M. Giant's
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Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks


Tuesday, September 19, 2006  

Tiger On

Trash and I had pretty much resigned ourselves to either spending thirty dollars on a Halloween costume for M. Small or making my mom sew him one. Then we were all at Target the other night, were they were selling toddler-sized, full-body animal suits for ten bucks.

Trash took a Dalmatian suit and a tiger suit off the rack and held them in front of M. Small, telling him, “Pick!”

He loves to “pick.” It’s very nearly his favorite thing. In most cases, he enjoys “picking” even more than the thing he “picked,” whether it’s his next snack, the shirt he’s wearing today, or the one toy he’s allowed to bring into day care in the morning. When you live with two people who can and will physically lift you away from places they don’t want you to be, just the fact of having any measure of control over your life will often be better than your actual choice.

Not in this case, though. Sitting in the baby seat of the shopping cart (man, I remember when I actually used that space for carrying smaller items instead of a human being), he rapidly extended both arms towards the bright-orange tiger suit. His choice was clear. And if it hadn’t been the fact that he didn’t let the thing out of his grasp for the next 16 hours would have communicated his preference quite effectively. Trash even had trouble getting him to let go of the part with the UPC tag long enough for the to scan it.

She put it on him when we got home, just to see what it would look like. I tried to take a picture of him in it, but he was so excited about seeing himself in his new lovey that he didn’t even wait for me to take the picture before dashing around to try and look at it. "Tigger!" he kept crying triumphantly.

Shortly after that, I had to go downstairs and watch Rock Star. By the time the show was over, he was already in bed. I got started on my recap, and a couple of hours later, I looked in on him before going to bed myself. Trash had somehow managed to get him out of the tiger suit, because he was sleeping in his pajamas.

And he was wearing the tiger suit over them.

"He insisted," Trash said when I asked her about it. "I could barely get it off him to change him in the first place. He kept saying, 'Tigger on, Tigger on.'"

"Well, he should be plenty warm tonight, at least," I admitted. "What if he wants to wear it to day care tomorrow?"

"Then he's wearing it to day care," Trash said in the tone of someone who had already been through this battle once.

We managed to prevail upon him to not wear it to day car the next morning. He did insist on carrying it with him, though. He was holding onto it with both hands when I tried to put his jacket n him to leave. "You only have to let go of it with one hand," I wheedled. "Okay, now the other hand." So at least he didn't walk into his day care house looking like a tiger, but rather like a character from some "Hemingway Babies" cartoon.

When we picked him up that evening, the day care lady told us that he had insisted on holding it for the whole morning, but in the afternoon had been content with keeping it in sight at all times. Somehow, on the short ride home, Trash managed to distract him with snacks and the promise of dinner sufficiently that we were able to get him out of the car without it. We figured we'd sneak it into the house after he went to bed, and he'd forget about it until Halloween.

We forgot to do that, of course, and the next morning he was quite excited to see "Tigger" balled up next to his car seat. But he brought a truck inside the day car house anyway. I assume that because his love for Tigger was so intense, his connection to it burned out faster than with most of his loveys.

But don't worry; he wasn't between loveys for long. Today, Trash found the switch on a hand-me-down toy fire engine that makes it wake up and talk to him. The day care lady should love that.

posted by M. Giant 9:17 PM 4 comments

4 Comments:

I couldn't help but think of past loveys when I finally went to Cars this weekend, whenever I heard Bonnie Hunt's voice I thought to myself "M.Small's girlfriend..."

By Anonymous lap, at September 20, 2006 at 6:12 AM  

I can totally relate to your experience. Not more than three weeks ago I bought my three year old a plush pumpkin cosutme (her choice) which she couldn't wait to get on. Not only did I have to convince her to hold off until I paid for it, I barely had my change in my hand before she pulled it on and was parading through the mall. We're definitely getting our money's worth this year.

By Anonymous StephD, at September 20, 2006 at 10:03 AM  

Is it wrong to talk about your Rock Star recaps her? Because your recaps were the only reason to watch the show. They were BETTER than the show. The show should hire you to write lines for TLee, because your lines would be better. Are you coming back next year to do it again?

By Anonymous Eric, at September 21, 2006 at 12:11 PM  

My son was never this emotionally attached to any object until he reached his teen years. I am told, however, that when I recieved my first little triccycle I remained on it the rest of the day and then slept all night with one arm reaching between the bars of my crib holding the handlebars.

By Anonymous triticale, at September 23, 2006 at 7:11 AM  

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