clock.  Is it time to eat?  When was the last time baby ate?  How much did he eat?  Could he be hungry?  If he’s not hungry and/or crying increases proceed to step three.  Otherwise, for pity’s sake, just give the kid a cookie.

Step three: check baby for obvious wounds.  Is he bleeding?  Does something appear to be crushed?  Nearby broken toys/glass/wood may be a clue.  Does he appear to be sweating profusely?  Is he hot to the touch?  If yes to any of those, seek medical attention.  If not, proceed to step four.

Step four: check baby for subtle signs of pain.  Is he pulling on his ear/mouth/hair? This could be a sign of teething, ear infection, or a cold, or if you’re really lucky, all three. Dose baby with baby pain medicine/gum number/ cold medicine.  If none of these symptoms appear proceed to step five.

Step five: check the diaper.  Clean diaper.  They are always dirty, so just change it.

Step six: attempt to put baby down for a nap, as he is probably tired.  If he isn’t then you are.  Either way, someone could use some sleep so do yourself a favor and put on a cartoon, prop the baby up next to you on couch/bed and try to nap.

If nothing is working, try one of the following:

drive around until baby quiets/sleeps/shuts the heck up

call spouse/mother/sister/neighbor and beg them to take over the baby for “just a little bit”

try to get dogs/tv/musical instrument/washing machine to amuse baby.

put baby in crib and let them cry, at least for a little bit so that you can go cry in the bathroom

start drinking wine or eating chocolate.  Here’s my current choice of chocolate:

Samoa Girl Scout Cookie or "Crack for Moms"

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