My husband’s favorite candy is Sour Patch Kids. I like them well enough, but I’d rather have the Trolli Sour Brite crawler gummy worms. My mouth is watering just thinking about them. Or Nerds. But I digress…
So earlier today I was sitting on the floor and the following events occurred which made a lightbulb go off [ding!] in my head about the nature of my son. The kid had a plastic, slotted kitchen spoon – as he so often carries around these days because who needs toys when you have baking sheets, Tupperware and kitchen utensils? – and was standing by the wall near me. (Note: He’s quasi-walking. Still crawling, a lot of cruising and more and more instances where he let’s go of the wall and just starts wandering aimlessly.)
Anyway, next thing I know he’s behind me bashing my skull in with this oversized kitchen spoon. OW! OUCH! HEY! STOP THAT! QUIT IT! He laughs and continues until… he lays his head on my shoulder and hugs me. Awww. That’s so sweet. Okay, I forgive you.
Then BAM BAM BAM! OW! NO! Not again! Darn you. How do you tell a kid who’s grinning from ear to ear to knock it off and keep a straight face? It’s so hard to discipline when you’d be cracking up if it was anyone else’s kid.
Based on this recurring cycle, my son is a Sour Patch Kid. This does not bode well for the next 17 years of our life.