When Pretending is Serious Business

Today, Mal's eye caught on fire, so he had to come into the doctor's (my) office for a shot, as one does. I gave him a shot, and he proceeded to tell me that I needed to use the hammer. I tested his reflexes, and there were none, but that could be because the hammer is plastic and I wasn't getting near any tendons.

As the exam went on, he kept telling me instruments I needed to use, ending with scissors. I proceeded to cut off his big toe and replace it with a Play-Doh prosthetic (pretend, also). Mal got really upset and pretended to take off the prosthetic toe. "I don't want Play-Doh! Give me something else!"

"I can't. I super-glued that on. You can't just take it off."

Mal started to get genuinely upset. "Give me my toe back!"

Then he changed tacks: "I want a tire."

So I put a tire on his toe.

"Not that one. That's yellow. I want a black tire."

I put a different one on.

"That's brown."

Then I pretended to use a spray can. "Shhhhh-shhhhhhh shhhsshhh. There I painted it black."

Brightly, "Okay! Thanks!"

And that was all for playing doctor.

Later, Mal was playing Paw Patrol. Recently, I rearranged his closet to fit more stuff in it. It looks great and works like a charm... until something needs to be removed. I'd just taken down the giant Paw Patroller, and pulled out a bunch of track pieces and the lookout tower. I was sitting in the floor when Mal decided he wanted to get out his Cars, too, to play "Car Patrol."

"Okay. Your cars are right there, just inside the closet."

In fact, I'd just picked ALL of them up and put them away to make room for the new play sets. Mal, who was sitting halfway between me and the closet, said, "You get them!"

"Nope."

Mal insisted louder that I get the Cars. At one point, he got mad that I was playing with Rider on a bike and took him from me, hiding him on the far side of the room and walking much further than he would have had to in order to have gotten his cars.

"Mom! You get them!"

"Why can't you get them? You're much closer and they're right there."

"Because I'm scared of the monster!"

"Well, so am I. I don't like monsters."

"There are no monsters that live in my home; there's only me and my family."

"THEN YOU CAN GET YOUR OWN CARS!"

"NO, MOMMY, YOUUUUU!!!"

He climbed over me and asked for "deedees" and kept insisting I get his cars. At some point, we got back onto the monsters. I told him I was still scared, and to prove to me that there weren't monsters, he opened his closet door, revealing the Cars bag.

I pointed this out, and he hid behind me saying, "But I'm still scared!" I told him I was, too. He said, "But the monster will eat me because I'm a kid! He won't eat you!"

"Yes he will! He'll say, 'Look! There's a big lady. I'm not wasting my time with this little kid. I want the giant treat!' Then he'll eat me and poop me out later and it'll be really gross."

I can't tell you what happened after that, except that neither of us got the cars and a few hours later, when one of Mal's friends came over, he did try to get the cars himself, but the bag got hung up on a drawer knob. Again with the "everything fits, but just don't try to move anything."

And this, friends, is why my brain is how it is these days. This is how I spend my hours. Good times. Gooooood times.

Decoding and Interstellar Visitors

When we were sitting in the car waiting for D to emerge from Dr. Who: Twice Upon a Time, Mal seemed to be zoning out, talking to himself. Then I realized what he was doing: "C... I... N... E... M... A... R... K."

He has been obsessed lately with "starts with." He'll get it wrong as often as he gets it right, but this morning when he was talking to James, he did something he's never done before: He spelled his name. They were talking about words that start with "m" and James said, "Your name starts with 'm.'" "M-A-L."

Along with this interest in spelling, he's just recognizing tons of corporate logos. Gosh, we're so... proud? Anyway, we can't sneak anywhere because he knows more than "French fry," which is how he used to refer to McDonald's AND Sonic. Also, we might eat fast food too much.

Guess what else? Mal has a new friend, and that guy is a bad influence.

It started the other day, when Mal wanted more Oreos but had eaten a whole row of them already. I told him that we needed to save some for the rest of the family. Mal went into our bedroom, came back, and said, "He told me I could have more Oreos." I asked, "Who? Your dad?" James had been with me in the kitchen the whole time. Mal said, "No. Him. Audie-ah-Poddy." "Well, tell him he's wrong. You cannot have any more."

Then yesterday, after I explained for the bazillionth time that he can't have more than two vitamins, Mal said, "He said yes." "I said no. Sorry. It can be dangerous to take too many vitamins." "Audie-ah-Poddy said yes. He's an alien." Oookay.

Finally, tonight the alien told him he could take his new Tonka micro fire station into Chick-fil-A after I'd said it was a bad idea because there were so many small parts. What a jerk that guy is.

Last night, in the bathtub, Mal was asking about aliens. He asked whether they were human, and I told him it depended. We talked about extraterrestrials and about anyone in a foreign place. He mused over it for a moment and said thoughtfully, "I love human aliens. They're so interesting to me." But I think he meant ETs, because then he said he wanted to go to Roswell (which he only knows from a 30-second video my parents took of some space creatures getting ready to beam off the planet). I had to promise him we'd go some time, but it probably won't be until he's 10 or so. Fortunately, he's still a bit gun-shy, so he's fine with waiting.

At the end of his bath, which is turning into a semi-eternal affair every dang day, Mal let the water out while he was still in the tub. He wanted to see the "tornado," then still just sat there after the water was gone. I asked him if he wanted to get out, because it was pretty chilly, but he said no. A couple of minutes later, he hollered out, "Oh no! I don't have balls anymore!" James assured him they'd reappear when he warmed up.

I think of a million things I want to write down during the day, but it's 12:20 AM and I think I'm done for now. I need to start jotting stuff down so I can remember it once I finally get to sit down for a hot minute, which feels less and less likely lately. Good night, friends!

Twenty-Four Hours of Ick

Yesterday morning, as usual, Mal didn't want to leave home. This time it was to go to church. He generally doesn't handle transitions well. As we approached the church building, we slowed to let some people cross the street to get to the megachurch across the road from our little church. Mal thought it was a grocery store, and cried when I started driving the rest of the way. "Mal want to get out at the store!"

THEN, after church, he didn't want to leave church, but wanted to stay and play. However, I'd told him we'd go to the mall, and even though he insisted that he'd rather go to the grocery store, he decided it would be okay.

We got a little bit of lunch first-- Well, I did. Mal didn't eat the pizza slice I got him, but was happy to play on the play area and browse the Disney Store. He fell asleep on the way home, which I knew he would, but it was early enough that I wasn't freaked out.

When he woke up, he desperately wanted soda. As usual, I offered to let him have some of mine if he'd go get a straw. He said, "No! Mal want a new one." So I went to the refrigerator to get a Diet Mt. Dew, and he said, "No! Mal want brown soda!" We didn't have any, but that didn't stop him from crying about it for half an hour.

Finally, James went to the gas station to get Mal a "brown soda." Literally as James was closing our front door on the way out, a wall of water poured down from the sky, so he got to enjoy an impromptu warm dousing on his errand.

When he got back, James was rewarded with gratitude in a way that only a two-year-old can express it: "Mal happy again! Daddy, Mal happy again!" He drank about 1/4 cup of the soda, and went on with life.

He was puny and didn't eat the rest of the day, save a few strands of buttery spaghetti I'd made for him. He was tuckered by 5:30 PM, and I let him go to sleep. He was feverish and woke up fairly frequently, each time murmuring something both incoherent and adorable. Sometimes, he'd giggle. Sometimes he'd say, "Mal can't find it anywhere!"

I went to bed at 8:30, because I had a feeling. That feeling came to fruition at 3:00 AM when Mal woke up and decided it was time to get up. Although I told him it was the middle of the night and time to sleep, D proved him right by being up and doing stuff. We went to the restroom and then let the dog out. We sat on the back porch while the dog did her stuff, and then came back in.

Mal told me that he wanted French fries and, forgetting we're in Texas where there are Whataburgers everywhere, I told him nothing was open. Then he said he wanted to go to to the pool, which I'd promised him we'd do today.

It took about an hour of Mal insisting it was time to get up and my asking him just to hang out with me for a while before he finally laid down in my "lap" (or what would have been if I'd been sitting up, but I was lying down, so...) and slowly dozed off.

This morning, he woke up around 7, normal time, and I told him we could go to Sonic for fries if he wanted; he declined. Meanwhile, James was getting ready to head out... and his car wouldn't start. He threw the car seat out of his old (now my) car and took off, cementing the notion that we wouldn't be going to the pool today.

Second sign that we weren't going: Mal still didn't feel well. He woke up a couple of times, but didn't get out of bed until about 9:45, more than two hours later than usual.

When he woke up, I again asked him if he wanted French fries. He said, "Watermeemon." We don't have any watermelon. Anything else? "Dinosaur juice." Um. "What's in dinosaur juice?" Mal very happily reported: "Grapes..." "We have grapes!" "Apples..." "We have apples!" "Watermeemon..." "We don't have that, but we can make some juice. Come on!"

We walked into the kitchen and he said, "Use the blender!" So I got out an apple, some green and some purple grapes, a kiwi, and... Mal added a second apple.

I had a sieve and filter lined up to strain the juice, but we didn't need it, as the Ninja does such a fabulous job of pulverizing food.

Action shot! Here it is, mid-puree swirl!

So Mal got his dinosaur juice with all of the fabulous fiber of the original fruit, already pre-digested! You're sold, aren't you?

Mal was puny most of the day, lounging around watching Peppa Pig (the source of the dinosaur juice idea) and playing in his room. 

Oh, and kind of being fussier than usual.

For instance: I'd taken advantage of his lower-than-usual level of activity to make these chocolate chip cookies. Mal had seen me working, and after the dough was resting in the fridge (as it is supposed to overnight, or, in my calculations, until at least 7:00 PM), he asked for a cookie. I told him we didn't have any, and he said, "Chocolate chip cookie!" I explained that I couldn't bake them until tomorrow, and, oh, how he cried.

I went into the kitchen and found some chocolate animal crackers, which I showed him, and which he soundly refused. I told him that was all we had, I put some in a snack cup for him, and he firmly answered, "NO, thank you!"

Well, okay.

There was some more crying, and begging me for a "real" cookie, so I finally decided just to bake half of the cookies and, in the name of science, compare them with ones I'll bake tomorrow to see how much better they are after sitting around 24 hours (or up to 3 days).

Cut to half an hour later when the cookies came out of the oven: Mal had eaten all of the chocolate animal crackers and I showed him that the chocolate chip cookies were out of the oven. I offered him one, and he hollered like I'd offered him poison and said, "More brown cookies!" *sigh*

The same kind of thing happened later, when he said he wanted pizza. I didn't have the ingredients or the energy to make dinner, anyway, so said I'd order him a pizza, James a sandwich, and D some chicken wings. Mal said, "No, Mommy, bake it!" This is as opposed to last Thursday when he saw the pizza delivery vehicle across the street and said he wanted some. When I offered to make it, he said, "No! Mal want car pizza!"

I did order the pizza, and he kept asking about it. Until it got here. Then he wanted fruit snacks, which we don't have. I told him I could run to the store to get some, but he said, "We have in house! Do!" Which we don't.

He spent about 45 minutes crying about how he did want fruit snacks, he didn't want me to go get them, and how we DID have some at home before he finally went to sleep.

For like two hours.

James was home when Mal woke up this time, and James had sweetly brought a couple of things of fruit snacks from the office stash. But by now, Mal had decided that he wanted Oreos. He didn't want me to go get them. He didn't want his dad to go get them. He just wanted them. And he wanted us all to stay home.

Then he wanted French fries. I asked if he wanted to make them or to go get some, and he didn't want either of those options. He just wanted French fries.

After about 30 minutes of crying for French fries and my telling him we could have gone to Sonic or put a dent in baking some by then, he finally agreed to make them at home. He wanted me to hold him while I made them, but since I had to actually cut potatoes, it was a no-go. He got over that, then he wanted to cut the potatoes himself. I don't mind letting him use a knife, but not on potatoes just yet. Plus, he's all weepy and clumsy and just a mess.

Anyway, it's 9:30 and the red potato "fries" just got out of the oven. Mal is sitting at the bar, eating them happily. "Mal really hungry!" I'll bet he is. I think his fever has broken, and I don't know when he'll ever go back to sleep, but hopefully this means he's better.

Incidentally, the battery was just dead in James's car. We thought it might be something more serious since the "check engine" light came on this weekend, but the guy who came out to check said that there weren't any codes coming up on his diagnostic machine, so maybe there was some weird charging thing.

So, how was your Monday?