Wednesday, January 30, 2013

No Jinx

Lately I've been finishing off my lunch with two squares of dark chocolate and a cup of plain hot water. It's just the right touch when you want to feel like a proper old lady. I'm not even saying whether lunch is usually at 11:30 a.m. And what the hell, I'll just come right out and say I think that Thrift Shop song is catchy. I probably would not endorse this rapper wholesale, but I am not immune to a horn laden hook. Today I'm all about owning my lameness like a set of matched luggage. Which I don't technically own, but you get the idea.

You know what's not lame? For his toddler-y challenges, at nearly three years old, my kid is still a wicked cuddlebug. He not only tolerates my inability to not squeeze him all the time, but initiates. And when he requests "snugglebuggleruggles" at any time of day or night, I will drop everything. It's possible he'll be this much of a love for his whole life, it sorta runs in my family, but there are no guarantees, so I'm on it. It's one of the only self-imposed mama rules that I follow with any amount of strictness: there's almost nothing that takes precedence over affection. If we had a family crest it would probably be a heart, a book, a musical note and the universal symbol for weirdness (which I'm pretty sure is the cover of the Butthole Surfers' Locust Abortion Technician).

I realize that sooner rather than later the not-fun parental lines to draw will probably outnumber the softer, feel-good ones. It's not that I'm against discipline, I always assumed I'd have to be the hardass of the home because my mother was (though Mike's not as much of a pushover as we thought before we had HR), but so far I've been able to get away with being pretty chill. It's not like I don't expect or demand a certain kind of behavior from HR, it's just that he's naturally embodied it. And that is mostly the luck of the draw. But I also pick my battles, I don't stand on principle (for example, it doesn't matter to me if he sits at the table to eat all his meals. If it's easier to feed him at the coffee table while he plays, that's fine with me). And we do correct as we go along. So far I don't think we've set on the path to feral ruination, we'll see. My philosophy is that as long as he remains a (mostly) mellow, easygoing kid, I will enjoy the domestic simplicity. And when the time comes to be Enforcer Mama, I'll deal with it then. I am just asking for it, aren't I?

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