It’s Bananas

I used to think of myself as a fairly sane, level-headed person.

Then I had kids.

Now I’m pretty sure they have taken it upon themselves to try to make me question my sanity at least once or twice a day. I could give so many examples of this, it could fill a library (which would, in turn, drive all of YOU insane). So, I’ll just go with the most recent example.

Blair loves bananas. Like, she’d-eat-them-for-every-meal-if-I-would-let-her, loves them. She does not however, call them “bananas.” She refers to them as “ooh-ooh ahh-ahhs” (yes, like the sound the monkey makes) while loudly yelling at me at pointing to the fruit bowl on the counter. Don’t worry – we’ll try for an athletic scholarship for this one.

Here’s the thing about Blair and her bananas: she’s two. So, of course, she wants to do everything herself. Every. Freaking. Thing. And God forbid she decide to let the village idiots her mommy or daddy help her, because we will inevitably do it the opposite way of which she wanted it done, and a nice little tantrum will follow.

Here is what a typical exchange between she and I is like (about an ooh-ooh ahh-ahh, obviously):

B (running into the kitchen like she just remembered she left the oven on): MAMA!! MAMA!! MAAAAMAAAAA!!!

M (startled, quickly turning around to see what’s on fire): Yes??? YES?!?!?!?

(pointing to the counter): A ooh-ooh ahh-ahh, Mama! A ooh-ooh ahh-ahh!!

(still trying to save a smidgen of respect after being yelled at, and probably having had my pants pulled down in the process, as Blair tried to get my attention. Did I mention she was already yelling? No need to also de-pants me. Uncool, Blair. Uncool.): Whoa! That’s not how you ask for something, Blair!

(doing what looks a LOT like an eye roll): Peas? Peas I hab a ooh-ooh ahh-ahh, Mama?

(reaching for the banana, starting to break the top of the peel for her): Sure!

B: No, Mama! NO! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! MAMA, NOOOOOO!!!! (also picture vintage toddler motions of being so upset with me that her face, neck and chubby fists are shaking about 100 miles/second)

M: Uh, okay? You want to open it? Here you go…

(somewhat rudely grabbing the banana from my hands): Tea-tu.

Then, she quickly realizes that she does not, in fact, know how to open the banana herself. So she needs my help. So she sweetly hands me the banana, and I start to peel it for her again.

B (again, shaking like her little head is about to pop off): NOOOOO!!!! NO, NO, NO, NO MAMA!!!! NO! NO!!!!!

(DEEP BREATH): Okay. You would like to open it? Here you go…

See above. And re-read. About 100 times. Because this exchange goes on and on (and on) until I have finally lost patience and I end up turning around, secretly snapping the banana peel, quickly handing it back to her and then act as though she is a genius for opening it on her own.

What I want to do is get down on her level, and say “I mean, seriously? Seriously, sister? We both know you DON’T know how to open this banana, and you need me to do it. Let’s stop pretending, just let me open the freaking banana and let’s both get on our merry way. K?”

But I don’t. I try to let her learn how to do it herself, all the while wondering if this is all part of her evil plan. To make me look like an idiot while still getting me to do things for her.

She’s bananas.

One thought on “It’s Bananas

  1. Pingback: T-Ball | feldmama

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