Nearing Those Notorious Twos

Ah, the post therapy, sugar digestion, artsy introspective Wednesday night high.  Welcome, people.  Please, grab a low cushion and fashion yourself comfortably.  Can I get you a cup of Egyptian Licorice Organic Mint Tea? Lemon cake? No? That’s ok, we actually ran out of that yesterday.

Silly silly silliness, Salamander, his papa and I have entered into it – quite deftly, I think.  Seventeen months is a funny, silly, ridiculously wonderful age to be privy to.

I once chatted with a woman in a coffee shop.  She told me that every age both her kids had ever been was just the coolest.  She said, at 15 and 17 they were simply the coolest people she knew.  I believe it. Only a parent can appreciate how amazing it is that his or her offspring just spent twenty minutes publicly screaming like someone was pulling his fingernails slowly off with rusty pliers only to forget it within a minute because the desired Hot-Wheels was deposited in his aforementioned chubby little hands.  That was hilarious. I swear, I was having a difficult time containing my laughter as the cashier tried not to wearily stare at him and his trembling uvula.  I especially liked when a passing lady asked me “Who’s winning?”  I proudly announced that I had won.  I paid for the cars before I removed them from the packaging.  Booyah!

It’s a strange thing, being a rebellious parent.  On one hand, I’m aware that it will benefit my son if he can function politely in society.  If you’re driving down the road doing something illegal in your car, it’s better to be in a plain station wagon, let’s say, than it is to be in a car with a bumper sticker that says “F**k Authority.”  You know?  I’m just saying it’s good to have the option to be incognito, should one so choose.

If Salamander has been taught all the basic and decent social mores and he chooses to smite them on some kind of hellion mount, then, so be it.  However, if I do not teach him that it is considered appropriate to pay for objects before using them, or to refrain from standing on one’s chair and wildly throwing uneaten chicken salad all around him, then he won’t know what kind of world he is expected to live in and he will probably have a harder time getting to where he wants to go.  I know all of that, and yet, I also sometimes eat the candy bar now and pay for it later.  I am a definite rule breaker.  It’s a good thing his papa has more of a penchant for following the rules.

No naughty bumper stickers, kid.


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