wild kingdom?
This is being written courtesy of Daniel’s new found penchant for playing in his highchair.
Not thirty seconds ago, I held my arms out to the egg encrusted, cereal wearing little freak sitting in said chair, interrupting his concentration as he systematically put the three spoons it takes to feed him into the almost licked clean bowl and then took them out again, in the universal hand signal for “Ub!’. He scroonched up his eyes, he lowered his head and then he, wait for it, growled. Apparently my little boy is being raised by wolves. I suspect this was his universal signal for I’d like to continue playing with utensils while perched up high, thank you very much, but c’mon dude, growling? How did my little schmookie turn into a whiny who needs to lose his shit to get his point across? Not that his shit losing is a huge affair - the odd growl here, the head to the ground with modified hand to brow action there, you know the regular drama queen deal - but considering he’s around two feet tall and without a driver’s license, multiply that by three and add a crow bar -maybe I should consider his college fund as some kind of monetary pool for all the bail I’m set to pay sometime in the future?
Preceding The Growl, we experienced what from this day forward shall be referred to as The Oatmeal Explosion, which was followed shortly after by the Egg Extravaganza.
Suffice to say that Dude’s creativity is not limited to finger painting. Or is perhaps due to the finger painting.
Despite this, Daniel’s love affair is with The Neat. He likes things ordered and Just So. Point in fact, when eating, he prefers his sippy cup be placed neatly inside the bowl, making the three spoon action difficult but fortunately, not impossible, and even when he drops food, he tries to pick it up and put it back in his bowl. Which is kind of like pushing shit up a hill when you’re talking cereal.
Speaking of cereal, I'm still limited to mushy food. I also still have two black eyes (rapidly fading) (that initially were swollen up like two big ol' black goose eggs), an oddly lopsided face (thankyou random pattern of swelling) and two half fat lips. Yes, half. The right side of my bottom lip is swollen and the left side of my top lip is swollen. There are wires still holding the plastic Hannibal Lector type contraption in place and they are sharp, so my already swollen upper lip is being pushed out to HERE with the three tonnes of wax covering all the pointy bits. I’m still a vague yellow tinge as the bruising fades away. Previously though, it was spectacularly and psychedelically awesome.
Now, Jane Iredale users need to listen up, and non Jane Iredale users? You need to go out and buy yourselves some of this magical shit because if you ever happen to get hit in the face with a 4x2, you’ll need your Amazing Base. Proof, pudding, guys. It’s been covering a whole fuckload of the red, yellow, black, green and blue damage. Swear. Not all, but enough that small children don’t run screaming in fear and responsibility to report a battered wife to their local law enforcement division, so imagine what its minerally wonderfulness can do for your everyday imperfections. It looked so natural too, that people didn’t realize I was covering up stack of bruising. They were all, wow, the bruising isn’t bad and I was all Jane Iredale! Bla Bla! Bla! Until I was talking to the cloud of dust they left behind as they sped off to buy some of their own magic.
Jane Iredale The Person, you need to start paying me for all this advertising!
Not thirty seconds ago, I held my arms out to the egg encrusted, cereal wearing little freak sitting in said chair, interrupting his concentration as he systematically put the three spoons it takes to feed him into the almost licked clean bowl and then took them out again, in the universal hand signal for “Ub!’. He scroonched up his eyes, he lowered his head and then he, wait for it, growled. Apparently my little boy is being raised by wolves. I suspect this was his universal signal for I’d like to continue playing with utensils while perched up high, thank you very much, but c’mon dude, growling? How did my little schmookie turn into a whiny who needs to lose his shit to get his point across? Not that his shit losing is a huge affair - the odd growl here, the head to the ground with modified hand to brow action there, you know the regular drama queen deal - but considering he’s around two feet tall and without a driver’s license, multiply that by three and add a crow bar -maybe I should consider his college fund as some kind of monetary pool for all the bail I’m set to pay sometime in the future?
Preceding The Growl, we experienced what from this day forward shall be referred to as The Oatmeal Explosion, which was followed shortly after by the Egg Extravaganza.
Suffice to say that Dude’s creativity is not limited to finger painting. Or is perhaps due to the finger painting.
Despite this, Daniel’s love affair is with The Neat. He likes things ordered and Just So. Point in fact, when eating, he prefers his sippy cup be placed neatly inside the bowl, making the three spoon action difficult but fortunately, not impossible, and even when he drops food, he tries to pick it up and put it back in his bowl. Which is kind of like pushing shit up a hill when you’re talking cereal.
Speaking of cereal, I'm still limited to mushy food. I also still have two black eyes (rapidly fading) (that initially were swollen up like two big ol' black goose eggs), an oddly lopsided face (thankyou random pattern of swelling) and two half fat lips. Yes, half. The right side of my bottom lip is swollen and the left side of my top lip is swollen. There are wires still holding the plastic Hannibal Lector type contraption in place and they are sharp, so my already swollen upper lip is being pushed out to HERE with the three tonnes of wax covering all the pointy bits. I’m still a vague yellow tinge as the bruising fades away. Previously though, it was spectacularly and psychedelically awesome.
Now, Jane Iredale users need to listen up, and non Jane Iredale users? You need to go out and buy yourselves some of this magical shit because if you ever happen to get hit in the face with a 4x2, you’ll need your Amazing Base. Proof, pudding, guys. It’s been covering a whole fuckload of the red, yellow, black, green and blue damage. Swear. Not all, but enough that small children don’t run screaming in fear and responsibility to report a battered wife to their local law enforcement division, so imagine what its minerally wonderfulness can do for your everyday imperfections. It looked so natural too, that people didn’t realize I was covering up stack of bruising. They were all, wow, the bruising isn’t bad and I was all Jane Iredale! Bla Bla! Bla! Until I was talking to the cloud of dust they left behind as they sped off to buy some of their own magic.
Jane Iredale The Person, you need to start paying me for all this advertising!
posted by aibee at 08:14
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