Ewwwwwwwwwwwww, The Precious was in a mood yesterday.  I know I get cranky when it’s hot, but I didn’t realize The Precious had the same issues.  That is, until yesterday.  He showed up last evening with his pint sized body sweaty, and his galaxy sized attitude intact.  Buckle up….you know it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

I was sitting in my recliner, minding my own business…when I heard, “helloooooo….Emmy?”  It was the monkey man.  I am enjoying the air conditioning but I know that the chilled air is only temporary, because I am about to go outside and play.  Aunt vag. daughter held him off for awhile.  She’s always exciting when she’s here.  I think it’s the abscence making the heart fonder thing.  Anyway, about 15 minutes into the visit it’s, “Emmy, let’s go outside.”  He wanted to play on his swing.  He slid for a few times and seemed to be in an overall good mood.  Then he decided to swing.  We didn’t get him a fancy swing.  If Boppy had his way, The Precious would have had one of those log cabin gone wild swings.  You know, the ones with the rock climbing wall and a fort?  Well, I got my way and The Precious got a plain, old, 2 swings-slide-and glider swing.  The swings have the flat, hard plastic, swings that every child since the invention of the swing has had.  They were good enough for me and they were good enough for his daddy and they are good enough for him.  Right?…..Wrong!  The Precious has difficulty placing his round booty on the flat swing, and he panics when he feels that he might fall.  He wanted what he called a “diaper swing.”  Google “diaper swing” and see what you get.  I got everything from Pampers to sex swings.  What I didn’t get was anything that I would attach to the swingset currently residing in my backyard.  So after his slippery little ass fell off the swing (and before he could work up a good fit), I told him to come on we’d go to Toy-R-Us.  I told him we would get one toy.  “How many toys?”  “One toy.”  Groovy….so off we go.  “I have to buckle in.   Right Emmy?  Cuz’ we’re goin’ a long way.  Right?”  So I buckled him in, and off we went.

Have you ever taken a three year old to Toys-R-Us on a July day after telling them you can only get one toy and you mean a swing but they have a whole different idea in there heads?  Well, let me tell you…I have trouble keeping up.  We made it through the pool toys.  Although I was seriously worried that he was going to need a wading pool.  We made it through the Ironman, Spiderman section.  We barely made it through the sports equipment…he thought he might need roller skates…and a helmet…and pads.  This is the kid who broke his arm standing on a Sit-N-Spin, and he thinks I’m going to put wheels on his feet?  Please!!!!  I told him that he could barely walk through the house without falling when he has nothing on his feet.  He doesn’t need all the owwwies that would come with roller skates.  A lady next to me gasped.  Apparently telling a toddler they are clumsy is akin to beating them in public.  I know that, as of now, he has inherited my grace.  I’m not going to be irresponsible.  Anyway, having talked him out of roller skates, we went to an aisle that has blow up buildings that you can jump in.  I know that you have seen them at fairs and things.  This is the same thing on a smaller scale.  Kind of like the things you can rent for birthday parties.  Well he said, point blank, “I want it.”  I uttered that rarely heard word….No.  “But I want it.”  “No, it’s too big for Emmy to put in her backyard.”  “You said one toy.”  “Yes, but we already have a “diaper swing” that’s your one toy.”  “But I want the castle….”  “Yes, everyone does, but not every one gets it.  It’s too many dollars.” ($330 of them as a matter of fact)  “Come on and let’s pay the money and go to Emmy’s.”  Out comes the lip, and the head goes down….the corresponding shoulder droops as he turns his head away from you so that you are now viewing his back and the side of his head.  “I sad.”

We walked out of Toys-R-Us with the swing.  And a box of 250 gumballs, and a Wally The Whale (which didn’t work at all).  We got home and I unplugged him from the car.  He grabbed the swing, leaving Wally (which was a bribe to keep him from whining about he castle) in the car, and the gum balls in the drink holder.  He dragged the swing across the lawn and into the house.  He briefly showed it to his mother and then he took it out to his swing.  “Do it Emmy!”  So I began to unhook the old swing, and put up the new swing.  When I went to get it, The Precious was sitting in it.  I told him he would need to move his butt before I could hang his swing.  “I want it!  I want to swing!”  I finally wrangle his toddler butt out of the swing and hang it.  I put him in it and lock him in when he begins screaming. “The other way…I want it the other way….behind me!”  “I am behind you.” “Not you…my swing…my swing, behind me!”  I stopped the swing and begin to take him out.  This set off another cacophony of screams.  He didn’t want to have to get out of his swing.  I tried to explain to him that I am unable to hold him by two ropes while attaching the swing to the swingset.  He is unmoved.  I finally get his bellowing butt out of the seat and get it turned around.  Finally.  His swing is now officially behind him.  I began to push.  Like every child since the beginning of time he begins to shout, “higher, higher.  I want to go higher.”  I’m pushing for all I’m worth.  I’m sweating like the pig that knows it’s dinner, and my shoulders are screaming with each and every push. “higher, higher…my daddy goes higher.”  I can do nothing to please the little darling.  I refuse to try and explain the physics of swinging to a toddler.  I also refuse to get a longer rope to get him to his desired altitude.  If I get a  rope at this point, it’s not going to be the swing that’s hanging from it.  After 3 to 5 minutes of taunting about how much better his dad is than me, I decide I will just stop the swing, remove the precious cargo, and take him and his little attitude into to the house to get his dad and his bulging, swing pushing, muscles.  Stopping the swing starts the  screaming again.  I’m hot.  I’m sweaty.  My shoulders are on fire.  I’m 50 years old and have no ability left to reason with little people.  I used all of mine up on my kids.   I leave The Precious buckled in the swing and head for the door.  I stick my head in the door and yell, “someone else needs to push this kid, and he would prefer his daddy.”

I’m not going to go into the fireworks display that occurred when it was his mother and not his father who walked out the door.  I’m not going to talk about the melt down he had when Wally The Whale didn’t work and he couldn’t catch the fish with his little net.  I’m certainly not going into the screaming match that happened when his foolish mother took him from the side of the pool and placed his writhing butt in the nice, warm, pool water.  Oh no….I won’t go into those things.  What I will say is this: as we were leaving the toy store The Precious was sitting in his car seat with his mouth full of gumballs.  He has one hand in the box of gum, and one grasps his swing.  His foot is on top of Wally.  With a slimy, sticky, mouth he says, “Thank you, Emmy.  I’m so happy!”  And that makes it worth it.  Nine out of every ten times he comes to visit he is absolutely a treasure.  On that tenth visit, he could wear the horns off of a Billy goat.  But the nine far out weigh the one.  His mother just called and asked if they could come back tonight.  I think she knows I was at the end of my rope last night.  Of course, I said that they could.  That tenth one is out of the way….odds are we are going to be having fun tonight.  Thank God!!!!!

 

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