I've Got The Blogging Blues

Blogger's remorse? Post-publish depression? The more I surf and read others' blogs, the more I wonder why I am doing this. There are some damned clever and funny people out there. People who write better than I, knit better than I, hell, they probably even sit better than I do. How much can a person write about sitting and still expect the occasional cousin to log in and read about it?

Ah, well. I shall sit and ponder this another time.

Actually, this is just the latest variation on the classic What Do I Want To Be When I Grow Up obsession. It's navel-gazing at its most tiresome and egotistical. Man, do I wish I could say something like "I've always wanted to save the Piping Plover" or "I feel it's my mission to spread literacy to children in the farthest reaches of jungle and savanna" but truthfully, I really just want to make some kind of measurable mark on the world; to leave a piece of myself behind in some creative, beautiful and inspiring way. Shame I wasn't born a genius. It sucks to be so full of one's untalented self.

And it sucks even more to read about it so we'll wrap up this subject right now.

2 Year Old had a full-on stereotypical toddleresque tantrum this morning when I denied her a Skittles and Tootsie Roll breakfast. I mean, she was on her belly on the floor, kicking her feet and pounding the vinyl with her little fists. It was way cute, actually, because I could see it coming. She was quite sleepy as I carried her downstairs but she perked right up the minute we hit the kitchen. I knew instantly that she was searching for her pumpkin bucket full of last night's Halloween spoils. Her little face arranged itself into an expression of aren't I the absolute picture of perfect prissy sweetness. If her language skills were suitably advanced I could just imagine her saying, "Oh dearest mother, would you be so kind as to allow me to have some candy please for my breakfast? It would be simply too wonderful of you and I would be ever so grateful!"

What she actually managed to say was "Where is it?" She knew I knew what she meant. We've got that mom-kid thang goin' on. What she doesn't yet understand is the level of deception to which I am willing to sink for her health and welfare. I pretended not to understand what she was looking for.

"I'll put Dora on," I said. That usually does the trick. Tidal wave of moodiness threatening to swamp the household? Play a Dora The Explorer DVD. Hyperactivity in danger of canceling nap? Queue up Dora from the cable On Demand menu. Asking a question that begs not to be answered? Drag out the book Dora's Backpack and pretend it's just as exciting to read for the 724th time as it was the first.

None of that will work today, Mommy. Not with the strange and wonderous new knowledge that when I dress up like a bunny and knock on neighbors' doors, they give me a whole lot more candy than you and Daddy let me eat in one sitting. Somewhere, oh! somewhere if I were only tall enough to see, there's an orange plastic pumpkin fully loaded with partially hydrogenated high fructose cavity precursors. If I act really, reeeeally sweet Mommy will believe I actually need more sugar to stay this way. Surely, she'll fall for this, won't she? I mean, she keeps falling for the just one more book before bed routine, doesn't she? (Not very bright, this Mommy lady, bless her.)

So, full-blown In Case You've Forgotten, I'm Two tantrum this morning. Sooooo cute. Almost as cute as this: