Posts Tagged ‘magoo hair’

what follows is the evolution of jackson’s current state of baldness… and yes, it’s all my fault, as i was a hair-twirler and puller-outer in my younger years and apparently so is my son.

dammit.

so much for my hippie child. good thing his birthday is on earth day and we can still rock our barefoot hippie magic together on the 22nd… WHEN HE TURNS 2.

what happened????

mama needs a stiff drink and box of kleenex.

where are you going, sweet boy?

once a newborn.. an infant… a baby… a toddler…

little man.

what do you see, sweet boy?

the swings… the kids… the clouds…

the world.

what do you treasure, sweet boy?

the trees… the leaves… the slide…

the adventures.

he’s growing up… *cue tears* and yes, the hair is continuing to grow as well.

the magoo is turning into a manipulator. yup, it was like he hit 17 months this week and is all of a sudden the 2 year old little shit that i babysat for once upon a time.

(pretty positive that family is not aware of my website. if they are, sorry, but you know she was a little shit back then too).

i know what you’re thinking… “oh no, not the magoo. not the curly haired precious love with the rosy round apple cheeks and chicken legs.”

problem numero uno: dad is the favorite. it’s cool and all that jackson is a “guy’s guy” and loves hangin with the boys. he loves all of his uncles and has A TON of them (paul’s USNA roommates included) who he sees quite often. he’s rough and tough. bumps his meat head at least 42 times a day and doesn’t even realize it, as does his dad. bottom line, dad’s the favorite.

problem B: both magoo and i are of the same sun sign. that’s right. taurus the frickin frackin bull reigns this household. granted, i am ALL taurus and jackson is just barely a taurus and dangerously close to aries (the taurus nemesis). nevertheless, we’ve got some stubborn peeps up in this piece.

troisieme probleme: these manifesting issues we’re having with the magoo are causing this type of dialog between paul and i to happen more often than it should…

paul phone call: “hey. checkin in. how’s it goin?”

me: “effin sucks. our child hates me and only wants you. bring wine home.”

paul: “i swear, i’m not the favorite. as soon as you leave the room, it’s all ‘mom mom mom.‘”

me: “bullshit. bring wine.” click.

**********

the magoo has started this fake crying/whining bit that just drives me up the frackin wall (really trying hard not to drop the f-bomb, mom).

when he doesn’t get his favorite spatula because i’m actually using it to cook with (yes, occasionally i cook. i know, i can hardly believe it myself) he does this “ehhh diss (translation: this) ehhhh diss” that has got to be the most pathetic thing i’ve ever heard.

sometimes when he does the “ehhh diss” i mock him with the spatula. that’s right. i show it to him and say “oh what? you want this? SORRY! NO DICE!”

(i realize this post is making me sounds like a horrific bitch, but those of you who know me know that i’m not… all the time. and those of you who don’t “know” me but read me… well, you can come to your own conclusions on that one).

i digress…

so when the magoo is not whining and moaning or groaning to get something he can’t have (like the candle lighter or my beer bottle) he goes ape shit. the tantrums have started and this child is not even 2 yet. NO ONE TOLD ME THIS HAPPENS BEFORE THEY’RE EVEN 1 AND A HALF. THANKS.

and godalmightyinheaven, allah, the universe, goddesses, ninja aliens, or whatever you believe in as your higher power, when dad leaves for work in the morning, the beast that lies within the magoo comes out in full force. it’s ugly nasty. and it’s a combo of fake whiny cries that don’t produce tears, and anger towards me because he knows he’s left with me all damn day.

guess what kiddo? i’m not too keen on it either.

tips on master manipulating toddlers???? HALP!!!

each time jackson is out in public, he is assumed by others to be a girl.

“oh what a lovely girl…”

“your daughter has beautiful eyes.”

“goodness those curls on her are gorgeous!”

“she looks like her mommy…”

jackson can be dressed head-to-toe in blue, one hand holding his sippy cup that has trucks on it, the other hand holding his toy trucks (he has a thing for trucks), and strangers will still assume and then comment that he is a girl.

if this happens when i’m the one out-and-about with jackson, i’ll say quite loudly, “HE” or “YOU MEAN MY SON,” or “HE’S A BOY,” and embarrass the hell out of the stranger, who then retreats to another aisle in the grocery store and cries.

paul uses a gentler method, “jackson, say thanks but i’m a boy.” (an apology is made, everyone smiles and makes friends. yay.)

granted, our son has long hair… long, curly hair.  (no, i’m still not cutting it.) but, to assume, and then comment with such certainty astounds me.

so paul and i were discussing this today over lunch…

paul: “let’s get jackson a tshirt that says ‘i have a penis.’”

nic: “or one that says, ‘mom wipes my weenie.’”

paul: laughs, recalling this post from earlier in the week.

nic: (continuing tshirt talk,) “wanna see my penis?”

nic: “just cuz my hair is long doesn’t mean i don’t have a schlong.”

this banter between the two of us goes on for a few minutes, and then i look at jackson eating lunch and realize that he’s drinking from a pink sippy cup.

DAMMIT!

upon finishing lunch, the three of us head to babies r us where we spend over $100 on a multitude of gender-defining items, including a pair of pajamas with skulls and cross-bones, blue and green sippy cups, and more trucks… always more trucks.

CUZ BOYS PLAY WITH TRUCKS!  BOYS!