Tough Guys Carry Stuffed Bears Too, Ya Know?!

Posted by Sheri at 7/10/2007 7:25 AM
Categories: uncategorized

I know I am not the only mother out there who feels at times she's banging her head against the wall.  And by "at times" I mean whenever I'm awake.  Also sometimes when I'm in REM sleep, but I've made it a personal goal to only blame my children for disturbing the peace when I'm conscious.  I get so irritated by the constant need to repeat myself to people who are so obviously not listening, and I cannot imagine a parent out there who can't relate to my mind-numbing pain.

Here's the lead story on the cause of today's "Sanity's Got Nothin' On Me" story:

Bam Bam is constantly antagonizing her older brother.  She's not even two yet, but she's totally got his number.  This morning she walked right up to him, swiped his stuffed bear and sat on it so he couldn't get it back.  If I have told that child once I've told her a million times, we do not take things that don't belong to us.  But if you do take something that doesn't belong to you, RUN!!

My daughter is intimately familiar with the repercussions of grand theft bear.  You can just see the wheels turning in that sweet little head of hers.  She considers the consequences of stealing the bear, does it anyhow, then moseys herself on over to her self-imposed time-out.  We are extremely proud of her prowess in economics, as she runs a comprehensive cost-benefit analysis before ultimately deciding she can do the time, so she can commit the crime.

In Bam Bam's defense, and believe you me she needs one, Crusher contributes to this problem with his ever-expanding collection of security objects.  The original object of his affection was his sippy cup.  This started when he was one.  Slowly the list grew to include a Thomas train, two empty Wiggles DVD cases (because I think we can all agree one empty Wiggles DVD case could never serve to provide comfort), and his beloved stuffed bear.  Basically, if it's a noun, he carries it with him.  While I do find consolation in the fact that at 2.5-years-old we've already identified his favorite part of speech, it's starting to get ridiculous.  Our babysitter suggested I get him a suitcase to carry all of his lovies around in. 

In a million years I would never have ended the previous sentence with a preposition but for my lack of focus due to the disturbing images in my head of my son roaming the halls of preschool toting a suitcase like a pencil salesman.  If I start dangling participles, please, somebody call for help!

 

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