Another Tentacle, My Boy?
We took the boys out to eat the other day at a swanky restaurant. When eating at a fancy place with children, we go early to avoid patrons’ rolling eyes, snotty attitudes from the staff and shitty electronica played at full volume. It makes us feel human, at least until the bill comes. Then, we feel like people who can’t stop crying.
While there, Boone sampled everything on the table. His favorite item: octopus. Yes, octopus. My wife ordered an octopus salad and he couldn’t get enough of the tentacles and all their creepy, horror-show goodness. As lover of strange and exotic foods, I was quite proud. We sat at an outdoor table and as people passed on the nearby sidewalk I called, “You see that? That’s my boy. He’s eating octopus… Why are you looking at me like that?”
Of course, I am also a lover of fine white trash cuisine. If you want to win me over, make me a Frito pie and serve it up with a grape soda. Twinkie for dessert? Make it a Chocodile and you can have your way with me. Just be gentle.
So, you understand the disappointment I felt last night when we tried to feed Boone good ol’ mac and cheese and he turned it away. He also refused turkey hot dogs, fruit bars, Slim Jims, Cool Whip, Pabst Blue Ribbon and a deep-fried Snickers bar.
I realized my boy Boone might have inherited only half of my gastronomical proclivities. Wyatt, on the other hand, loved the mac and cheese. He also enjoyed the Pabst a great deal. I think he might regret the bunny tattoo, though.
Fits And Starts
Me:
Wyatt, calm down.
Boone:
Hey, dude. Could I have more zucchini, please?
Me:
Sure. So... What's up with your brother?
Boone:
What do you mean?
Me:
Look at him.
Boone:
Yeah, I guess he's flipping out a bit.
Me:
A bit? That last cry just shattered the wine glasses in the hutch.
Boone:
They were cheap glasses.
Me:
I don't think putting him in the high chair warrants the fit he's throwing right now.
Boone:
Dude, at this stage in our development, we understand vastly more than we can communicate. That gets incredibly frustrating.
Me:
Fine, but—
Boone:
Not only that, but the inability to communicate could raise other concerns for us, like feelings of extreme fear or anger.
Me:
What could you possibly be angry about?
Boone:
The fact that you don't understand us.
Me:
Oh, right. So, what do I do?
Boone:
You're the dad. Experts say to hold your child until they calm down.
Me:
Okay.
Boone:
Other experts say to let them scream it out, that comforting a toddler in a tantrum amounts to reinforcing bad behavior.
Me:
Damn experts. They never agree.
Boone:
Well, you'd better figure it out because I'm about to launch into my fit.
Me:
What? Why?
Boone:
I just ate the last of the zucchini.
Me:
No. Wait. I can make more.
Boone:
Go ahead. You won't be fast enough. I'm going to get started now.
Me:
Please, don't. What Wyatt's doing isn't the answer.
Boone:
I don't know. He's seems to have conviction.
Me:
That's true. I'll get started on that zucchini.
Sometimes your blog can be the best form of birth control that a girl can ask for. Thank you! That blog on tantrums might just get me past the biological-clock-ticking phase :)
Asked by reelvillage
As long as I’ve done some sort of service, I’ll consider this blog a success.
By the way, I know you. Yes, you, Ms. Kelly Ann Brown. You would be an awesome mom. “Now, now, child. Stop your fussing. We need to go to a speak-easy to meet the line producer of the Bourne trilogy.”
And for the record, you deal with babies everyday. At least I can put mine down each night. Yours are still screaming about brown M&Ms in their bowl or asking for a fresh, Laotian tranny prostitute.
I'm not one to beg...
But, please, for the love of God, click the link.
Thanks.
No, really. I can quit anytime.
