This is a picture of my lovely, way-too-close-to-three-year-old daughter sleeping.
And yes. That is a stick.
On her face.
I can explain to you nothing more about this photo other than the fact that this very stick became her favourite toy about an hour before bedtime tonight. I mean, to hell with the 100-piece second-hand wooden train set I bought for her on Monday in hopes of being rewarded with an hour or two of silence during the day, that shit got old after ten minutes. But this STICK that she found under my couch while cleaning up the train set? THIS is where it’s at!
She became so enamoured of this stick that she asked to sleep with it. And I said yes, because who the hell cares, I mean Olive, if you want to sleep with a stick, you can just go ahead and sleep with a stick. I have mastered the art of picking my battles.
But then when I went back to tuck in her covers I saw her lying there with the stick laying diagonally across her face and just stood there silently mouthing, “What the actual fuck”.
How does one fall asleep with a stick just lying across ones face like that? Is that even possible? Did she place it there? Was she holding it and it fell? WHAT HAPPENED TO CREATE THIS SITUATION?
What’s worse is that if I’m honest, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.
Two weeks ago it was Pinchy. Pinchy was her favourite back then in that hazy pre-stick era. She couldn’t go anywhere without Pinchy. In the car seat, in walks, while running errands, Pinchy was her constant companion, and by the sounds of the conversations I overheard, he was quite a character, too.
Who, or what was Pinchy?
Pinchy, dear Internets, was a pair of tweezers. Not even my good tweezers, I might add, but a weird basic silver pair of unknown origin that she found in my makeup basket one day.
Soooo, just in case you and your girlfriends or your husband or your gossipy sister-in-law have ever sat around discussing the weird hippie blogger lady and wondering aloud what life would be like with her as a mom, now you know.
A stick. My daughter’s favourite toy is a stick.
I was “friends” with a 4 foot long garden shovel for a while when I was 4. Embarassing childhood stories build character. (And my mom still owns “Greg” the shovel over 20 years later just to tell the story)
I laughed about this for a good five minutes. Why does the fact that you named it fucking GREG make it so much better??
I suppose at least if she gets a splinter from the stick she can pull it out with the tweezers…
Alternatively get her a stick insect as a pet. It will develop her life skills and, most importantly, it will look like a stick. But not seem quite so odd…
You, sir, are a real thinker.
This makes me feel way better about the fact that my 16 month old son has all these elaborate toys and yet really only wants a grey string from his daddy’s sweatshirt. He bats at it. Like a cat.
Whaaaaat is with these children??
You once played with a cloth tape measure ( not even a cool retractable one) for hours in your car seat. You’d hold it in one hand and run it through the other like you were reading a ticker tape (it’s a thing – look it up). Mother Nature has a strange sense of humour. Something simple line that can become something – anything, while a train set will always be a train set.
I simply love reading your posts. They bring such a big smile to my face (and oftentimes laughter), and I WISH you lived in Winnipeg so that we could hang out. ALL THE TIME! You’re doing great 🙂
Aw, thank you!! I always think that is the highest compliment you can give someone, like, I would hang OUT with you! In real life!!” 🙂
I’ve been reading your blog for awhile now and can’t resist commenting because MY strange childhood attachment was to this cheap, waxy Santa Claus candle I think we received as a gift, which I also slept with like a stuffed animal. My mom hung onto it for YEARS and then burned it when I was in high school, I think, and I remember seeing it alight on the mantle and being like, “Farewell, Santa candle!” haha!
Hahaha! Oh my god, a single tear rolling down your cheek as you bid a bittersweet adieu to your childhood bestie! That is glorious. Good for your mom for keeping it. (and burning it, for that matter 😉
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My tiny toddler (30 inches at best) just went to sleep cuddling with a huge adult sized shovel (scoop style, roughly 5 feet long). Kids!
Lollll. Olive used to do that with sticks!