Tag Archive: toddlers

Kid, get out of my hair

Raising kids can be a scary business.

The latest manifestation of this, for me, has lately come in the form of hair pulling. Hard hair pulling, at close range, with an adorable, smiling two-year-old cackling, breathing directly into my face, chanting: “Let go! Let go! Let go!”

Forget “What to Expect.” This is some “Sopranos” shit. Who knew a toddler could be such a chilling assassin? And when did he learn to sound like Gollum?

I really did a bit of mental arithmetic during one attack lately, such as, what happens if he does not actually, um, well, let go?! Do I lose hair? Skin? Platelets? His nasty, sticky little fingers are not coming loose, and I see some sort of weird trophy lust in his little blue eyes. Mocking my previous requests to stop rending follicles out of my scalp was not particularly nice of him, either.

Pediatrician/parenting expert Dr. Harvey Karp likens toddlers this age to charming chimps, but, as we all know, one lovely chimpanzee ate that lady’s face off a few years ago. I love my kids, but, hell no, we are not going there. I draw the line at no nursing while eating, and no gnawing off Mommy’s discernible features.

Well, maybe … but only if he promised to finally sleep through a night.

Previously posted at The Two Boys Club site: http://twoboysclub.com

What have your kids done that made you fear for your own safety?

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Animals aren’t people, too

The Younger has been getting really ticked off lately, because apparently everyone around him who’s older than two knows nothing. Which, if you’re two, is a fairly common scenario to find yourself in.

A frequent conversation about the cat goes something like this:

Younger: “It’s hungry! He meows! He meowing.”

Elder: “No, she’s a girl. Sidney is a girl cat.”

Younger (scoffing): “It’s NOT a girl. It’s a cat!!!”

At this point, he’s turning red and wagging a finger in our faces. He seems truly offended that we appear to be suggesting that the kittycat is … a child! Silly mommy. Silly brother. She’s obviously covered in fur, and likes to lick cream cheese off any given surface. And she’s not even wearing any pink. A girl? As if.

And now I’m racking my brain trying to come up with a language where gender and species is a nonissue. Perhaps we can adopt it in our pronoun-confused household. Especially since he charmingly refers to all female friends as “he.” And occasionally calls a neighbor’s golden retriever a cat.

At best, perhaps we can find a magical place where cats have no gender.  Because really, unless you want to date our cat, does her sex really matter?

Obviously, I’m with The Younger on this one.

 

This was originally posted on my old mom blog, twoboysclub.com

 

%d bloggers like this: