I watched this video today and realized that from an outsider’s point of view, it’s a little sad. Hell, it even makes me a little sad and I know the truth, which is that 9 times out of 10, Emory wants Murray to do something and Murray does it and everyone is happy.
But then I started to imagine a grown up (and slightly sarcastic) Emory watching this and saying, “Oh, great. The only friend I had when I was little was a cat and even he wouldn’t play with me. Thanks, guys.” But I picture my younger brother’s voice in this imaginary conversation because my brother Ryan is the king of sarcasm and would totally say something like that to my mother. This is the same brother who recently taught my 2-year-old to say, “Oh my. Life is so hard.” And my son says this so full of lament, you’d have guessed him to be an old man who has spent his entire life working in a coal mine, supporting a family of five living in a Brooklyn, three-floor walk-up right near the sewage treatment plant. (There are coal mines in Brooklyn, right?)
Actually, that’s what he’s going to say to us whenever he’s older and watches this video: “Oh my. Life is so hard.”
Life can be hard sometimes, Emory. But it’s so worth it.
Also: Don’t believe anything Uncle Ryan tells you.
Friends of ours visited last weekend. We met them for brunch and then we hit the playground because that’s what all the cool kids do after brunch. While there, something came over my son. I’m not sure if he was trying to show off for Gayla or what. But he started to imitate Cookie Monster. Here’s the video.
We’re away for the week, trying to get our heads in a better place. My brother and his girlfriend are staying at our place in Brooklyn so they have been tasked with taking care of our fatties.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post called Please Don’t Blush about how Emory had become self-conscious and stopped dancing. I have good news! My boy is back.
I’ve been baking cupcakes for Monday’s Mom It Down. I’m learning stuff, perfecting stuff by simplifying it as much as I can. In doing so, I have had quite a few cupcakes around lately. This is what happens when Emory realizes there are cupcakes in the house.
A few weeks ago, we had a parent-teacher conference at Em’s preschool. He was 19-months-old at the time and I assure you, the absurdity here does not escape me. But this is the sort of thing that happens when you combine over-achieving, uppity parents with bloated, private school tuitions. They come up with parent-teacher conferences where terms like “fine motor skills” and “sensory stimuli” are used in place of “he mashed Play-Doh” or “we found him digging through the trash.”
I have no idea how this happened, but Em loves the vacuum. He treats it like a pet. He requests I take it out of the closet at least once per day, which is kind of sad considering he might think we keep a pet in the closet. He likes the Dyson so much, he throws starts crying whenever it has to go “night night”. (I swear I didn’t start personifying the vacuum until after he developed an attachment to it.)
This is how Emory reacts to the hammering taking place on the floor above. We have no idea where he got this from. But it totally reminds me of our previous neighbors and their pipe-banging antics.
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