Wiggly Waffle

Middle-aged men, clad in colorful jumpers and Australian accents are jumping, dancing, and singing through my television set, transfixing my son at 6:00am. Who are these uniformed men and why do they have so much energy and why do they have so much power over my "almost two" years old boy? The Wiggles, of course.

Awaking from a full night's (if we are lucky) sleep, the boy will sometimes call for "Mama" or "Dada", but more likely, he will shout for "Banana", "Blue-berry", or his favorite"Wiggly Waffle." Wiggly Waffles are a perfect blend of his love for food and television.

My son is addicted to TV. Well, I embellish. He is not "addicted" but has a very real devotion to certain programs and characters, like Elmo and The Wiggles. Before having a baby, I thought that I would be one of "those" moms. You know the type. They breastfeed for at least 12 months, make their own organic baby food, and do not introduce TV watching to their kids until the American Pediatric Association's recommended second year of life - and then only with a strict two hour a day limit and content, of course.

My upstairs neighbor, a perfectly lovely woman, with two beautiful children, and does not work outside the home. Her youngest shares the same birth - day & year as my son. In fact my son is two hours older than her son. One afternoon, in an effort to be validated (my husband's least favorite word) by the fact that my less than one year old - at the time - liked watching certain children programs, a lot - I asked if her son does as well. Politely, and with genuine humility - she said something like ... "We try keep him away from the television. When my daughter watches TV, I take him in the other room". I was aghast.

A weakness of mine throughout my lifetime has been comparing myself to others. Friendly, non-athletic competition, has always motivated and inspired me. Spending more time preparing for an exam or completing a report for work early are types of silly things that have made me feel superior in someway. Sometimes such comparison, depresses me rather than comforts me, as it should. Inevitably thoughts like, How do they own a house in this fancy-dancey community? Or, How does she look like *that* after just having a baby? And, bingo, I start to feel badly about myself. Not healthy. Not productive. Yet, irresistible.

It is easy to compare oneself to the standard that which you think is paramount. As easy as it to try to keep up with neightbor or the uber-by-the-book parents, I try to focus on what is important. I love my son more than the day is long and would do anything for his unwaivering happiness and well-being - and, sometimes, that involves indulging a ounce or two of The Wiggly Waffle on a Saturday morning while the rest of the house sleeps.

Be the buffalo

My son tells me to "be the buffalo" in his energetic and hopeful 22-month old voice. "Mama, be the buffalo! Be the buffalo!", he screams in delight, again and again.

"Be the buffalo" is a term I taught him after reading an article in Oprah. Apparently when buffalo sense a storm coming, instead of running the other way - in an effort to escape the impending weather - they run right toward it. By facing their fears and going right through it, they get to the other side - faster and having used less energy than if they tried to circumvent the inevitable.

This phrase has become my mantra throughout the last six weeks. "Be the buffalo" I'd repeat to my little boy while performing a super-over the top version of Tina Fey, doing Sarah Palin, equip with the wink and the twinkle. He loved it and so did I. The perfect dinner-time banter between a mother and son. He'd laugh, which would make me laugh, which would remind me to laugh more. It also reminded me to think about what I needed to run through after he goes to bed and after I have washed the dishes. What tasks/projects/conversations/decisions have I been putting off?

Procrastination is not something that has even been much of an issue for me. During school I never waited for the last minute to write papers or study. I always buy and send birthday cards, Congratulations cards, Just Because cards right on time. Clutter has also never plagued me, in fact, it freaks me out and is something that I avoid on a regular basis. But even we, borderline OCD-quality house-keeping fanatics, have some domestic projects we put off - in lieu of others that are more pertinent or desirable, like cleaning the toilet. Really. Cleaning the toilet or bathroom, which is something I do several times a week, and is significantly more enjoyable to me than cleaning my bedroom or even worse .... my closet.

While being the buffalo, I have purged, cleaned, and organized my drawers, my closets, separating clothing by color (as well as a color-blind woman can) and function. Next I tackled kitchen junk drawers. Then on to the Cd's that needed to re-filed (alphabetical and by genre - what am I an animal?) and the pile of documents that needed to be shredded. Not all of the looming tasks were related to clutter though, some involved starting or completing tasks or projects that have been put off for way too long, like beginning the process of re-applying for Irish citizenship and starting a blog.

So, here I am at 9:13pm having just checked one more off that ever evolving To-Do list after 11 hours of work outside the home and what is next for this animal impersonator? No more buffalo being for me tonight. No more purging or writing. Reading, maybe. TV watching, possibly. Sleeping certainly.