Shallow Thoughts

I know, I know - I haven't blogged in an eternity, at least not for myself. I've written TONS of posts, honest - it's just that they're all in my head. So why have I surfaced today? Is it because I have thoughts of such wisdom, such profundity, such bittersweetness, that to keep them in my noggin would be to deprive the universe? Uh, no. I just got my parental funny bone tickled a couple of times today, and in the rotavirus-infected environment in which I find myself, a sense of humor is imperative.

And on the subject of rotavirus, if your child is going to have the kind of poo that pours down his leg, I've learned that the ideal place for it to happen is the grocery store; as long as he is safely secured in the child seat up front, you can keep him contained until you get to the parking lot, at which time you can allow the liquid poo to pour out onto the asphalt and not your brand new area rug or the tyke's crib sheet (yet again) . Also, a grocery cart is much easier to swab with diaper wipes than the car seat (the upholstery of which cannot be completely removed from the frame and which still reeks a bit of the projectile vomit said child projected about the backseat of your car earlier in the week at the onset of the aforementioned rotavirus infection).

So what tickled me today, besides the liquid fart my child blew on my leg while I was changing him on the bathroom floor to make cleanup easier? A "real parenting" moment, the kind parents of all living broods have. My son did something all siblings do at some point: he pushed his brother aside to get something he wanted.

We have this credenza opposite our front door to stow keys and sunglasses and parking meter/public transit change and diaper bags and computer bags and overdue library books that really should be taken back by the next person going that way and diaper coupons - you get the idea. On top of it is a lamp to illuminate all these organizational tasks, and opposite the lamp are pictures of our family, to welcome you (aren't we all hospitable and shit!). There's my husband and me, in one of our more informal wedding portraits, laughing at some joke that passed between us and the hieroglyphic columns amongst which we were posing at the local museum. Just to the right, a little in front, is the living boy, smiling, crawling toward the camera, with his wacky hair and black-and-white hipness. On the left side of the arrangement is a tile, framed in wood, that one of the grandmothers had personalized for the first son, the one who resides in a little white box on the shelf above the stereo components. It's blue delft, and it has his name and birthday and height and weight on it; it stands on a metal easel, and it's our way of making a statement about who our family is without forcing people to look at a picture of his sweet but decaying face as they pass through to the kitchen for drinks and hors d'oeuvres (pizza bagels, anyone?).

I barely made it home in one piece from taking the living boy to the pediatrician yesterday afternoon and then to the grocery store (site of the liquid poo incident) for the apple-flavored fluid-replacer (since the fruit punch flavor, when vomited, leaves the white sheets stained pink), and so my sunglass case had been chucked on top of the credenza and not put in its proper place in the top drawer, and there it was, tempting my son, on his first cruise around the living room after 24 hours of confinement (due to the unpredictable nature of his emissions). The boy loves my sunglass case, which is bright orange and makes a neat -snap!- when closed. He only gets to play with it on special occasions, such as when he is screaming at the top of his lungs in the endless airport security line, so he lit up when he saw it within reach. The only thing standing between him and the case was his brother's tile, and with typical toddler self-centeredness, he shoved that tile to the side without any reservations. And that's when I had my little moment.

The other thing that got me today was my son's baby horoscope on babble:

Leo (July 22-Aug. 22)
Things are starting to settle down for you. Your house is back in some recognizable rhythms and the chaos of summer is starting to fade. Be happy for the stability — it's linked to less time on the couch when you're older. That said, rigid schedules bring about rigid mindsets. Want to hop off the track? Suggest that you skip French lessons in favor of cooking crepes and watching Madeleine. If every Friday is pizza night, it's okay to let them know you want sushi. Keeping them on their toes is okay. It even builds balance (and stronger calves).

Because if anyone should be worried about more "time on the couch" down the road, it's a kid with a dead older sibling.