The Little Man Makes Animal Friends

The Little Man has recently become more aware of his universe. He suddenly notices everything around him, from the remote to the hair brush to Mommy's water glass. Everything that comes to his attention he instantly has a burning desire to a) get it in his grubby fingers and b) transfer directly from fingers to mouth. As we recently discovered to our chagrin, this principle applies to animals as well.

Last week he finally noticed our two cats. The three of them had been co-existing the same space but separate spheres for six months. Suddenly, Little Man notices Hey!There are moving things here! And I want them! Lucky for them, his immobility is still keeping them relatively safe. But the lazy, fuzzy one made the mistake of getting too close to roving fingers the other day. Bam! All of a sudden the area where his nads would have been was in the death grip of one who was now furiously trying to plunge said area into his mouth. I managed to rescue the cat, whose eyes were as wide as saucers at this assault, and the boy, who really didn't want the cat - particularly that area of the cat - in his mouth. No matter how much he thought he did.

Then, on our family trip to Emporia, we stayed with an aunt who has a dog. Some kind of little yappy dog who is actually pretty mellow, as far as yappy dogs go. It was love at first sight for both the dog and the Little Man. At first I was worried that the Little Man's iron-fist fur grabbing technique wouldn't sit well with the dog, but she proved to be good natured and actually encouraged his attentions. Mr. Me and I decided that the affair must end, however, when the dog started licking the Little Man on the face, and he licked the dog back. My son shared his first French-kiss (ok, his first several French-kisses) with a dog. So much for sterilizing those pacifiers.

The Cousins

Over the weekend we had our first-ever cousin reunion. Most families have family reunions, and are lucky to have 50 people show up from the whole extended clan. We don't have numbers issues in my family. I have 35 first cousins. That's not counting their kids, or spouses, or second cousins. 35. First cousins. Thus, we rate a reunion all of our own.

The vast majority of my cousins - and aunts and uncles, for that matter - live in Emporia, Kansas. It's kind of nice to have them all so neatly corralled - if I want family, I go there. If I don't, I stay away. But, it's still nerve-wracking to visit there. It's like I'm related to the whole town.

So, we tooled on down to Emporia for the weekend. Mr. Me, not especially wanting to hang out with loads of my family, went only under duress and with the promise of major spousal "points" dangled in front of his nose. We ended up hauling the Little Man with us, as the baby care fell through. The party started about his bedtime, so the shindig started out stress-laden with the non-positive attitude of the husband and general pissed-offedness of the son.

We pull up in my cousin the hostess's drive and the first words out of my husband's mouth are "Oh my God, the cops are here already!!" upon seeing a black & white in the driveway. I had to talk him off the ledge and explain that, while that might be likely with this group, it wouldn't happen this early, and the car belonged to, you guessed it, a cousin.

Despite the rocky start to the evening, it ended up being a good time. The Little Man eventually zonked out, and I was able to successfully ignore the waves of boredom emanating from Mr. Me, and had a good time drinking and hanging with the cousins. There were over 50 people there, some them I've only seen a handful of times ever, so it was good to get to know them a little better.

I found it interesting, though, that even though we're all adults now and most have families (some have several families!), I still felt like a little tagalong, just like I did growing up. I was always one of the youngest - my oldest cousin is 18 years older than I - and I always was "too young" to do anything with the older kids. As a kid I felt left out of all the fun which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing because after hearing some of those stories, I'm truly amazed that more of them weren't jailed for the crap they pulled.

The moral of the reunion: any gathering of people from your past - whether it be family or schoolmates - is likely to return you to whatever pecking order you held back in the day. Refreshing. Yet sad.

The Tragic Bottle

The Little Boy was crying tonight. He'd had a snack when mom got home from work, then dinner of barley and fruit. But, he needed more sustenance. He needed . . . Mom's Brand.

For his entire life, he's had only Mom's Brand milk products. They are the only ones he would eat. He was vehement about it. And Mom didn't mind. She was glad that the three weeks she spent in earth-shattering pain and the investment of time in the form of late nights, early mornings, and hours spent at work with The Machine were appreciated. Though she put little stock in brand names, she felt that Mom's Brand did offer quite tangible advantages to the alternative and, though it required some sacrifice, she was happy to be able to provide the best for the Little Boy.

But, alas, tonight she was out. Mom had given all she had to The Machine at work and the supply was depleted. She'd have to try an alternative, though she knew in her heart that it would be spat out as the imposter that it was. Still, she must try. She could hear the hunger gnawing away at his insides. So, with great trepidation, she approached the Little Boy with her offering. Trickery, cajoling - in the past, nothing had worked to persuade him to accept an imposter. This time she gave it to him straight. No funny stuff. And . . . he did not turn away. He did not make a peep. He took it, as a matter of course, that this would do to fill his gaping innards.

And Mom shed a tear for the beginning of the end of Mom's Brand.

And Dad rolled his eyes. Dramatically.