scary things like blowfish
My son. Eager to see, learn, explore. Usually excited about all kinds of new toys– but not today. Today, he saw the face of the disgusting and unknown. The blowfish.
During bathtime, I thought I would introduce a new toy he got for Christmas. He was already enthralled with another tub time toy, so his first glance at the prickly critter quietly whispered, what is that thing.
As I lifted it over the tub rim and lowered it into the water, his giggle stopped and his smile faded. His mouth hung open, drool running down his tummy and into the bathwater. His hands, formerly wrapped around the other toy, became forgotten lumps of skin and bone, slowly sank into the water; the grip on the toy fading with the rest of the world as his eyes fixed on the orange monster.
I should have told him that it spits water, but I didn’t. Oops.
I squeezed the air from the blowfish, it sucked in some water, then I tightened my fist as hard as I could, reducing myself to a 3 year-old in my eager delight to see how far the fish could spit water!! So cool!!! Let’s do it again! I filled it and squirted, forgetting it was my son’s toy– not mine.
On the second spit, sheer terror ripped through my son’s body as he shrieked at the bright orange freak of nature that is not only the creepiest thing he has ever seen, but also the creepiest thing to ever spit water.
I calmed the screams when I hid the blowfish, and thought after a break he could see it again and have a joyful reunion with the neato water-spitting toy. Nope.
I reintroduced the fish and he hollered and clawed at my neck. Hmm, I guess that didn’t work.
Finally, I tried not to laugh as I removed the fish from the tub, his eyes following my hand without blinking to assure it was out of the tub and not coming back in.
After a few minutes of caution, expecting a sneak attack, baby relaxed and resumed play with the friendly, non-creepy toy.
Oh well, the blowfish is retired.
On second thought, it is a little intimidating.
Politics, anyone?
Hmm… It seems like Clinton won the lottery in Florida, but no one told her it was monopoly money.
Get a grip, sister. Lose with dignity.
I wonder how she would have reacted if she were a beauty pageant contestant who was not named as Miss America? Can we say, “Drop Dead Gorgeous?”
In other news, I think I like this blog thing. Or should I say “blah-g.”
I’m realizing that if I had all the money in the world, I would be a stay-at-home mom, dedicated to playing with babies, teaching them to read, write and speak in multiple languages; cleaning the house (sort of); discovering creative cuisines; logging my creative juices on the blahg, and, well, that’s just it– create. I would stitch and sew, paint and draw, knit– learn to knit– then give up and go back to painting, cello in the sun, or teach cello in the sun, write and ponder (I think I’ll upload my ponderings soon. Some creative nonfiction, some creepy children’s-story-like fiction).
But I don’t have all the money in the world, so I’m in my cubicle and my son is at daycare.
Writing here helps me remember who I am, who I was and who I want to become.
Hmm… yes, I like this…. blahg.
ce que je pense
photo by Anne Bast
Well, here we are. I’m going to start a blog. Perhaps it is birthed from my human desire to achieve immortality; that long after I have left the earthly realm, on to the world beyond, my words will be saved on a huge server, trapped in the eother, to remind the world, or more likely my children and my children’s children of the person who was Octavia.
Actually, I’m just excited to join the throngs of other bloggers, expressing ourselves on the Internet to inspire and be inspired. It’s just an added bonus if in 100 years my great grand children want to read my ‘journal.’ “HI KIDDIES!!”
Let’s have some fun…
