Hey. As mentioned above, this is Mary Aplin. I turn two today, so why don’t you all squeal and grin and clap your hands like grown-ups do. I mean really, what’s the deal with that? You don’t raise your voices to high-pitched screams of excitement at each other (well, except maybe Mommy’s sisters, but nothing about them is normal anyway), so why do you do it to us kids. It’s humiliating. I’m just here to tell you. I’m not saying it doesn’t make me grin, but I’m smiling AT you not WITH you. Get the hint.
You know, if you’d stop all that squealing, I might actually be willing to learn to talk. But right now talking is a lose lose situation for me. If any of you grown-ups has a speech impediment, you’ll know what I’m talking about. There is nothing more degrading than fumbling over your words in front of a bunch of gawky-eyed people. And I don’t know how to make all those sounds yet, ok. And the last thing I want to do is try to repeat what you’re saying and mess up. Forget it. But you people keep on and on and on, and sometimes I give in, and then what do you do? Back to all that SQUEALING. Like I said. Learning to talk, lose lose for me at this point. I’ve got the major words/gestures down that I need to get what I want, and I am satisfied to leave it at that.
Let me take a minute or two to talk about sister. Is it possible for there to be another person out there who I can love and want to take a hard bite out of, at the same time. She never leaves me alone. Ever. She’s always wanting to read to me, or hold me, or tell me “no” about every little thing I’m trying to do… On the days she goes to school, I feel like a load has been taken off. As soon as she gets out of the car in the carpool line, even I can’t help flashing a quick grin at Mommy. FREEDOM! But then, if I’m honest (which seems to be required on this blog), the only thing more exciting than seeing sister get out of the car, is seeing her get back in it. It’s one of the two times during the day, I have to resist the urge to squeal like you grown-ups.
Which leads me to the second time during the day I want to squeal–so completely out of character–when Daddy comes home. This is a touchy situation for me. I love that guy. He gets me, way more than Mommy does. He understands that sometimes, a good grunt is a much better greeting than a shy smile. A grunt throws people off guard, usually makes them laugh–a real laugh. Especially when you grunt AND simultaneously squat down in a football tackle position…that’s how I always greet people when Mommy let’s me down from her arms,for goodness sake. But anyway, Daddy. He gets that stuff, and he takes me to do things that Mommy might LET me do, but she doesn’t like to let me do it. Like riding horses, or running head-long into muddy ponds, or letting Locks lick all over my face while we roll on the ground…Mommy allows it; Daddy likes it. So those are his good points, but he has one major bad point too–and for it, he must be punished. Work. One word. ALL THE TIME. Listen Daddy, if you’re gonna be at that work place all the time, then you better believe that I’m gonna try my dearndest not to squeal, not to even smile (although sometimes that means I just have to run away from you to hide it), when you walk in that door.
Look, I’m going to wrap this up, cause it’s almost time for my cheese omelet. I hope Mom’s on top of that in there. Thanks for wishing me a happy birthday and all that.
Grunt at ya later,