Reason #208 – I prefer a bag of twigs to my son

Jan 12

My kid is going to have so many issues… so far in his short life he has already been neglected so I could spend more time with the Internet, a murder mystery book, two Swedish girls (one of which is heavily tattooed and pierced), wedding inspiration boards, doing dishes, and even photos of him.

Bet you’re thinking pretty ill of me right now.

Well, what if I told you I chose a bag of branches over my own flesh and blood?

Because I did.

Look! Such a beautiful bag of branches!

Last month we had a minor hurricane on this side of LA, and the outcome was devastating: NO DAYCARE! There was also damage to houses and cars and power lines, but that’s a distant second to the real catastrophe. Miss Karen, how could you do this to us??

Since I had no idea of what to do with my kid, I took him for a long (and probably very dangerous) walk around the neighbourhood to admire the fallen trees and general mayhem. And since I am an “it’s free, so I must have it” kind of person, pretty soon I started gathering pretty branches and pinecones that had been knocked down by the storm.

For a while the world was good: the kid was happy running wild amid fallen trees and piles of leaves, and I was happy picking up garden trash and planning grandiose wreaths to give as presents to all my friends, who would then crown me as the Winter Craft Queen of Pasadena and The Universe, and carry me on their shoulders down Colorado Boulevard during the Rose Parade, while an airplane flew over us throwing confetti while everyone cheered.

It must have been at that point that I was cruelly awoken from my daydream by my boy, whose screaming was louder than the cheers. You see, we were half a block away from home (or miles and miles, depending on who you asked,) and C was so tired and hungry he simply could not walk another step.

Apparently he believed it was my God-given duty and honour to carry him all way home.

Yeah… no.

No frakking way I was going to leave my lovingly picked branches and pinecones behind to lug 18 kilos of tantrumming boy for half a block.

So I picked my bag and started walking.

After a few minutes of wailing, writhing, and generally making a spectacle of himself on the leafy sidewalk, C came to terms with the fact that the bag of branches had won the battle for my affections. Having learned this important life lesson, he got up and walked home with me like a good sport.

Atta boy. Now go get yourself something to eat while Mama spends some quality time with her pinecones and twigs.

PS: I never got carried down Colorado or cheered by the crowds, but I had a lot of fun making these wreaths, and even more fun giving them away. Too bad the season is over… time to start plotting Easter ornaments so C can learn that empty eggshells are also more important than him!