Monday, January 17, 2011

And In This Corner . . .

The lights are dim, the TV bright. "Ni Hao, Kai-lan" is on and Kai-lan is teaching my little boy how to say "thank you" in Mandarin.

He's sucking his thumb, but I can see from his eyes that he's smiling at her too. He's debating whether or not he wants to take his thumb out to practice his Mandarin. He opts against it and flips his stuffed monkey around by his raggedy right ear, flicking his finger back and forth.

I close my eyes
all of a sudden
slams into my head
with HIS head.

On purpose.

I want to say "No, No! No, thank you" in Mandarin, but it's too late.

It's a WWF tournament.

In my bed.

"No headbutts!" I yell, (in English), laughing. "Headbutts!" he repeats, smiling his trademark devilish grin.

"You're troubl-icious!" I tell him. "That's it! I'm changing your middle name."

He jumps on top of me and hovers over me, menacingly. "Ai-plane ride!" he screams.

"No, ai-plane rides, Coo-Coo," I say. I toss him on his back onto the bed.
His hair is mashed on one side like a deranged Justin Bieber and he's right back up, smacking me in the face with his baby paws.

"Hey!" He giggles uncontrollably. "Heeyyyyy!" he mocks me. I flip him on his back and flips over in 2.1 seconds. He attempts a second headbutt.

"No headbutting!"

I level him again and he starts coughing/laughing.

I grab his sippy cup from my bedside table.

"Okay, calm down. Take a sip," I tell him, holding it up to his mouth.

Great, I think. What kind of idiot stops the match to hydrate their opponent?
It's like I'm Apollo and Mick at the same time.

He's hydrated. He's back. He's like El Nino ripping through my bedroom.

He bounces up and down on the bed.

"Sit dowwwwwwwwwwn!" I yell, but it's too late. He flies off my bed and lands on the back of his head. On the floor.

I scramble and pick him up. He's crying and I'm almost in tears.

Great, I think. What kind of idiot cries when his opponent gets knocked out of the ring?

We wipe away his tears together and get cozy back in bed. "Come on, let's watch Kailan," I say. He's clutching his monkey in one hand, he's got the thumb in his mouth, his feet covered with a blankie. He's curled up in my arms and all is right in the world.

Without warning, his head moves towards me like a boulder flying 60 mph.

Great, I think. What kind of idiot would continually risk life and limb by sitting this close to a wild, unpredictable, bull?

A mom.



Champion of the world.

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