We had a family gathering for Eman's birthday today. We went to Funland in Fredericksburg. Funland is translation for don't leave the Excedrin at home. We went there though because it was the only place I could find with go-karts and I thought Eman would have a ball with them. Not so much. Too loud for Eman. He kept his fingers in his ears the whole time.
I brought a cake to Loudland. Eman wanted to help me decorate it. Have you ever tried to frost a cake with Eman near you? It's like trying to do yoga balance moves in an earthquake. Or maybe it's more like walking a tight rope in a monsoon. I wanted to do a racetrack in the form of an 8 with grass around. Eman wanted to play with the frosting. I tried to be as polite as possible, 'Eman, here practice on the plate.' Eman wanted to write his name on the cake, not bad. Then he wanted to write Happy Birthday. I've lost control. Eman go ahead, why do I care, it's your cake, have a ball. H-A-P...Mommy you better do it.
Then tonight I had to make brownies for Abegail's World Cup Soccer viewing party (Go USA) and Eman definitely want to help. He wanted to help so bad that he took the eggs I had put out for the mix and took them to the bathroom with him so no one else would be able to do it. (Let's hope none of the girls on Abegail's team find this blog.) That lead to a discussion about if an egg shell is dirty can we still use the egg inside. Similar to the stimulating discussions we engage in about if there is bug on a banana peel is the banana inside contaminated? It's thought provoking for sure.
Eman asked if he could lick the bowl. "Yes," I say. I 'm not sure if I mentioned this but Eman lives in the moment. At the very second I said, yes, as he is stirring the eggs into the batter he proceeds to take a big spoonful and put it in his mouth. I shriek.
Eman, who has never really learned about bipolar tendencies but does realize that I've just gone from nurturing and patient to exasperated and ready for the home, realizes something must be wrong. He takes the spoonful of batter out of his mouth, having tasted it but not having swallowed it, and puts it back in the bowl. He looks up at me, head cocked just slightly, with grin so big you could probably fit an entire egg, shell and all, in there.
Scott looks up from his 500th MN Twins game of the season, "What's going on?"
"Your son thought he could lick the bowl before it was licking ready."
"You're the one who said he could help," says Scott, with a tone of we all make choices in life, this is just one of the ones you didn't think about.
"Yes, how do you think he is going to learn to help or cook if I don't let him? " I argue back, in my best I am the victim here tone.
"I thought we were going for getting him to learn to read?" says Scott.
Really, I'm thinking to myself, I was just going for clean underwear everyday, but I am still doing that grade on a curve thing.
Out loud I say, "Yes, I'm with you! I think...., we should all have dreams...."
The batter is poured in the pan, the bowl is licking ready. Eman is no longer interested. He has clearly moved on to his Michael Jackson music phase. At least we are still kind of on the egg theme, "beat it, beat it..."