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Around the time Squirts turned three, he moved from one class at his day care into another one. It was a traumatic experience for all three of us. And it was no short-term trauma either. It was the kind of trauma that lasted almost every day for the majority of the next year-and-a-half and followed us to his next two classes.
After that move, the drop-off routine involved some level of whining, crying, clinging, wailing or whimpering. Every day. For. One. Year. And. A. Half.
Recently, a Facebook “friend” posted a status update about the inherent evil of humanity. It’s not usually the kind of status update I’m drawn to read, but I was fascinated with how adamantly convinced she was that human beings are, at our core, pure evil.
The moment Squirts was born, a lot of things crossed my mind. I was struck by the enormity of his feet. The volume of his voice seemed to have no limit. The color of his skin was a pink like nothing I’d ever seen before. The fact that we had not selected a middle name suddenly became of utmost importance (in that moment, we gave up trying to decide and gave him two middle names).
You know what a super ball is, right? It’s one of those small rubber balls you get for a quarter out of a vending machine at the grocery store. When thrown, it ricochets from the wall, the floor, to the wall, to the ceiling and back again at speeds and angles that seem to defy the laws of physics.
At times, if you stopped and watched Squirts from the far end of a large room, you might think he was trying to catch one of those super balls just after being bounced against a wall. But as you got closer, you would probably begin to wonder what happened to the ball? Then, as you got even closer, you would realize, there is no ball. That’s just Squirts-in-motion!
Squirts is a pretty good eater. There aren’t many things he doesn’t like or won’t at least taste. We’ve been lucky in that way. Just don’t get in any hurry at meal time though, because he eats at one speed – slow.
But there is one food at which he consistently turns up his nose.
If he sees any chunky red things as his mom or I put salad on his plate, he always says, “Oooh, no to-may-toes for me! To-may-toes are gross!”
We reply, “Oh Squirts. Those aren’t to-may-toes, silly. Those are to-mah-toes.”
