On our way to Costco, I gave Eva a whole apple to gnaw on. Well, I originally brought the apple for myself but when Eva heard me take the first bite, it suddenly became her apple.
When we arrived at Costco, Eva said, “All done,” and handed me the core. This is what was left:
I’m sure it’s fine for a kid to eat an apple in its entirety. It’s roughage. I laugh that she just didn’t have room for that final bite.
I always have room. Always.
Eva is obsessed with forks lately. At various times throughout the day, she will open the silverware drawer and retrieve a fork or two just to carry around. Twice now I have opened the drawer to set the table for dinner and there are no forks. None. Not-a-one. This is astounding to me given that we have about 20 forks. I’ll find them scattered around the house and in her toy box. I’m not sure what it all means. One of these days I’m going to step on a fork and need surgery. It might be time to consider corking the forks; to prevent her from hurting herself. And others.
It was Eva, in the living room, with the fork.
It was Eva, in the dining room, with the fork.
It was Eva, at her little table, with the forks.
Incidentally, this picture is my favorite because it displays her other obsession. Raisins. She eats them directly from the container…with a fork. It’s the colliding of two obsessions.
What a terrifically weird child.
I usually go to Costco on Mondays as part of my routine. They don’t open until 10 and I can’t workout at the Y until 9, so once in a while I’ll head to Costco directly after working out. It’s completely out of convenience. I’m too lazy to bother with showering at the Y because it requires packing extra clothes and toiletries and a towel. Plus, I don’t appreciate public nudity and I fear locker-room fungi.
This neurotic behavior means I sometimes shop at Costco in my sweaty workout clothes. I know, it’s gross. Occasionally I’ll think to at least bring a clean shirt to change in to, but that’s rare. Today I went to Costco in my sweaty workout clothes. It was especially crowded and the checkout lines snaked for miles. As I stood there waiting and waiting and waiting, surrounded by millions and millions and millions of people, I started to become self-conscious about my attire and emanating stench. I hate it when I’m crammed into a space with a lot of people and somebody reeks. I have little patience for body odor.
And yet, there I was; the body odor distributer. The extra deodorant I had applied was long gone and I kept looking around to make sure no one was suffocating from lack of clean air. I tried to keep very still and not disturb the air around me but Eva kept taking off her shoes and tossing them. Then she tried to stand up in the cart and I had to wrestle with her for a moment. The poor guy behind me had black hair and it instantly turned white from the toxic wind my movements were producing. I also singed the hair off his arms and legs. I felt embarrassed and wanted to rush home and shower.
Well – after I went to lunch with Michael, of course.
I’m running a half marathon in October. Wait. Let me try that again. I’m registered to run a half marathon in October. Whether or not I make it is yet to be determined. I’ve tried to trick myself into being the kind of person who craves running, but it doesn’t seem to work. The only thing I really ever crave is sugar. And attention. Running doesn’t fit into my cravings rotation.
I have to run 10 miles on Saturday. That’s from my house to Delaware. What kind of ninny chooses to go out and run that far? It’s insane. The race I’m running is called the Runaway Pumpkin. It should be called Runaway Common Sense.
I’ve paid my $60 so now I’m committed. I’m too cheap to waste the money. If I had been using my brain, I would have spent it on sugar instead. And attention.
I’ll send you a postcard from Delaware.
Eva is nearly 2 now and her attitude reflects it. She has become very adept at flopping around like a fish and crying upon hearing the word, “No.” She excels at ignoring me as if she’s deaf. Her spine is incredibly flexible and she can nearly touch the back of her head to her heels when I try to put her in the car seat. She refuses to hold my hand when we walk and writhes around in the seat of the shopping cart like she’s been overtaken by a seizure. It’s a wonderful time.
On the contrary, Eva says, “I love you,” without being prompted. She hugs my legs when I’m washing dishes and asks to be snuggled like a baby. She dances with glee when I open her bedroom door in the morning and emphatically shouts, “Good morning! Let’s eat!” She laughs at my silly antics and requests that I sing songs to her in the car. She is pure in her love for me and I continue to be amazed at how much I love her in return; tantrums and all.
It really is a wonderful time.
