Beware of Lady Bugs!

Have you ever seen an eight-legged lady bug?  Well, in the world of two-year olds, where monsters lurk beneath beds, dinosaur’s growl like muffled pandas and soccer rules are circumnavigated in ways that could make the pros cringe, spiders can be interpreted as their more delicate creepy, crawler counter-part, the lady bug.  These misinterpretations, common misconceptions or seemingly baseless fears that many children grow up having are what I like to refer to as toddler idiosyncrasies.  This is the story of a father learning about one such toddler idiosyncrasy. 

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It's bath time.  You, as the parent, shouldn't have an easier chore than sitting your child down in his cool bath, snagging a book for needed reprieve and reading on the propped down toilet seat while your child plays nicely with sticky-wall letters.  Wrong!

Bath time sucks, and your book, unless water-proofed by a far-sighted publisher, will, not unlike your bathroom rug and footed socks, get very, very wet.  Children love to splash.  In their eyes, your eyes, into the garbage can, and somehow, even on the light bulbs. 

Now accustomed to the bath time routine, however, I, with my obsessive, compulsive disorder, stand idly by with towels, waiting to soak up every drop before I swoop in to do battle with his hair, soap as my only weapon.  Yesterday's bath time escapade had another plan in store, besides just another super soaker war, as little did I know, an angry third party--'the lady bug'--was invited as well.

Cal's hair was finally free of the playground dirt and grime it had accumulated, as I wrapped a large, fluffy towel around his backside and pulled him from the tub.  Pools of water gathered on the floor.  "A lady bug, daddy," Cal said.  I thought to myself, What in the hell is a lady bug doing in here, and asked him where it was as he continued to point behind the toilet.

I moved the small bathroom garbage can aside to be greeted with what could only be recalled as the world’s largest, hairiest and perhaps only eight-legged lady bug ever--an abomination of nature if ever there was one.  Being the arachnophobe I am, I probably acted more like my own two-year old confronting his monster fears than an average adult should look when confronting a little spider that is helplessly stuck in a pool of water; I digress. 

I smashed the plastic garbage can down, repeatedly beating the spider into his watery grave.  Cal, still believing his spider was a friendly lady bug, could not have hated me more.  All I could hear were various, ‘stop’s, ‘no’s and ‘my lady bug’, as I happily smashed that little party crasher into bits. 

After calming Cal down, and suppressing my phobic tendencies, I began to compare and contrast the differences between a killer spider and a lady bug.  While I’m not entirely sure if he understands how to differentiate between bugs and spiders any better than before ‘the bath’, as it will henceforth be referred to as, I have at least come to understand one of the many toddler idiosyncrasies my child has: Beware the lady bug.

The Little Things

For anyone who is a parent, or at least the good parents, they know that there is an assumed bit of pride and pleasure in raising another being.  Whether you're reading your child their favorite story for literally the twentieth time, catching their staticky body at the foot of a slide or coloring the seventh picture of the week to throw proudly on your encumbered fridge, there are sure to be many feel good moments and recognizable accomplishments to take pleasure in. 

If you're like me, however, the pleasures and joys of parenthood can be diminished or taken for granted by a full-time job and an unforgiving class load.  For some unfortunate reason, parenting loses part of its luster when you’re busy trying to pay the bills and obtain an education; all the while you try not to screw up the little guy or girl in your life that is always looking up to you.  If you're lucky, the worst scar they'll come out of toddlerhood with is having said the word 'shit' for an entire day at preschool. 

Last week, after logging eight hours in at the office and attending a three class, I was ready to get home and pass out on the couch watching reruns of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  Children, however, should never be exposed to the colorful, yet abusive, characters that make up the cast of such a show, and as always, there were errands to run. 

With the little guy packed into the back of the car, and our to-do list straddling my back like a drug-riddled monkey, we set off to pick-up dry cleaning and snag an easy dinner.  I was drained from head to toe.  The last thing I wanted to do was rope around my two-year old.  Children, unlike their parents, are rarely tired, or exhausted and as if they are constantly laughing in the face of thermodynamics, they are in a state of perpetual motion. 

Our first stop was the dry cleaners, to which we were greeted warmly by the owner.  Even the always smiling owner seemed like her day and week had pulled her across the coals.  Cal, per his usual rounds, blasted to the mirrors where the measuring is done, left them finger stained, and then, like lighting, he leapt to the foot of the owner.  Smiling precariously, the owner said something, a nugget in my otherwise dim day.  "Thank you for your smile.” 

While the rest of our trip was ordinary, her words rang deep, reminding me of the pleasures of parenthood that I far too often take for granted.  The kid might be running around like a cheetah with a Redbull PICC line and Rockstar beer cap, but he frequently shares a smile and he’s almost always happy.  Even though the lady running the dry cleaners seemed liked her week was overwhelming, she was still able to take notice of a smile of all things—perhaps what her week had been absent of after seeing far too many 9:00-5:00 clients drop off and pick up their clothes. 

Juggling parenthood, school and work may not be easy, but thankfully each day has its little nuggets that keep me going. 

New Beginnings

Henceforth, this blog shall be dedicated to fulfilling my blog requirements for COMS 318.  Cheers, Chip!

ENTRY 1:

After attempting to analyze my lens, figure out what the heck a lens is and fruitlessly trying to decide what I'm going to write about, I've discovered that the present and most fulfilling and self-defining moments in my life are shared with my two-year old son, Callaghan; or as we like to call him, Cal.

When I'm not floundering to complete a deadline at the office or pretending to act in resemblance and likeness of a displaced student, I'm more than likely hanging out with the little guy.  Outside of the fact that he's really not so little, our weekly hanging out and going-ons range from packing lunches and pre-school drop-offs to architectural exploring through Lego block building and park ventures where rocks and sticks are procured and later stored away eclectically at home. 

He’s smart, outgoing, resembles a young Irish child with his red hair and pale skin and he loves to play jokes on his mommy. Even at two he has more personality than many adults I know.  I would like to dedicate this blog to my son, Cal: a dream quarterback, soccer all-star, tee-ball smasher, eclectic archeologist and an overall amazing little-‘big boy’.  One day, when time has left me haggard at 40, I imagine sharing the stories of our adventures from this blog with my him.