Toodle toddler

Every journey is an adventure these days. Even a trip to the mailbox — a solid 50-yard stroll from our front door — is filled with all manner of enchantment.

Of course with a toddler in tow, every step is also a stop. Every rock must be handled and inspected; each cat that saunters out from the neighbors’ yards is greeted and hugged, and all variety of things, from bits of grass to specs of dust, are scrutinized with a scientists’ attention to detail.

As ittybit squirms to get down, a somewhat welcome event now that she weighs more than two sacks of groceries, I can pretty much guess the task at hand will take three times as long and will likely include my needing to rearrange shelves and other assemblages to their condition prior to our arrival.

I suppose I was prepared for this day and all the days to come when she will push my hand away in a loud protest of pint-sized independence.

From grocery shopping to gardening, with a toddler tagging along it has become painfully obvious that my little peapod is becoming a do-it-herself-er.

Well almost. It’s actually more similar to the Bob Villa-style of DIY … I often refer to it as a “Do-It-YOURself-er.” Behind the scenes you know this guy’s got carpenters, set dressers and other folks who do the real work while he makes the final cuts for the camera. Similarly, our toddler has a whole cast and crew at the ready to do her bidding: from Mama and Daddy to Ama and Papa, and even ‘Yaya’ her babysitter — she’s got a plan and we’re holding it up.

Our little kumquat approaches playtime pretty much the same way a contractor approaches a job site filled with subcontractors.

I picture my little squash blossom donning a yellow hardhat and a clipboard in hand as she points to the crayons before exclaiming, “HELP ME!”

We are patient as we try to get her to finish the task she started. Reassuring ourselves at the same time that, ‘Yes, she can roll clumps of play dough into balls, fit that puzzle piece into the slot and take the lid off the teapot.’

Most people would probably be elated if their children shunned finger paint, not wanting to get their hands messy. But then, how many toddler artists have assistants willing to paint by proxy?

But there we are, coaxing what would otherwise seem counter intuitive — messiness in an effort to make the bath more than just a bedtime ritual.

‘No, No! Mama.” … she directed from my lap as I dip my finger in the tub of green goo at a recent birthday party for her newly two-year-old friend. “Blue!”

I wipe off the green from my fingers and reach for the blue, while her hands stay neat and clean.

It would seem we’ve got a long way to go.