You used the potato as a place to store the rocks you found in the backyard.
I think it would be safe to use the words “proud” and “protective” to describe the way you carried that thing around.
Of course, you did share it without whoever wanted to see it for a minute. But you kept a close eye on it, as you can see in this picture.
So in closing, you have knack for finding a way to make a toy out of just about any random thing you find. Then, your version of playing with that new toy comes across more like work; or at least a game.
Honestly, you’re a pretty low maintenance kind of kid.
Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll upgrade you: I could just give you a real potato and say, “Here ya go, Son. Have fun.”
This whole time, I seriously thought there was a good chance you were born without a sense of smell. But I didn’t want to say anything to anyone about it or draw attention to that fact… a fact that was, in fact, just fiction.
(Thanks to Wikipedia, I learned the word for not having a sense of smell: anosmia.)
But now I know, that does not apply to you. All of the sudden, around the time you turned 3 and a half, it’s like the switch came on.
You were just a late bloomer in a world that indeed has different smells.
Before your nose started working, it was like you only knew smells based on their sounds…
These days, it’s like your nose is the first on the scene!
Yesterday morning on the way to school, you asked me, “Daddy, do you smell that?”
I answered honestly that I did not.
You didn’t like my response, mainly because you are ready now for a vacation from school, so you were quite sensitive:
“No Daddy! You do smell that! You do!”
I decided to agree with you.
What’s funny about your newfound sense of smell is that it’s like you don’t yet appear to recognize whether something smells good or bad.
In other words, you don’t get all worked up over bad smells. “Bad” is just another flavor of the smelling rainbow. It’s probably just next to bananas or Play-Doh.
Your main concern is making sure that whatever you are smelling, you’re not smelling it alone.
The switch has been flipped on. You can officially smell things now.
One day, you will learn to (not) appreciate the concept that indeed, certain things smell better than others.
Until then, I will let you figure out on your own which are which.
One of my jobs as “the dad” has always been to distract you from getting into trouble, or getting bored, while in public.
Over the weekend, Mommy had a haircut appointment at a salon, thanks to a Groupon.
I was able to distract you for about 8 minutes with the one magazine that wasn’t intended for actual desperate housewives… a hunting magazine, in which we only looked at the animals that had not been shot yet.
Hey, that’s just me being creative.
So I suggested we take a walk outside to see the other places in the shopping center.
We started out by watching the people exit the drive-through at Starbucks. But after only three cars, you were ready to run.
The shop right next to where Mommy was getting her haircut was a nails salon. The front door happened to be open, since it was nice outside.
You peaked in and saw the workers wearing masks over their noses and mouths to protect them from the fumes.
Your instant (and loud) response: “Hey, it’s the dentist!”
Then you ran down the sidewalk to check out the other stores. However, none of the others were open.
So we headed back by the nails salon. By that point, the owner was standing in the doorway, smiling.
I explained to him that you thought he was a dentist.
He went along with it. He then asked you if you have been brushing your teeth.
You assured him you have been. He offered to show you around the “dentist’s office” but you politely declined.
Once his wife caught a glimpse of you, she came over to ask you if you wanted to stay there at the “dentist’s” with them.
After you laughed and told her no, she surprised us both by making a face like a monkey (?) and flopped her arms around in the air, then started cheerfully grunting (?) to us, “Ooga-booga, booga-ooga!”
It was about that time that Mommy was all finished with her haircut and walked out of the salon. So we walked away with Mommy, backwards, smiling and nodding at the “dentist’s” wife; as she made you laugh all the way back to the car.
I have opened and assembled some interesting toys for you in the past year or so, but one of your 3rd birthday gifts just really takes the birthday cake.
It wins the prize for not only “Just Plain Bizzare,” but also…
“Clearly Not An American Product!”
This Tomica car playset, which I hinted to Nonna to buy for you as a birthday gift when we were at TJ Maxx with her and Papa a few months ago, is labled as “Hypercity Rescue Gas Station Fire.”
As I was unboxing it for you, I took a picture so you could see how weird it was.
It reminds me of the very memorable and always hilarious “freak gasoline fight accident” scene on the movie, Zoolander:
I like how on the cover of the box there is a nerdy guy having to run away from his extremely cool sports car convertible, and how the fireman is instantly on the scene, putting out the fire.
Clearly, there are no injuries. The fireman saves the day and the man who drives the red convertible runs out of the way just in time. It is assumed the insurance company covers the expenses lost in the explosion of the building. Happy ending every time.
Again though, clearly not an American product.
I think it’s safe to say Hot Wheels would never create something this weird.
Granted, they make a car playset where cars drive up a ramp in order to jump into a live T-Rex’s mouth, which Mommy and I bought for your birthday… but that’s nothing compared to “Hypercity Rescue Gas Station Fire.”
Not to mention, this set comes with a lot (!) of stickers to apply and no instructions.
Just the good ole fashioned, “Figure it out yourself!” deal.
From what I could understand, the set is designed to be easily wrecked, so the “on fire” stickers can be revealed when the assumed 3 year-old boy who is playing with the set decides to blow it up every 45 seconds.
You wanted a gas station playset for all your cars. Well, you got it.
I am a self-proclaimed “people watcher.” To be honest, I’m never not people watching.
It’s like every person is a character and every conversation is a plot line. Basically, life is a non-stop sitcom.
This afternoon while at the neighborhood playground with my son, a young playmate approached a fellow parent nearby:
“Hi, my name is [let's just call him Michael] and I am 4 years old.”
The kid sounded like he was trying out for a Welch’s grape juice commercial in 1995.
A few minutes later, the kid introduces himself to me too. I smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.” Then I turned away to help my own son down the slide.
“Two more minutes and then we’re going home,” I heard the boy’s mother say to him.
Exactly two minutes later, she followed up on her promise: “Okay, time to go now. I told you two minutes ago.”
He pretended not to hear her, so she pretended to leave the playground without him.
And his response?
“NO! No, no, no! NO! I DO NOT like you anymore, Mommy!”
So the irony in this people watching scene was that the little boy who appeared to be a well-mannered child ended up morphing minutes later into “that kid.”
But hey, who’s not to say that my son seemed weird to other parents there at the playground?
After all, he was the kid who illegally went down the slide backwards, about 27 times in a row. (I was so proud of that little goober!)
Not to mention, what about me? I’m the dad who stands at the top of the slide to assist my son once he climbs up there, making sure he doesn’t fall off the 6 foot drop.
Perhaps to other people watchers, being my son’s personal stunt coach seems odd in what is considered normal and appropriate for parents at the playground.
That’s why it’s fun to people watch. You get to see a lot of interesting people do a lot of curious things. Likewise, you get to entertain others who think you are an interesting person doing curious things.