Wednesdays are me and Keaton’s day to hang out mother/son style. Rowan has extended day preschool so instead of the normal 3 hour day she is gone for 5 whole hours. Five hours where this little man gets to pick up ANY Hello Kitty figurine, EVERY My Little Pony, and ALL the Princess dolls his little heart desires without hearing the piercing death screams Rowan emits that would make one think Keaton had tried to remove the fingers from her hand rather than a plastic horse she wasn’t even playing with. (Here is where she would tell you it’s the principle of the matter and that by Keaton touching these precious toys he is forever ruining them in some irreversible, unknowable way. I really couldn’t tell you where she gets her dramatic streak from. Let’s blame Bill.)
I try to make the most of this time with him. We dance, listen to music, giggle over that one stupid ass thing Grover did on Sesame Street, go for long walks, read the same 3 books over and over and play play play. He is at the most hilarious age where his sole purpose in life seems to be that he must be laughing or making someone laugh most of the time. In short, we are just eating each other up right now and loving the extra one-on-one time.
By the time lunch rolled around, we had had a full morning. I heated up one of his favorite lunches, Clam Chowder, which we call Tato Soup, mostly because when Rowan was younger we came up with a lot of bland names for many foods, thinking it more likely that she would eat the familiar sounding “Tato Soup” as opposed to “Clam Chowder”. Most of the time it backfired, and she soon became too suspicious to be outsmarted but this one stuck.
Right after I set him up with his bowl, Bill called to check in on our day. (Aww, aren’t we cute? PUKE.) I sat with Keaton while we chatted but got distracted by some toys left on the floor in my bedroom. I ducked into the room for no more than 1 minute and when I came out I was greeted with this horrifying scene:
So. Gross.
Maybe it's somebody elses baby hiding behind that bowl... that sticky...gooey...chowdery bowl.
Crap. He's mine- I'd know that shifty eye anywhere.
Oh God. Look at his hair. He kept saying "Bowl head! Bowl head!" and then...
Laughing manically. Like- "Do you get it? A bowl is on my head so I am a bowl head- why aren't you laughing? This is my A material. Dad always said you had a rotten sense of humor."
Incidentally he didn't think it was so funny when it was time to deconclaminate* him and it took 15 minutes to get the clam chunks out of his hair, AND he didn't laugh at ONE of my "Chowdeh" jokes, so who has the crappy sense of humor now, Bowl Head.
*Get it?! I’m so clever. And also possibly might have a little too much time on my hands.
P.S. Are any of you thinking that the reason he made such a gigantic mess is because he was trying to get back at me for putting a hot pink bib on him, embroidered with the words “Beauty Queen”?
Totally possible.
My super kaduper life 