It’s like ra-a-a-in on your wedding day…

Remember that song “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette?  Well, if she decided to rewrite that song and asked me for a suggestion for a verse she could add to it, I would say maybe something like this:

“It’s like gra-a-ab-bing a Woody doll out of your toddler’s ha-a-a-nds and angrily banging it he-e-ead first onto the fireplace mantle while simultaneously watching and crying at the final scene of Toy Story 3.”

Sounds Grammy worthy to me.

You see, unbeknownst to me, The Beast was getting sick last Thursday.  So as I picked him up to put him into the car to go to “school,” he sneezed in my face.  (I put “school” in quotes not because I’m one of those people who throws quotes around random words.  That actually drives me nuts.  I’m putting quotes around it because I’m not sure if you can call it school when your average 10-year-old is smarter than the “teacher.”  And I use the term “teacher” very loosely.)  (Also, I think I might have a problem with overusing parentheses.)

Way off topic there.

Anyway, so The Beast sneezed in my face on Thursday, so by Friday we were both miserably sick with Black Plague, I think.  Considering how terrible we felt, Friday wasn’t too bad. The Beast was feverish, so he was more cuddly than normal, and apparently the supervillains in his head are silenced by fever, because he was generally non-evil.  He didn’t feel like eating, so there were no battles over chocolate cookies versus a apple (I’m seriously cracking myself up today with these.  I’ll try to stop.  Read the previous post if you have no idea why I find myself so funny.) for a snack.  He didn’t secretly sneak the house phone off of the kitchen counter and then dial Bosnia or Tibet or Satan.  (I’m assuming that’s who he’s trying to reach when he dials 66666666666666666666666.)  So, while we both felt terrible, it was actually a peaceful day.

Saturday, however, was bad.  So very bad.  You see, The Beast’s dad had to work — at least that’s what he says.  He was probably just afraid to be home.  The Good One was at a friend’s house all day attempting to avoid getting Ebola, and that left The Beast and me home alone together.

Now, you’d think that since this is how we spend most of the week anyway that it wouldn’t be a big deal, but the problem arises when, courtesy of the crapped-out immune system I apparently have as a 39-year-old versus the super-sparkly-new-bounce-back-instantly immune system that a 2-year-old has, he heals MUCH more quickly than I do.  So on Saturday while I still felt like sitting on the couch and cuddling, he felt like pushing his coupe car around the house, climbing on top of it and flipping all of the light switches in the house on and off.

You see the problem?

There is a divergence in our healing that is going to become more and more apparent to him, and he will use it to his advantage.

So Saturday morning came and The Beast and I were alone.  I felt like my tonsils were actually trying to eat my throat and I was using more tissues per blow than a flat-chested woman would use to stuff her bra.  The Beast also had a runny nose, but he didn’t need tissues as he prefers to use my couch cushions instead.  I mean, there they are at nose level, so why not?  It also appeared that he did not have throat-eating tonsils as he was willing to eat.

So in an effort to try to perhaps make him just a bit catatonic so that I could just sit on the couch and focus my energy on not dying of SARS, I turned on the TV.  All day.  Now, I’m not one of those moms who thinks all TV is evil.  I try to limit the TV the kids watch, but on Saturday I would have let him watch TV until his eyes actually popped out of his head and he brought them to me, assuming he could find me now that he’s blind, and was all, “Mom, my eyes just popped out of my head!”  He’s very verbal in my imagination.

This method worked for a good portion of the morning.  We watched every cartoon ever created.  The Beast’s brain cells were being wiped out in herds.  His eyes were twitching from the rapid-fire images on the screen and I think I saw the exact moment that he developed ADHD.  Still didn’t turn off the TV.

There came a point, however, when the TV had lost its magic.  He realized that I wasn’t going to turn it off, and in that moment he decided that he had had enough.  He was bored.  So to entertain himself, he picked up a toy, went into the kitchen and started to bang on my computer.  This has become his go-to move to get my attention.  I was forced to get up from the couch to make him stop because he is immune to all verbal discipline.  One of his superpowers is selective deafness.  The instant I tell him to stop doing something evil, he loses his hearing.  It’s a sight to behold, I tell you.

So I used cookies to bribe him away from the computer.  Please do not judge my using a bribe of junk food to lure him away from the computer.  I realize I’m setting him up for a lifetime of obesity and heart disease as he will forever view food as a reward, but bird flu was ravaging my body and in that moment I truly didn’t care about his future obesity and food issues.  I just wanted him to sit down so that I could concentrate on keeping my ear drums in my ears.

The Beast, in addition to being super-strong and super-daring is also super-smart, because he quickly realized that by misbehaving in horrible ways, I’d get up from the couch and offer him junk food.  I was too weak and tired to actually discipline him, so this became a game that he started to use to entertain himself.  He’d play quietly for a little while, then he’d go bust open a cabinet and remove the contents.  I’d bribe him with chips.  He’d return to the living room and play.  Then he’d go into the kitchen, find the phone, call Satan and wait for me to chase him.  I’d bribe him with M&Ms, get the phone, hang up on the devil and settle down in the living room again. You get the idea.

Well, we were watching Toy Story 3 and we were right at the end when Andy is giving the toys to Bonnie.  It’s such a heartwarming moment as you watch this gentle young man take his beloved toys and pass them on to another child.  I sat there crying as Andy described each of the toys to Bonnie.  And by the time he came to Woody, I was a blubbering mess.

At that moment, The Beast, perhaps having had his evil fully reactivated by a diet of red dye #40, white flour and high fructose corn syrup, decided that he had had just enough of this.  He took whatever junk food he was eating at that moment — I think it was a mixture of chocolate chips and Fruit Loops — tossed the bowl into the air, picked up his Woody doll, walked over to me and hit me with the doll as hard as he could.

That’s when I yanked Woody out of The Beast’s hands, yelled at him for the mess he made, walked to the fireplace and slammed Woody’s head into the mantle.  All the while crying as I watched Woody and Buzz watch Andy drive away.

And that is what it looks like when you get smacked upside the head by irony.  She and Karma are apparently in the running for a Bitch of the Year award.

The End.

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