A Painted House

Archive for February 2012

Dear Edison,

You’re fifteen months old!  It seems the fifteenth month is when those squishy little parts of your brain related to technology finally firm up and all of the sudden you’re capable of starting up your own email account.   You were born into that generation that will never know what life was like before cell phones and wireless internet, a fact illustrated when you hold up any rectangular, flat object to your ear and pretend to talk.  Coasters, plastic waffles, envelopes…..they all become cell phones in your hands.  Likewise, anything remote-shaped suddenly becomes a substitute Wii controller.  Unless of course you can get your grabby little hands on an actual Wii controller, leading to levels of glee only matched when you manage to get ahold of the TV remote or the telephone.  It’s astounding to me, Edison, that at a mere fifteen months you can convincingly imitate your Dad and big brother playing Wii bowling.  You stand facing the TV, hold the controller (or wooden spoon, can of tomato paste you stole out of the pantry, whathaveyou) and swing it back and then above your head just like you were bowling.  What do you bet if we let you play an actual game, you’d kick my tush?  I certainly wouldn’t be betting any trips to Taco Bell on it.

I think it’s time we discuss a particular quirk in your personality, Edison, and the paragraph after I discussed your fascination with electronic devices seems as good as any.  See, as much as you’re committed to gaining unlimited access to the buttons on the phone, the remote, and the DVD player, your favorite toys are much more low-tech.  You are at your absolute happiest when you have in your possession the combination of a cup and a spoon.  That’s it…..just an empty vessel and a utensil with which to stir.  Any cup-like object will do; tupperware, plastic bowls, play-doh containers are all equally prized.  And the stirring component isn’t specific either….a plastic whistle, ruler, popsicle stick, or pen will all do just fine.   Should you happen to have a lid that fits on the cup, well, it seems there’s nothing more fascinating in this world.  So imagine your “I won the lottery!!” face when you found the bin of sippy cups in the kitchen cupboard.  A whole huge box full of cups and lids and straws that can be mixed and matched.  You immediately crawled into the cabinet with the bin and shut the door as if, overwhelmed, you needed a moment to collect yourself before you could carry on with all the matching and the stirring and the lid swapping.

This month you got your third haircut, Edison, this one at the hand of your mother.  And I’m pleased to inform you that you still have both your ears!  It’s the firs time I’ve attempted such a feat, cutting the hair of my child wielding a sharp object and a negligible skill level, but thankfully it went so much better than I imagined it would.  Your brother has been getting bi-monthly haircuts for years now but as he spent the first two years acting as if someone was removing his fingernails along with each strand of hair, I’d not attempted to cut his hair myself; I was too busy pinning him down so someone else could.  But YOU, dear one, are most easily and thoroughly distracted by two things:  snacks and Veggie Tales.  So I stripped you down, poured a massive pile of Kix on your high chair tray, and popped in some “Veggies” as you call them. Twenty minutes later the Kix were gone, the show was over, your hair was shorter, and not one tear had been shed.  I was almost shell-shocked by the sheer ease of the experience.  And who knows, if we can keep this up in a couple of months you might not have to walk around sporting that choppy section in the back or those uneven sideburns!

I’ll end this letter by telling you just how adorable it is now that you’ve started waving and telling people “bye” when prompted. Especially because your Alabama roots on your Mama’s side are coming through loud and clear and you pronounce it with a southern accent.  As if I needed another reason to nibble your face a dozen times per day, now I have to resist the urge to swallow you whole each time we go to leave a room and in your best Miss Alabama Contestant imitation, you wave your little hand back and forth and call out, “Baaaaah!”

Love, Mama

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