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All About Blur

July 31, 2009

“Blur,” as I shall call him here (in reality, he has a pretty standard name), is my two-year-old son. Because I expect that Blur will feature heavily in this day-in-the-life-of-a-bedraggled-mommy blog, I thought I should write up a little profile of our wall-coloring, toy-throwing, apple juice-spilling beast angel.

Here’s what you need to know about Blur:

*When he was born, he was on the small end of the spectrum. He’s been a little guy ever since. He consistently comes in at the 10th percentile or less for weight and something like the 90th percentile for height. Blur makes up for his string-bean physique by being a force of nature. Unless he is sick, sleeping, or pooping, there’s rarely a minute that he’s not running, climbing, laughing hysterically, crying hysterically, screaming, jamming pencils into the printer, yanking safety plugs out of the wall sockets, jumping on/off his bed, throwing himself against solid objects, sneaking into the refrigerator, taking socks out of the bottom drawer of our dresser, or hiding in the cabinets. Most toddlers are like this, I know, but Blur can do this all day, every day, without stopping.

Blur makes WAHMy and WAHD very tired. (I compared pictures of how we looked right before he was born and how we look now, and I swear we’ve both aged at least five years. Sorry, WAHD, it’s true.)

*Blur likes animals. We have a season pass to the zoo, and we take him at least once or twice a week. Blur is terrified of worms, ladybugs, and butterflies, but he loves to chirp at the meerkats, hug the goats, and gaze at the lizards and snakes in the reptile house.

*Blur also likes country songs, especially country music songs sung by purty country music artists. His favorite, by far, is Carrie Underwood. Whenever he sees her, he claps his hands, dances, and beams with glee. She was on Oprah the other day, and you’d have thought he’d just won the lottery. He’ll also listen respectfully (albeit briefly) to Kenny Chesney and Darius Rucker, but you can tell it’s a different kind of relationship with them.

*Blur is some sort of tech genius. You should see the way he uses an iPhone: for the last year, he’s had the thumb drag down pat. He knows how to find his baby blog and the dog-popping-balloons video on the Internet, even though we don’t have them bookmarked (watch out, though, because if the connection is slow and they take a few seconds to load, he gets very crabby). He figured out the “print screen” feature months before we did. I am afraid to let him play with my computer because he’d probably change the settings, come up with a new password, and render the machine useless to anyone other than himself.

*Blur doesn’t like sugar. This year he refused his birthday cake and demanded an apple instead. Clearly, this is not a trait from my side of the gene pool. I can’t pat myself on the back for reinforcing this good habit, either, because in desperate moments I have tried to break it for the sake of bribery. No dice. Lollipops work for some kids; Blur will have none of it. He knows how to divest me of my powers.

Like most moms, I could go on for hours. I won’t, though, because he just woke up, and it won’t be long before he runs in here, screams “MAAAAMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” and hurls himself around my neck. It’s like being tackled by a miniature linebacker. Must go steel myself.

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