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Posts Tagged ‘batman’

Anything for Sleep!

“Twinkle, Twinkle” will no longer do. The only lullabies L will accept lately are ones about superheros. Problem: there are no lullabies about superheros. So, I make them up. Here’s my latest, to the tune of “You are my Sunshine”:

You are my Batman,
my only Batman.
You dress as Bruce Wayne
during the day.
But when there’s bad guys
you go to the Batcave.
And you get your super cool Bat-tools.

You use your Batarangs,
and the Bat-mobile.
And you wear a cape,
though you don’t fly.
You are always there
when the city needs you,
when you see your symbol in the sky.

 

You are my Batman,
my only Batman.
You dress as Bruce Wayne
during the day.
Your friends are Superman
and even Wonder Woman.
And together you all save the day.

Thank you. Thank you, very much.

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Ah, Christmas morning. My image of all of us in our PJs peacefully enjoying the morning, a big breakfast, opening presents, hanging out… was a little naive and idealistic. There was much more whining and crying involved. And overexcitement. And overstimulation. And far too many new things at once. And tiny scraps of paper everywhere.

There were definitely some sweet moments: S distractedly and happily playing with a ribbon while L tore through all of his gifts, and hers. L getting jump-up-and-down excited at everything from underwear to Pez dispensers to matchbox cars.

But as the pile of presents diminished, we made a critical tactical mistake: the last present was one for me. This sent L into a fit of despair. Crying, screaming, yelling “Stupid Mommy! Dammit Mommy!” This sent me into a rage. The ungrateful, spoiled #$%*&@…. You can imagine how it went.

As I’m about to collect all the gifts for donation to more deserving children, while lecturing something or other about children with no shoes who are grateful to play with sticks, T is amazingly understanding and actually lures L away with one of Santa’s cookies that we saved for him. What? Rewarding this brat??

Apparently, that’s what Christmas is about. It’s about parents (me) doing a ton of work, for a tiny moment of reward, and then a bit of abuse as the overindulged children fall apart. With so much buildup, so much excitement, so much anticipation, the actual opening of presents is bound to be a bit of a let down. It really has little to do with what is actually in the packages. The presents themselves are barely noticed in the rush to open the next, in the sheer thrill of the idea that a magical man snuck into our house, in the absolute relief that in the end, L was on the nice list!

Once again I foolishly let my expectations rise higher than what reality would serve me. Will I ever learn?

But now it’s later. The mess has been cleaned up and now the new toys are being discovered, without the frenzy of more packages waiting to be ripped into. As I write this, L is at my feet marveling over his new case full of matchbox cars that Santa brought him. He’s wearing his new Robin costume, complete with cape and mask. He’s asked if he could please have a bath later so he can try out his underwater flashlight and new hooded towel. He’s already changed his underpants twice because he just can’t decide which Batman pair is more awesome.

Certainly these few minutes of peace will be followed by more tears and tantrums. I get it now. Just because it’s Christmas, doesn’t mean that L isn’t still a 3-year-old. Expectations in check now. Once they are low enough, disappointment is near impossible.

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We live far from anything, so every day involves a fair amount of time in the car. I think it’s because he’s physically restrained and can’t use his energy in his usual running/jumping/dancing/climbing/throwing/shooting fashion that inspires L to come up with such funny and weird things to say as we drive around. Every day I think to myself that I have to write it all down. Entire car rides are filled with just the oddest conversations. So, today I committed our 15 minute ride to memory.

First, we played the opposites game. His idea. I say a word and he comes up with the opposite. He was very good at this game and even got my trickier ones like smooth/bumpy and hilly/flat. I ran out of opposites to ask him, so he decided to ask me some.

L: House.
me: House doesn’t have an opposite. It’s a thing, and things don’t have opposites.
L: Tree.
me: Tree is a thing too. Anything you can touch or hold doesn’t have an opposite.
L: Cloud.
me: A cloud is a thing too.
L: No it’s not. I can’t touch it or hold it.
me: Yes, but it’s still a thing, an object. Objects don’t have opposites.
L: You’re not very good at this game. I’m much better than you are. I got every one right.

OK, fair enough. A few moments go by in silence.

L: I wish I had a nose in my mouth.
me: wha????
L: So I could smell when my teeth are dirty.

Gross. Turn up the music, hoping for some quiet time.

L: When I have babies of my own, I’m going to name them Batman and Robin Hood.
me: Those are good names.
L: I just love Batman. I can’t wait until I turn into Batman when I’m a grown up.

I’ve explained that one before. At this point, we’re just waiting it out. Sooner or later he’ll realize that he’s not turning into Batman.

L: How many is Michael Jackson?
me: What?
L: How many is he? What’s the number?
me: I don’t know what you mean.
L: When he was born. Was I bigger than him?
me: Were you a bigger baby than Michael Jackson? I don’t know for sure, but I’d guess yes.
L: S is going to name her baby Michael Jackson. Or maybe I’ll have Batman and Michael Jackson, and she’ll have Robin Hood. Is that a good idea?
me: That’s a great idea. Glad we worked that out.

We’ve now been driving for about 7 minutes. Have at least that much to go still.

L: Is Batman dead?
me: (hopeful) I like this song. Let’s sing!
L: (not at all distracted) Is he dead though?
me: No. Batman is not real, so he’s not dead.
L: But the real Batman, is he dead?
me: No.
L: Is Michael Jackson dead?
me: Yes, he is.
L: Can we go visit him? I want to go to his house.
me: (WTF? MJ can lure little boys to his house even from the grave? What is this power of his??) We can’t visit him because he died. And we don’t know him. Didn’t know him. We’re not going to his house.
L: Maybe I’ll live in his house when I’m a grown up, and then I’ll be dead too. Are you going to die?
me: L, this really isn’t something for you to worry about.
L: But you’re so old.
me: Not so old. I plan on being around for a long, long time. It’s really not something for you to worry about.
L: Is Michael Jackson still dead? Does he know Batman?

With that we pull into our destination. The inner workings of L’s mind are a strange place indeed.

 

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L has taken to wearing his Batman or Superman pajamas underneath his clothes every day. Thankfully, it’s pretty cold out so the extra layers aren’t really a problem. But you may wonder why he’s wearing them. Well, so was I. Turns out, he has a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Depending on which pair he’s wearing, he is either Bruce Wayne or “Klent Clark.” [sic] See, no one knows he’s the superhero underneath. He’s dressed in his civilian clothes, but handily has the superhero costume underneath in case of emergency. Well thought out, no?

As we walk into a bookstore or supermarket he whispers to me:

“No one knows I’m Batman. Don’t call me Batman here. Call me Bruce Wayne.”

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L got this mask today and has been wearing it nonstop. He is Batman. A couple of times I accidentally called him Honey and he promptly corrected me. “I’m not Honey, I’m Batman!”

When he heard me exclaim “No, Baby!” as S was reaching into the toilet, he called out from the other room, “What’s the problem? Maybe Batman can help!” as he came running. He was disappointed that I had already pulled S out of the toilet. “Next time let Batman save the day please.”

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