This struck us as extremely amusing, so we purchased it and stuck in a photo of Sarah in a duck pose next to a wooden duck. Then we gave it to our dad for Father's Day. It's in his office somewhere, I believe, amongst all the completely random items we've chosen for him over the years (he is incredibly difficult to buy for, even though he won't admit it).
Over the weekend, I thought a lot about that picture frame. You see, Jack, who has recently been an absolute angel (aside from the occasional smack across the face or tantrum), is now getting his two-year-old molars. That's right, just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water, a very plump, very angry duck surfaced, and he is in a pecking mood.
|Black Duck: "What happened to my sweet boy?" "He's gone!"|
And try as I might to be patient, there's only so much pecking a person can take. He wants the frozen yogurt...he doesn't want the frozen yogurt. He wants to watch the sibling episode of Sesame Street...he wants to watch the binky episode of Sesame Street. Indecisiveness is one thing. Fits of uncontrollable rage are another. "It's his teeth," I tell John when Jack upends his high chair tray and the remains of his dinner along with it. John is not convinced. I believe he used the word "malicious." "Two year olds can't be malicious," I insist.
But sometimes, I wonder...