The Momsie Inkpot

Lil Bubba can finally say “Mommy”!

How it happened was he came downstairs with his Uwo (our version of “Grandma”), and his Uwo kept saying, “Bubba, there’s Mommy! Mommy!”. And little Bubba ran over to my side of the bed, his face lit up and smiling, and let out the word I had been longing to hear since he can say “Dadee”, “Maamee! Mammee!”

Oh bless your heart boy! If I wasn’t sick and dripping with germs, I’d kiss you all over and hug you like the teddy bear that you are!

Later on, he said “Thank you” as well.

I was holding the cell, and he saw it and motioned for me to give it to him. At first I was reluctant, lest he dial some long-distant number again or my manager (lol), but his gesticulations was just too cute plus he added that toddler grunt for “gimme gimme!” So I placed the phone in his lil chubby hands, and he stared at the black square object in his hands, opened it up to reveal the intricate keypad and mesmerizing screen, then said “Tanku” and walked away.

It was said so casually I almost didn’t catch it. But he did say it, albeit in the toddler way, but he said it.

Hearing him say those words makes up for my being sick and not being able to hold him. But then it is also bittersweet, as these are more signs of him growing up and becoming more and more a child than a baby.

He is becoming a boy, and I hope he will become a polite one.

Idina Menzel’s Brave

I don’t know just where i’m going
and tomorrow it’s a little overwhelming
and the air is cold and i’m not the same anymore
I’ve been running in your direction for too long now
I’ve lost my own reflection
and I can’t look down if you’re not there to catch me when I fall

If this is the moment I stand here on my own
If this is my right of passage that somehow leads me home
I might be afraid but it’s my turn to be brave

All along all I ever wanted was to be the light when your life was daunting
but i can’t see mine when I feel as though you’re pushing me away
Well, whose to blame?
Are we making the right choices?
‘Cause we can’t be sure if we’re hearing our own voices
As we close the door even though we are so desperate to stay

If this is the moment I stand here on my own
If this is my right of passage that somehow leads me home
I might be afraid but it’s my turn to be brave
If this is the last chance before we say goodbye
at least it’s the first day of the rest of my life
I can’t be afraid ’cause it’s my turn to be brave

and I might still cry
and I might still bleed
these thorns in my side
this heart on my sleeve
and lightning may strike this ground at my feet
and I might still crash
but I still beleive

This is the moment I stand here all alone
With everything I have inside everything I own
I might be afraid but it’s my turn to be brave

If this is the last time before we say goodbye
at least it’s the first day of the rest of my life
I can’t be afraid it’s my turn to be brave

Still fighting a horribly stubborn bug, I have resigned myself downstairs, quarantined if you will, and relinquishing my mind to the excesses enrobed in flowing gowns and British accents so found within a Jane Austen movie, and any other period romance film. I shamelessly admit having a fondness for such lavish displays of dated gentility and pretentious claims of stature. The plot pitting a bookish heroine against the trivialities of her society, and her eventually dumbfounding them by winning over the heart of someone supposedly out of her league, is one many women can relate to, or want to relate to.

As the gowns get shorter and the genteel mannerisms giving way to crass, and at times harsh, interactions between the sexes, there is one constant that remains: the obsession with class, beauty, and all things superficial.

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Two little monkey swinging on a tree
teasing Mr. Alligator
You can’t catch me, you can’t catch me
Along comes Mr. Alligator quiet as can be…

*Snap!* (tickling hands come down on belly)

As our own lil monkey twists and turns on the changing pad like a “beached whale”, I turn to this rhyme to catch his attention, and it works every single time. Others yell, contort his body further in an effort to have him lay on his back, clap their hands to get his attention, or give up and let him crawl away with smears of brown and tan on his tush.

Discipline, how we should do it and what methods to use, has been coming up more often as Noah is nearing that most dreaded of ages for all parents of toddlers: the twos–better known as: the terrible twos. Tantrums–often times marked by uncontrollable screaming, punching, kicking, and whatever antic toddlers have thought of to make their parents crazy–will be present in full force as they are coming into the realization that they are individuals with minds that can form opinions and judgements, not just babies who are coddled and need our ever present hand to guide them to do the most simplest of basic human functions. No, they are big kids, they know what they want, and for sure will assert that right every chance they get.

Now what if their assertion clashes with our own assertions of what we want for and from them resulting in a clash that brings out that dreaded toddler tantrum? What should we do then as parents, as observers of this fight for independence from our wee young ones? Throw a tantrum back? Punish them for throwing a tantrum using psychological or corporal methods?

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