Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Finn, A List
At, 3.5 years old, Finn, you are the Mighty Finn, my Finn Bear, Daddy's Special Little Guy, and, lately, Rosemary's Up.
Daddy took you shoe shopping this month. When you came back, with your new shoes in the box, bursting to show me, I took it from you and wondered what cool, new treads had you picked out. You like Toy Story a lot lately. A pair of Buzz Lightyear shoes would be cool. Red shoes would be a rare find but within the realm of possibility. I just, in all honestly, really hoped they wouldn't be Elmo shoes.

I opened it up excited for your selection. There I found a pair of shoes, shoes exactly. the. same. as. your. old. ones -- well, I guess except for the fact these new shoes were a size larger and a whole lot cleaner. "Wow, Finn. They are exactly the same as the old ones." You nodded happily at me like, "Yes, I couldn't believe it either. What a stroke of luck that was." That's so you, Finn. Why would you want a completely different pair of shoes? Who needs something new and exciting or even slightly different? Pfft. No, thanks, Mommy.
You hate being tickled. There is no perverse pleasure. You don't giggle with delight from the attention. "No" really does mean no, in your case.
You go to preschool. You have an Elmo backpack. I drop you off. I pick you up. That's all I really know about the whole school thing. Apparently, as for what happens during those two hours, Daddy and I are on a need-to-know basis, and at this point in time, we don't need to know.
Fair enough, Finn. The crafts you make are awfully cute in any case. Take, for instance, this little crown. I like the way you, you know, participated. You were given a construction paper crown. You glued one feather and one foamy block to it and then -- I wasn't there. I'm only guessing here, but I can imagine it -- you declared it done. No need to go crazy with markers. Why waste glitter or glue? Stickers? No, thanks. It is lovely in its simplicity, neither loud nor flashy, only sparse and quiet.
I am proud you have your own little life outside of us at school. You seem proud of yourself too.
You went to a movie! It was at a theatre. Your friends were there. You had a little kids snack combo (that cost more than the movie ticket) with popcorn, a drink, and some liquorice. Now, that was pretty exciting. You sat through the whole thing and appeared to enjoy it. Things got a little tense during the big garbage incinerator finale, but you handled it well.
Afterward, there was even ice-cream cones and some rides. That was a lot of fun.

That's what you say, by the way. After pretty much every event, every outing, each trip to the park or mall or playgroup, you announce matter-of-factly, "That was a lot of fun."
Well, I would say, Finn, pretty much everything is a lot of fun with you.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

"Mommy! Mommy! Finn wants Little Elmo."
"Well, get Little Elmo then, Finn."
"Mommy! Mommy! Finn wants Little Elmo."
"Where is he, Finn? He should be in your room. I can't keep track of Little Elmo for you."
"Mommy! Mommy! Finn wants Little Elmo."
"Mommy! Mommy! Little Elmo is in the big hole."
"What big hole?"

That's when the realisation hit. The hole in Finn's bedroom wall, the hole made by his door, the hole that was there because he had ripped out his door stopper many, many months ago, the hole I really should have looked at and realised where this story would eventually lead, this was "the big hole" in question. Good god, Little Elmo is in the wall.

And then, I pretty much laughed until I cried because, really, what else are you going to do when your son sends his most beloved stuffy down between two sheets of dry wall? At this point, our choices were pretty limited. No wall stands between Finn and his Little Elmo.

You can't make this shit up. You just can't.

Parenthood, people, have your tool belt ready. It really isn't for the faint of heart, and it's not for the particularly fussy either.

Chile has its miners. We have Little Elmo.

"Mommy! Mommy! Little Elmo needs a bath." Sure, Finn. That's what Little Elmo needs.