Yes-Mom
In case you were wondering, the Emperor is NOT allowed to stand on one foot, on five little tip toes, on top of the chair arm while his soft little baby head hovers an inch away from the corner of the razor sharp window sill. (Did you catch that it is RAZOR SHARP?!!)
He is not allowed to drink his sippy cup over any piece of electronic equipment (need I revisit the infamous spacebar incident?).
He is not allowed to guzzle shampoo, perfume or air freshener.
He is not allowed to use a steak knife to cut his bread.
He is not allowed to race laps around the tub.
He is not allowed to dive headfirst down the circular staircase to the dormer, no matter how many times he insists on attempting it.
This is all due to my cruelty of course. (You should see the crumbly bottom lips my demands inspire.)
But every time I say no, I try to remind myself that I want to be a “yes Mom” in other ways.
Justus is allowed to dance around like a crazed pygmy whenever the Fresh Beats theme song comes on. Yes.
He is allowed to sing in the car at the top of his lungs, even though right now, that “singing” resembles a monotone cat whose meow is stuck on high. Yes.
He is allowed to hug and kiss us (yes, even the slobbery on the face ones) as much as he wants, as many consecutive times as he wants. He is welcome to say “MWHAAAHHHH” really loud in the process. Yes.
He is allowed to sample salsa, dill pickles, lemon and any other non-toxic something or other he gets in his head might taste good. He is free to make as many accusing, sour-puss faces that result along the way. Yes.
He is allowed to read a book in any order he wants, including skipping pages or yanking it out of my hand to insert his own mumble jumble non-English words and manic pointing over mine. Yes.
He is allowed to conduct experiments using spatulas as golf clubs or hairbrushes as microphones. He was allowed to use mascara wands as drumsticks until the incident of late. Yes.
He is allowed to get really dirty at the park.
He is allowed to take his shoes off.
He is allowed to chase flies around the house.
He is allowed to pick up sauces and other liquids by the handful to break his current world record of 3 drops sucessfully scooped into his mouth.
Yes, yes, yes and yes.
He is allowed to be a little boy. Meaning he is permitted to be little. And a boy.
As follows, he is allowed to chase his tiny little boy dreams wherever that takes him…even if that means we have to investigate the dog’s whereabouts 93 times a day.
I want to a be a Yes-Mom. You?
Becky, slave of Christ September 10, 2010 (2:02 pm)
Delightful! Today is a good day for me to see this post. My daughter (my baby, age 21), had her wisdom teeth out this morning, all four of them. It was her first time having general anesthesia and she is 600-ish miles away from me. She did fine. I seem to have survived as well. Thanks for reminding me of sweet baby days.