This morning a gave Billy a new shirt. It has a fire truck on it. Nothing special, but he likes trucks, so I picked it up when I saw it. I held it up this morning for him to see. He likes to pick out his clothes each morning. He has very discerning taste- airplanes always beat out monkeys.
So there I am holding up his brand new shirt. He lays it in my lap and pets it like it's "my precious!" At this point I'm thinking he's going to want me to put in on. Nope. He cuddles it. In my lap. Again, I'm thinking "my precious!" It's a shirt. With a fire truck.
I put it on him and he freaks out. "Off! Off!" How can he hug his shirt if it's on him? Don't worry. Billy has a solution to that. Hug himself! He spent all morning hugging himself. If I pointed to the truck on his shirt he would cover it with his arms and say, "Mine!" At school he did the same. I think he likes his new shirt...
After school I took him out in the backyard to play with bubbles. I thought this would be a great idea. I found them at the dollar store, 3 for 1 dollar. How can you beat that? And I've seen the teachers at school, like pied pipers, gather the kids around and blow bubbles. The kids chase after the bubbles in a trance-like state. Time to try this out at home.
So I had some trouble getting into the bubbles which got Billy riled up to begin with. Then when I whipped the bubble wand from the bottle he started screaming "Mine! Mine! Mine!" This morning it was Lord of the Rings and now onto Finding Nemo. I blew some bubbles, which only made him scream and cry. Tears streaking down his face in frustration of not holding the wand. So, I relented and gave him the wand. Only, he started poking his finger through the holes and then blowing randomly into the air. This brought on more screaming tears. "No bubbles! No bubbles!" Finally, I wrested the wand back from him and blew some big bubbles that clung to the grass. But he only wandered away defeatedly crying about "mine bubbles!" I give up. I don't have the pied piper magic that the teachers at school have. No more bubbles.
For dinner we joined Grandpop and Uncle Alex and his girlfriend at my favorite sushi bar for dinner. Enter the problem. The high chair had the safety strap going across Billy's knees. It was designed this way. Not the kind where the harness comes from the back and really holds the kid in. Nope. Across the knees. AKA: F this, I'm outta here suckas! No matter how tight, Billy only had to scoot back and pull up his feet to find freedom. And oh, didd he exert his freedom.
Mommy's lap. Grandpop's lap. Batting the curtains behind Mommy in the booth. Removing the entire contents of the diaper bag. One item at a time. Flinging dumplings. Crawling up onto Mommy's head. Stealing chopsticks. Eating edamame faster than I could pop the beans out. Back to Grandpop. Back to using Mommy as a jungle gym. Getting scolded to behave by a four year old boy.
And that's when Mommy wrapped up dinner to go and left the other three adults to enjoy their dinners at the restaurant while monkeyman and myself went home.
Billy word of the day: cockle. otherwise known as a motorcycle. Not to be confused with keckle, a freckle.