Oh Please Anything but Barney

I recognise parenting comes with certain sacrifices. There is much we will do for the sake of our children. But I had resolved to make it through parenthood without being subjected to Barney & Friends.

I’m sure I expressed this ambition to my husband at some point. Apparently, he forgot. Yesterday, I found father and son watching the dreaded Barney. I told myself not to panic. Maybe we can keep it a father-son thing.

This morning breakfast was barely over and Kiddo was pointing to the TV, “Diasaur? Diasaur?”

“You mean, Dinosaur Train?” Slight desperation in my voice.

“Purple diasaur?

“How about Paw Patrol?”

“No.”

“Thomas the train?”

“No tain. Purple diasaur? Yes, diasaur, yes.”

“Sigh.”

Kiddo has also decided his farts are hilarious, and has learned he can replicate the noise, quite convincingly, by blowing raspberries on the leather couch cushions. Fabulous.

Babyhood Rites of Passage

Removing ALL the pots from the cupboard;

Twanging the doorstop—you know, the wobbly spring kind;

“Look, Mommy! I got a handful of cat fur”—I’m amazed the cats still stay in the room. I can’t decided if they’re patient, dumb, or just too lazy and stubborn to give up a comfy spot, no matter what;

Blowing bubbles in the tub—thought I’d have to teach him this one, but apparently it comes naturally;

Pooping in the tub—we almost made it a full year without this happening. Tonight our number was up;

Putting objects in parents’ shoes. Shawn Writes Stuff has mentioned this phenomenon. It would seem it’s not unique to his children:

At least, he seems to have moved on from trying to eat my shoes.