I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Sometimes I worry that I love my son too much.
I was thinking about that this Christmas, when I saw the haul of toys he received from his parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and watched as he was indoctrinated into the Culture of More. It definitely made for a fun holiday – the joy of little kids can be contagious – but it also made me nervous.
There’s a reason we call it “spoiling.” Overindulgence breeds assholes.
A few people have mentioned to Mom and Buried and me that Detective Munch has a good vocabulary for a kid his age. I don’t disagree, I mean, I’ve got him speaking jive, singing Christmas (and Beastie Boys) songs, and telling people “See ya later, alligator!” He can say some solid stuff.
Of course, he’s only two, so his vocabulary isn’t that good. Plus, a lot of the things he says are barely recognizable as English, and are probably only decipherable by me and Mom and Buried, if at all. And that so-called good vocabulary gets a lot worse when he’s distraught.
When he’s upset, whether it’s because he’s being a brat or because he got a boo-boo, words go out the window. Which can make solving – or even identifying – the problem quite tricky.
Earlier this week I wrote about the ways my son is my puppet master. He often literally controls my body, forcing me to watch what he wants to watch, go where he wants to go, dance when he wants to dance, etc. It can be frustrating.
But I’m an adult and he’s a toddler. So while he gets a fair amount of leeway, since he’s both the cutest child of all time and the likely future of humanity (or its ruin, as indicated by the shadow he’s casting in this photo), he is really only able to control me when I let him control me.
Otherwise, I control him.
My son is over two years old now, and aside from a very minor trim session (not a double-entendre), he’s never had his hair cut. His hair is quite long and very curly, and as a result, strangers occasionally mistake him for a girl.
The first ten times it happened, I was annoyed. But eventually it got me thinking:
Would my son make a good-looking girl? Would my life be different if I had a daughter instead of a son?
Every time a new Superman movie comes out – admittedly, not very often – I get very excited.
I worship Superman. I was super-psyched for Superman Returns. Superman Returns is not good. Too somber, too beholden to the Donner flicks, too much Superboy.
Too much boring.
Hopefully this new one won’t be. Let’s take a look at the new trailer.