Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Anywhere But Here

Folks, as the giant, sunglass-wearing sun below clearly indicates with his saucy grin - it's summer!


Which means I've been busy relaxing, visiting friends and family, dunking Snood in the inflata-pool, and over-snacking my way out of the one final pair of my pants that used to fit! Good times!

What I haven't been doing is venturing near my computer for long enough to update the blog.


Instead I've been treating www.shortfatdictator.com like a neglected dog - beloved like a puppy in its earlier days for it's newness and adorable-ocity, but of late left whining at the door, while I drink beer on the sofa and wonder why I ever got the thing in the first place.

But this week I'm back! And I have exciting news from the Snood-front!


People - - - we've got a crawler!

Now, if you'll indulge me for a moment, here I must compliment my Snood. For several months I have been giving him strict instructions:

"Listen to me Snoodie" I would explain with appropriate seriousness. "Because we have too much stuff for our one-bedroom apartment, I have let our home devolve into a sort of small-scale replica of Grey Gardens. But soon we will move into a lovely new house that will have much more room, so if you could just hold off on the crawling until then I would really appreciate it, OK?"

And guess what? IT WORKED LIKE A CHARM! On Sunday we moved into the house and the very next morning Snood's weeks spent rocking back and forth on hands and knees finally paid dividends. His outstretched right hand found solid ground several inches in front of his left and forward motion was achieved!


Good news, right? Well, maybe for Snoodie, but not for my husband and me.


Because now that our boy has reached the mobile stage, it seems as if there is nowhere a Snood doesn't want to be.

Gone are those dew-kissed mornings when I'd sit peacefully, enjoying my morning meal and browsing Facebook while my baby played contentedly in his exersaucer. These days breakfast means furiously gnawing at a bagel while attempting without success to contain my son in his designated and child-friendly play-area.

One might think that the half-dozen enormous, expensive, and age-appropriate toys purchased specifically for this purpose would help, but alas, this is not the case. Snood's logic appears to go a little something like this:

"Why bore myself with a Laugh and Learn table now that I can just boogie across the room and gnaw on that truly delectable looking phone cord?"

"A Winnie the Pooh book that reads itself to me as I turn the pages? Nice try, mom, but I'd far rather stick my head in the rapidly pre-heating oven!"


I've attempted to sit Snoodie down and reason with him, since it worked so well with our "no-crawling-til-house" discussions, but it appears that bit of reasonableness was the exception rather than the rule. So for the forseeable future I am running defense, chasing my merry crawler over hill and dale and attempting to reassure myself that at least it's bolstering his immune system when I come upon him busily gnawing on the bottom of a discarded pair of shoes or, say, cheerily licking the side of the garbage can.

This morning, my husband and I lay in bed trying to cuddle with the Snood as we used to in days gone by, when he was just a little baby. Back then, he would lie in between us and gaze up at us lovingly as we planned our days, occasionally cooing to remind us his was there.


This morning we might as well have invited a miniature MMA fighter to our morning cuddle session, as Snood spent the entire time kicking us repeatedly in the face, karate chopping our necks and shrieking like an angry baboon, demanding his freedom.

My husband finally relented and placed him on the floor, only to have him break for the door, forcing us to abandon our comfy covers to chase him down.

My husband called after him, "Where are you so busy going?" and Snoodie briefly turned back on his way out the door, with a glint in his eye that seemed to say...

"Anywhere but here, suckers!"

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