By Seamus Muldoon, Himself
 Copyright © 1997-2010
All Rights Reserved

          I am now two years old. My focus is changing, because I am now aware of my extraneous assets lying around in no particular organized format, also sometimes known as “My toys!” Yes, these are “My toys” and don’t you ever forget it – Mine, do you hear? Not yours! Touch one and you’re dead! Go ahead if you don’t believe me – just you try it! I double dog dare you.

          With my new brother, Alex being born just a few days before my second birthday, they almost had to have a fork lift to get the presents into the house. Since Alex is a new born, it is easy to distinguish between his toys and mine, so there are no problems of encroachment, and I love him. He has his toys and I have my toys – as it should be. They are not comingled and we do not have to fight over them. He was about one week old on my birthday, and he seems to know his place. All things considered, for now, I love him.

           As is always the case whenever there is some “event” in the family, Grandpa Seamus flew up from Texas and cooked for everyone who showed up – huge pots of steaming, delicious this, that and the other thing. His sauces are to die for!

           Grandpa Seamus taught me to say “He’s a geezer”, referring to Himself, so whenever I feel like it I can just point to him and yell “He’s a geezer!” I love it. If anyone else did that they might get punched. He and I have a special relationship that is exempt from the rules of grandparents and grandchildren. Some in the family think that is disrespectful, and I am not allowed to repeat what he told that person in response to that suggestion. Suffice it to say that Grandpa Seamus and I make our own rules.

          He came up here thinking he was going to potty train me, but it is still a few months too early for that. He tried to embarrass me into going potty in the potty by saying that babies poo in their diapers and big boys poo in the potty, like he does. He says that when I poo in my diapers I smell really ripe and that if I just walked across the lawn the whole yard would turn green just from the odor. But I walked past the door of his bathroom one day when he was going potty, and I can tell you that if he walked across the yard everything would just up and die. Old people’s poo really is a nightmare. What on earth do they eat that makes it smell like that? Geez!!

          Grandpa Seamus has a short attention span for the repeated child fixations that occur here every evening. To relieve the boredom, after dinner he toddles on over to his favorite watering hole, the bar at the Townsend Hotel, where there are others who are more age appropriate, including, so he says, some lounge lizards with predacious tendencies that can only be witnessed in Detroit. Since he is from out of town, and represents fresh meat over there, the lounge lizards give him more attention until they find out he simply isn’t interested in them. They stick their home phone numbers into his pockets with endearing messages that are really hilarious when considered in context. His favorite is the woman who, in the first five minutes of their introductory conversation, decided it would be a good sales pitch to inform Grandpa Seamus that she no longer had a uterus. He told her that was really useful information and thanked her for sharing it with him. We all got a great laugh when he repeated that conversation.

          For the first time, I got into some difficulty at nursery school for thumping some punk who tried to take away a toy I was playing with. He ratted me out to the authorities over there, and they told Mommy that I pushed another child. What crap! He should never have reached for that toy anyway. Serves him right. I bet he won’t try that again. Mom and Dad are all worried that I might turn out to be a recidivist punk thumper. Grandpa Seamus told them not to worry about it.

          Grandpa Seamus is ruining one of my most effective ways of getting whatever it is that I want. Up to now, when I don’t get my own way I have a crying tantrum. Mommy and Daddy, having read all the psychological stuff about parenting toddlers, give the tantrum a few moments, and if it doesn’t wind down, will either try to divert my attention to something else or, ultimately, give in. When Grandpa Seamus witnessed this ploy, he immediately staged his own mock tantrum, thrashing around and pretending to cry and wail. He did it in such a way that it was simply too humiliating for me to continue, so I quit. He made me very angry doing that, so I walked over and gave him a whack. Mom and Dad got upset that I did that, but Grandpa Seamus just turned it into a game, pretending to be injured and crying louder. It was so funny that I am now embarrassed to pull off a tantrum when he is around. I know what he is going to do in response and I don’t need that humiliation.

          I think I am getting tired of hearing discussions of how difficult I am expected to be. Antitoddlerism hangs in the air around here about two or three times a week. If the grownups had any sense, they would have that discussion once; understand what it is and how to manage it; and have it out of my hearing. How would they react if they had to be present while people discussed how difficult they are and how they should be managed? When the time comes to put them into a home I hope I have the grace not to discuss how awful it is to have to deal with their “issues” while they are sitting in the same room.

          At least at nursery school my popularity continues to expand. Now, in addition to Claire, I have Caitlin showing me great affection. Just the other day, when Dad was dropping me off on the way to his office, we ran smack dab into Caitlin who was at just that moment being dropped off by here Dad on his way to his office. Caitlin started calling out my name and her Dad remarked to my Dad that he had wondered who it was that Caitlin had become so excited about, always talking about Gunnar, and that at last now he knows who Gunnar is. So they had a salutary mutual introductory experience as Caitlin and I wandered happily into nursery school together.

          What is it about me that girls find me so bloody attractive? Aunt Belinda says that I am just like Grandpa Seamus when it comes to women being attracted to me. She said that as soon as I learn to be a really serious good cook, the women will be lined up outside my door. When that message reached Mom’s ears, she immediately began including me in her kitchen projects, and I think I will probably be enjoying that bond forever, especially if Grandpa Seamus’ opinions regarding the romantic opportunities for men who are good cooks are correct.

          I think it is high time that Mom read to me the story of Aunt Belinda’s cat named Cowboy who hangs out with Grandpa Seamus in the kitchen because he loves cooking and everything else about really good food. It even has great pictures, or at lease that’s what Grandpa Seamus says. How about it, Mom? It’s easy to find. Just click on the link that you see right here

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