Thursday, June 23, 2016

My Prerogative

I don't always believe in blogging for no reason. And I don't always believe in talking about blogging in blog posts. And I don't always believe in blogging, period. But today, I guess, I do. I can change my mind.

When one of my younger cousins was just learning to speak, we liked to ask her, "Hannah, what is it when a woman changes her mind?"

And Hannah, in a tiny little toddler voice, would squeak out some of the only words in her fledgling vocabulary: "It's a woman's prerogative." Just like that, like a sweet little parrot. We'd all laugh and coo and she'd beam, not understanding what she'd said but understanding that it was what we'd wanted her to say, whatever it was, and it was all very adorable.

It's what I think about whenever I change my mind now. It's my prerogative.

Sullivan's at that stage now, the talking and not always understanding and parroting and coming up with his own strange strings-of-words stage. It's my favourite. He's always using these big hand gestures and stuttering and trying to figure it all out. He says stuff out of the blue.

"Mom, you're going to wreck dad's heart." (I don't know where he got this combination of words from.)

"Mom, I love you when you're sleeping." (Okay...I don't...I don't know where he got this combination of words from either.)

"Winnie the Pooh is so polite!" (True.)

"Mom, you look dumb."

Obviously, we have to have talks sometimes. Like, when he said I looked dumb, for example, I was, you know, startled. At first. And then I realized how often I slouch into the kitchen on my way out the door and say to Barclay, "Ugh. I look so dumb."

So, obviously, I need to stop doing that.

I explained to Sullivan that we don't call our mothers dumb, and he looked confused for a minute and said, "Do you look fantastic?"

And I looked confused for a minute and said, "Okay, sure."

And he said, "Does dad look dumb?"

And I said, "We don't call anyone dumb, okay?"

And he looked confused again and said, "Can we call the dishwasher dumb?"

And I looked confused again and said, "I don't...think so? I mean. Well, yeah. But no."

Like, who put me in charge of this?

But it really is a fun age. He's still super into drumming and would watch instructional drumming videos on YouTube for hours if I let him - like, I put on a straight-up video of a guy standing in front of a drum set talking about paradiddles and he leans into the screen, unblinking, and when it's over he says, "Again." He made his own the other day too; I should upload it in case any of you want to learn how to drum. The other night I heard him talking to himself as he was falling asleep: "Hi. What's my name? Is my name Neil Peart? Yeah! It is! I am Neil Peart!"

Anyway. I also wanted to update you all on the gardening situation (I totally just typed "guardenting," thank goodness for autocorrect, what is wrong with me): I planted some fruits and vegetables in planters on my back porch and they're all alive still. I promise to update you again the next time something this exciting happens.

Lastly, I turned 29 on Monday, so that's a milestone I guess. I'm pretty old and pretty young now, compared to five year-old and 95 year-old me. I tried out Snapchat the other day and now I think I'm going to quit it because it makes no sense at all to me. I'm Instagram age. That's okay with me. Time to start exclusively wearing shoes that are good for my feet and yelling at the kids who play tag on my front lawn.

It's my prerogative.

5 comments:

  1. A belated happy birthday to you!

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  2. Ha ha! Love all of this.

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  3. Seriously, to me none of your posts ever seem like 'blogging for no reason'.

    Happy birtyday.

    stephanie

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  4. Am I Neil Peart? That is hilarious and so awesome. You guys are raising a cool kid.

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