Friday, June 7, 2013

Here's Johnny!

"Here's Johnny!"
This is Sweet Pea's dad.
He's either going to inspire Sweet Pea to be a wildlife veterinarian, or fuel her fear of owls for life.  Evidently, he puts on the owl towel every night after Sweet Pea's bath and chases her around the apartment, screeching and moaning, "Whooooo! Whoooooo!"  Evidently, she digs it.  At least for now. If I hadn't met the man, I'd think he was a whack job, but he's actually pretty cool.
Handsome too. If you take a good look at his eyes; that is eye, due to the purple towel on his head and the "beak patch" over his right one, you can see a beautiful resemblance between the two of them. With his permission, I posted this.   I'd like to add a Happy Father's Day shout to him and the other papa as well. These dads rock. And not because they change poopy diapers.  Men who think this action deems them extraordinary or reserves them a place at the righthand of God, are ridiculous.
It merely makes them, well... a dad.

I've been bombarded with poopy diapers these past couple of weeks. I've been changing 6-8 in a nine-hour day. I think it's the enormous amount of fruit these guys ingest. They love strawberries, mangoes, blueberries, bananas (which I thought were 'plugs' but evidently I thought wrong) juices and their seasonal favorite: cherries! They can't get enough of the damn things. Sweet Pea shovels 'em in faster than I can "de-pit" 'em, while The Cousin, who has trust issues like I do, is a bit more skeptical.
TC:"Is the seed in?"
Me:"No. I removed it."
Me:"Yes. I'm sure."

SP: "Mo Cher wees!"

"I dig cher wees."

"The seeds are all gone, Wallery?"
So I attempted the library with both of them this week. Holy Mother of God! I'm sure the librarians were having mini-strokes watching Sweet Pea go down each aisle pulling books out one by one,  walking on top of them as she went. The joint was packed.  Evidently some super juggler brought kids in like herds of wild boar. I was slightly overwhelmed, yet trying not to show it.  The Cousin reeked of poop towards the end of our visit, but I just couldn't undertake the bathroom changing table and manage "Book Wrecker" all at the same time.

We needed a good dose of fresh atmosphere, so we headed across the street to the gazebo and boogied. The gazebo has a fantastic wood floor; dancehall quality.  We shook our sillies out and wiggled our waggles away. (We also chased birds into the street and played in the mud.)

The park was nuts today. Kids out for summer.  Flying footballs. Running little boys who knock anything down that gets in their path. Adults who use every curse word know to man.
Graduation celebrations. Birthday parties. I felt like a mother hen trying to skirt my baby chicks away from constant inappropriate behavior and danger.  Sweet Pea wanted a birthday balloon so bad she could taste it. One mom finally gave her one to play with. She was sooo happy. Then this spoiled snot of a girl stomps over and grabs it out of her hands.
"That's my balloon!" she screamed in Sweet Pea's face.
I now know how parents feel. Every hair on my arms stood at attention. My heart felt a searing pain right through it. I saw red. Instantly, I envisioned my hands around that kid's throat. Suddenly, I felt as if I could lift her up and throw her against the jungle gym and not let up until she gave Sweet Pea the balloon back. Luckily, maturity won out.

Party Crasher

Pole Dancer

Wood Chip Explorer

It's hard to recall life before these two.  It is hard to stay awake past 7:00 p.m. on the day I watch them though. I never cook on Wednesdays. No 'effin way!  My partner knows it too.
"If you're not up for preparing the supper, serving it to me and doing the dishes, I'm fine with drinking my dinner in a throwaway cup." I inform her.
When I arrive home, I walk in, toss my things on the "catch-all", then strip out of my clothes.
That's an absolute must. My shirt sleeves have peanut butter and jelly, my socks have dirt and wood chips stuck in them. My jeans have God knows what down the pant leg. I strip out of my clothes, jump into the shower and yes, pour myself some wine. Same story every Wednesday. However, this past Wednesday, during my cleansing routine, our doorbell rang.
Sweet Pea's mom was standing there with a large brown bag in hand.
"I brought you dinner." 
I could have tackled her to the ground and smothered her with kisses of appreciation.
We invited her in for a small glass of vino.
We hadn't really had her all to ourselves since Sweet Pea entered the world. It was nice.
So we're all three sitting in our living room, chatting it up. I share my day with her.  I'm unsure how the subject came up in the course of the conversation, but she says, "I haven't introduced Sweet Pea to ice cream yet. We did give her some frozen yogurt a few days ago and she loved it."  (Actually, I took her to PinkBerry about a month ago, but I neglected to say that.)

Hmmm...I'm debating whether or not to unleash my upcoming comment, which is perched at the tip of my tongue...

"This shit is good."

Owner of ice cream store in a Beatles freak.
Of the two flavors we sampled, Sweet Pea preferred strawberry.  The Cousin really couldn't make a decision. As you can see, she's in "the zone".  She inhaled both, while Sweet Pea jumped down from my lap, after a couple bites, to drive the boat.
"Call me Captain!"

I know I overstepped my authority with this one. But if God hadn't intended for us to eat a little sugar now and then, why did She invent dentists?
Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!

1 comment:

  1. Priceless! You make me laugh out loud...or be sad, as with the balloon episode. But you always bring a response or get me pondering something.
    The library scene was priceless! Hope they don't ban you forever. Till next week....