bubbles!

I've been away for so long I really didn't know what to write. So much is going on and yet it's all pretty much a variation of the same too -- chasing a toddler, balancing motherhood, reminding myself to eat, reminding myself to just sit my butt down and stop moving every second, writing, drinking coffee and more coffee, and forcing myself to write more.

I'm actually pretty proud, thankful and humbled that I've been able to write a lot of scripted material lately. I don't know where I've found the time or inspiration (other than God), but the work seems to be flowing, which feels great. I attribute much of my blog absence to that.

So back to me and Cub...

Bubbles. I cannot say the word. At least not around him. I must ignore the word when it comes up. I must ban the word from my home. Bubbles. Who would've thought? My son is currently obsessed with bubbles. He can even read the word "bubbles" at 15 months. And when he does, he gets a twinkle in his eye and seems to whisper the word like it's some mystical artifact that he's just discovered from a faraway Tibetan temple. Bubbles.

It all started with Your Baby Can Read. He loves the videos and guess what? He can actually read! No joke! Cub can read at least 25 words or more. It's pretty amazing. And his vocabulary and speaking for 15 months is extremely advanced I must say. So on one of the videos they show the word "bubbles" and a kid blowing a bubble. No biggie, right? At first it was harmless. He didn't pay much attention to it at all. Then out of no where. He started READING the word bubbles and occasionally seeing bubble containers around the house and it became a fixation. He would then see the container AND read it and shout, "BUBBLES!" Ever so proudly.

Once he started whispering "bubbles" in the middle of a church service. Out of the blue. His little face all rosy and sweet, staring at the pastor preaching and then his mouth started forming the word softly, "bubbles". As if he were seeing bubbles ascending from the preacher's head. But there were no bubbles around. He was simply in his own pleasant bubble-filled day-dream.

This bubble obsession was cute in the beginning. But before long, I would bring out the bubbles and we'd have a great time blowing them together, then, they'd have to be put away. And therein lies the problem. Putting the bubbles away. See, Cub loves the bubbles. And he thinks they should be available, with me blowing them for him, 24-7. Even if he decides to walk away and do something else, he expects me to keep blowing the bubbles for whenever he decides to return. If I do put them away, I must brace myself for a mega-fat-ugly-toddler-tantrum.

The other day we were at the grocery store. I decided, foolishly, to reward him with a new set of bubbles for being patient during the shopping. So I show him the bubbles for him to hold. At which point he starts whispering, "bubbles, bubbles" into a high-pitched animated crescendo of "BUBBLES!!". Then wanted to OPEN the bubbles right there in the grocery store. I took them out of the plastic case for him to "hold" until we get outside. But NOOOOOOOO!! Must do bubbles right there in aisle 7 -- now!!! Then I heard the rumble, saw the fire in his eyes, and had to just brace myself -- the tantrum came like a tornado. And boy did it. SCREAMING, dropping to the ground, flailing, crying (the suck the air shaking cry) with the little quiet tormented whisper, "bubbles!" When I say everybody was staring, I mean EVERYBODY.

My mind raced, how do I handle a tantrum? Do I ignore it? Do I leave the store WITHOUT the bubbles (that we already opened) or what? And everybody else waited to see what I'd do too. So I decided to quietly but firmly tell him to stop crying and that we'd do the bubbles once we got outside. It didn't work. But it was worth a try. Long story short, we did do the bubbles. On the curb outside like two homeless kids. And then of course another tantrum ensued when I had to put them away to go home. So now, we don't bubble. At least for a while. And don't you dare say the word if you come over, unless you either plan on blowing bubbles for the next 48 hours, or wanna see mama throw her own tantrum.