SPLOOSH

Owen and I were reading a book about pirates. One of the pages showed mermaids, which sent my mind in the following direction:

1.I used to pretend to be a mermaid all the time. Like many kids from Arizona, I spent a good five months of the year in the pool, and for a good solid year, I would make anybody willing to put up with it play Mermaids. There wasn't too much to it---I would be a mermaid, swimming through the ocean, flopping my gorgeous mane of flowing hair about. My brother would be a shark, and it would be my job, as a mermaid, to run away from him and/or beat him up.

2. As I was thinking about the mermaids, I thought about Ariel from The Little Mermaid, and had a sudden wave of sadness that I would never have a daughter to play Ariel with.

3. This was immediately followed by self-disgust because I. Am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Again. If I was meant to have a girl, God would have made it happen (or still will). I love every chubby bit of my Joely. ENOUGH, already.

4. This was followed by a rare burst of insight: I only think about having a daughter when I am tired or hungry. Instead of going down this boring road, I should consider eating grapes.

5. I ate some grapes. I realized that I didn't really want a daughter. At that moment, I was feeling a little worn down. What I was really craving was understanding.

If I want somebody to understand me, I could save myself all sorts of trouble and expense and just call a friend.

***
When Owen wants to stop Joel from doing something, he has taken to framing it as concern. He'll say, "I don't want Joel in the bathroom because I don't want him flushing down the toilet." or "I don't want Joel playing with my dump truck because it might hurt his teeth."

Whether this is a new and improved method of manipulating us or real concern for his brother's welfare, I'll take it.

***

During lunch today, Owen said, "Mommy, feed Joel some alphabet soup so he can talk to me."

***

When I turn around the corner and see Joel, once again, holding two fistfuls of potting soil, I swear he is smirking at me. "What are you gonna do, Mom?" he seems to ask.

For Owen's benefit, I pick him up and say, "Joel, you're taking a break. I'll tell you when you can get up."

As you can imagine, this is a powerful discipline tool. Joel is truly sorry for his misdeeds. So sorry that he heads right back for the plant like a heat-seeking missile.

***

Owen placed pillows all over the floor, then stood up on the couch and said, "I'm jumping in the pool! SPLOOSH!" He landed on the pillowed floor with a thud, giggled to himself, and did the same thing about thirty more times.

Joel cracked up every time he said, "SPLOOSH!"