Toddler vs Trump

In the spirit of the recent events in the US (oh, you know that little thing called ‘a swearing in ceremony’) I am dedicating this post to idiocy, childishness, thoughtfulness and plain ol’ immaturity. You know, those people jumping up and down in anger about the President’s first acts amongst which to back date the abortion rights of women all over the world…

Apologies, I digress. Back to the people jumping up down who did not vote. I am sorry for offence but abstaining is silent agreement with whichever candidate wins.

So this week’s post details four things that I had not noticed until recently, and have since come to appreciate the simple wonderment of not knowing, the bliss of ignorance, the joy of passive voting and the general comparisons that can be made between everyday life with an 18 month old and the recent political events in the world’s most influential Western nation.

Because let’s face it- who has more bombs in the West than America, and who has more control in a household than a toddler?

 1. My favourite toy will go with me even if the situation does not call for it

Master X had two favourite toys this week. One evening as I closed the door so that we could enjoy a relaxing bath, Master X began screaming furiously and pounded in panic on the door. He was screaming out ‘Mum, mum, muuuuuuuum!’ (which I think in this situation meant dad, but one can never really be sure nowadays on who is mum/dad). When it became apparent that bath-time was not going to happen until he was released, I leant over his tall head and opened the door, holding his chest to try and break his inevitable fall because he was standing so damn close to the door jam! Master X bolted through the tiny gap that I created and then returned moments later holding the favourite toy in his hand, while wiping the tear stream with his other hand.

I don’t get it. You can spend so much time (we pick up most of our toys for free or second hand, so pretty cheap) selecting the perfect educational, engaging, enriching toy for a toddler and then they go and chose a metallic blue Christmas bauble. A broken Christmas bauble. It reminded me a bit of this photo from this week’s events…

A supporter of U.S. President-elect Donald Trump stands in the foreground of the Washington Monument  on the National Mall before Trump is to be sworn in in Washington2. I don’t care about societal expectations – I’m wearing my princess shoes

We have always struggled with shoes for Master X, I think mainly because we delayed him wearing any until he was a stable walker. Why do babies need Nike’s? They look cute, but damn, Master X went up two shoe sizes in 3 weeks at one stage. That equates to our food budget for that period being spent on a child-labour product! Yeah, no.

So we took Master X to Target to try on some shoes, and I picked a couple of bright ones for him to look at thinking that if he chose the shoes, then he would wear them. I picked the Frozen princess crocs, plain fluro yellow crocs, and Finding Dory crocs. Master X took all of a second to make his selection. It was clear as soon as I brought the shoes over that he was taken with the Frozen princess crocs. We are pretty conscious about gendered clothing, book, TV, toys etc. so we did not care that he chose the pink shoes. He does not care that he chose the pink shoes. Much like the population who either voted for Trump, or abstained from voting at all. Ignorance and the wonderment of not knowing.

Mr A and I occasionally correct people when they mistake Master X for a girl, based on his shoes alone. But really, we just nod and say ‘yup, he chose them’. Ignorance is bliss.

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3. All the toys are MY toys

Anyone who has tried to shop for clothes for themselves with a toddler in tow knows the impossible nature of the task. I had to go to Target (yes, okay Target is our go-to shop because it is mid-range in price and quality and we can get most of the stuff we need in this one shop) to shop for maternity clothes. I swiftly grabbed anything off the rack that looked remotely wearable because most maternity clothes look like you’re wearing a bag. I started to make my way to the fitting rooms to try on my selection when Master X, who was sitting in the child seat in the trolley, completely lost it and started to throw items out of my purse while yelling ‘done, done done!’.

Utterly flustered, I stuffed the not-so-bag-looking clothes back into the trolley and sped towards the toy section to placate his rising anger. The bright colours and seemingly endless rows of plastic bliss distracted him, and I pulled him out to enjoy some short respite as I sprawled on the floor in the middle of an aisle. At least I tried to keep some decency by pulling my long skirt up to sit between my gaping legs. I was stuffed. People kept trying to enter the aisle but would take one look at me and scurry away. Either that or the sound of Master X screaming as he smashed at the buttons on the electronic devices provided repulsion.

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I enjoyed my time on the cool floor, relieving some of the pressure in my back until it was evident that Master X had enough and it was time to make a hasty departure. Unfortunately however he had made quite an attachment to a Tellytubbie Tubby Custard pull-along and was adamant that it was coming with us. Screaming, kicking, arching back… I caved and threw the toy into the trolley at which point he happily obliged allowed me to place him back in the trolley. His eyes never drifted from the damn toy though.

When we arrived at the counter I rummaged in my purse and found some snack bars. And distracted him with food so I could remove the offending over-priced item from the trolley and continue through the checkout.

I wonder if we can use this logic to distract Trump and steal the Presidency…

4. If you can wear it, then so can I

Mr A and I both ride motorbikes and whenever one of us leaves for work on our 300z the other parent will hold Master X’s hand and wave goodbye. This routine has created a habit in our son where he will stop and wave to all passing motorbikes, even if we are in the middle of crossing the road. Recently Master X has become obsessed with our riding gear, so much so that every time we leave the house he runs up to the storage area for our helmets and gloves, and tries to pick them up. We allow him to try on the helmet briefly, but he is super connected to our gloves and it is now rare for us to leave the house without him wearing either one or both gloves on his hands. This provides amusement rather than bother, and also a welcome distraction in the car (which he hates) as we alternate amongst ourselves in putting on and taking off the gloves.

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I saved the best for last.

This situation of flattery through replication was eagerly displayed by Melania Trump and Michelle Obama this week. You have probably already seen the photos, but who can resist one more giggle at this awkward attempt to ‘hand over’ the First Lady?


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