splink… scchoooooo tunk. A blonde toddler head, with a glued wound on its forehead, springs up at the front of his giant, Tonka dump trunk. Two pale blue eyes flashing fury. His thin lips openly terse, showing clenched teeth. With inaudible babble and his cheeks puffed red, he climbs to his feet.
“No, No, NO! No rocks in dump truck!” he says with the fierceness of a teacher trying to keep control of their unruly underlings, and failing. He plants both his hands on the either side of the yellow truck, leans in, over, mean mugging, never breaking eye contact and deliberately whispers, “no rocks, in, dump truck.”
Slowly, he kneels at the front and slides beyond sight, continuing to place rocks in the tiniest dump truck I have ever seen, mumbling, “they too big, too big.”
I know!!!! Use the gigantic dump truck! It’s more FUN!
Playing with Stewie, or any two year old, is a lesson in government oversight. Your invited in to observe the genius of their play, yet, they are always there to correct your actions in case your play is, in anyway, an overstep of their inherent parameters:
You can play with Percy, but not Toby and only on the bridge because Toby is not allowed to move. Technically, you can’t touch Toby but looking is fine. Yes, you can “choo choo” but not too loud because then I can’t hear my chugging. Don’t touch, or fix, the tracks without my say, for they are meant to be wrecked.
Actually, since you can’t play as stipulated, your presence may better be served here, in the corner. With the stuffed animals. No touching, or pretending they can talk or snuggle. Fine, if you can’t abide by my laws, punishment is inevitable. Yes… I will give you, my least, favorite toy. YOU, are condemned to tiny blocks. Don’t tell me about their pictures and I warn you, if you build, I will knock it down.
Oh no, no, no, you can’t leave. I don’t want to be alone!! And if you do, I will bring all my toys to you one by one, to show you what you still, can’t have. And, I will do you the honor of leaving them, so you don’t forget.
These are precious times. Precious years. These laws are daily reminders that he wants me around, and I want to be there. Am lucky to be.
But if I am bound to his laws, I will exercise my rights. I will protest his rigidity, one rock at a time. Why?
splink… scchoooooo tunk
Because I love the flash of those eyes.
Mom-dern Vignettes 