Monday – Ducks and Daffadeeyos
Dec. 8th, 2008 03:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
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I have to come to terms with the fact that not only does my 4 year old despise me, so do all of his toys. He told me so himself.
My son has three stuffed animals that he likes to sleep with. Two are soft floppy ducks that he in his first and second Easter baskets. The first duck is white, and he's named it Snowy. The second duck is named Banana Duck, because he is yellow. If you just call this duck Banana for short, without the Duck part of his name, my son will correct you. He doesn't want you mistaking his buddy for a piece of fruit. The third animal in the trio is the Daffadeeyo, and he is a gray plush armadillo. It took my son a long time to master the word armadillo, and for the first 3 years of his life it came out as daffadeeyo. Now that he can say the word correctly, Daffadeeyo is the name of the armadillo, as in Mr. Daffadeeyo Armadillo.
I was working in the kitchen on Saturday when my son walked in with his three plush pals in his arms. His expression was solemn.
"Mommy," he began, and it was obvious he was about to declare something of importance, "Snowy, Banana Duck and Daffadeeyo don't like you and don't want to be your friend." He looked at me warily, to gage my reaction to this news.
"They don't?" This stung a bit, but I didn't want to let on. Snowy, Banana Duck, Daffadeeyo and I have been through a lot together.
"No." He shook his head.
I thought for a moment. "Well, Orange Puppy likes me and is my friend." Orange Puppy is a stuffed toy that a friend gave me at some point as a gift years ago. I kept it packed away until my son recently came across it. When I told him it was mine and not his, he accepted it and insisted that I sleep with it, the way he sleeps with his toys.
"Well, Snowy, Banana Duck and Daffadeeyo don't like Orange Puppy and they don't want to be his friend, either."
"Why don’t they like Orange Puppy?"
"Because Orange Puppy is your friend, and so they don't like him."
I told my husband about this the next day.
"I can't believe it," I said, "I mean, I can't how many times I've slept in the same bed with these guys, only to hear that they feel this way about me."
"They were just using you," Jeff said sympathetically.
My son has recently discovered the word hate, and he is filled with it. He hates celery, taking baths, going to school, and he often hates me, too. He hated me just his morning, for taking him to school.
"I don't want to go to school! I hate school!," he whimpered from the back seat.
"I understand that, but you still have to go."
"Well, I hate you!"
"That's okay, because I still love you even if you do hate me."
"Hmmmph!"
The response always stops him in his tracks. Unrequited hate can be as frustrating as unrequited love, I guess. Perhaps I can love away all of this hostility. Even if I can't, I know I am still needed and won't be asked to leave any time soon. For one thing, when my son hurts himself he wants me to hold him and kiss the injured body part. As much as he hates me, my kisses still lessen the pain and my hugs still bring him comfort. His father lacks these magic touches, and until he learns them my position in the house as Mommy, healer of boo-boos, is safe.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I have to come to terms with the fact that not only does my 4 year old despise me, so do all of his toys. He told me so himself.
My son has three stuffed animals that he likes to sleep with. Two are soft floppy ducks that he in his first and second Easter baskets. The first duck is white, and he's named it Snowy. The second duck is named Banana Duck, because he is yellow. If you just call this duck Banana for short, without the Duck part of his name, my son will correct you. He doesn't want you mistaking his buddy for a piece of fruit. The third animal in the trio is the Daffadeeyo, and he is a gray plush armadillo. It took my son a long time to master the word armadillo, and for the first 3 years of his life it came out as daffadeeyo. Now that he can say the word correctly, Daffadeeyo is the name of the armadillo, as in Mr. Daffadeeyo Armadillo.
I was working in the kitchen on Saturday when my son walked in with his three plush pals in his arms. His expression was solemn.
"Mommy," he began, and it was obvious he was about to declare something of importance, "Snowy, Banana Duck and Daffadeeyo don't like you and don't want to be your friend." He looked at me warily, to gage my reaction to this news.
"They don't?" This stung a bit, but I didn't want to let on. Snowy, Banana Duck, Daffadeeyo and I have been through a lot together.
"No." He shook his head.
I thought for a moment. "Well, Orange Puppy likes me and is my friend." Orange Puppy is a stuffed toy that a friend gave me at some point as a gift years ago. I kept it packed away until my son recently came across it. When I told him it was mine and not his, he accepted it and insisted that I sleep with it, the way he sleeps with his toys.
"Well, Snowy, Banana Duck and Daffadeeyo don't like Orange Puppy and they don't want to be his friend, either."
"Why don’t they like Orange Puppy?"
"Because Orange Puppy is your friend, and so they don't like him."
I told my husband about this the next day.
"I can't believe it," I said, "I mean, I can't how many times I've slept in the same bed with these guys, only to hear that they feel this way about me."
"They were just using you," Jeff said sympathetically.
My son has recently discovered the word hate, and he is filled with it. He hates celery, taking baths, going to school, and he often hates me, too. He hated me just his morning, for taking him to school.
"I don't want to go to school! I hate school!," he whimpered from the back seat.
"I understand that, but you still have to go."
"Well, I hate you!"
"That's okay, because I still love you even if you do hate me."
"Hmmmph!"
The response always stops him in his tracks. Unrequited hate can be as frustrating as unrequited love, I guess. Perhaps I can love away all of this hostility. Even if I can't, I know I am still needed and won't be asked to leave any time soon. For one thing, when my son hurts himself he wants me to hold him and kiss the injured body part. As much as he hates me, my kisses still lessen the pain and my hugs still bring him comfort. His father lacks these magic touches, and until he learns them my position in the house as Mommy, healer of boo-boos, is safe.
