Svengali

Sometimes we think we know what we want. Especially as parents.

First you want your munchkin to start walking... then they do and you wish you'd invested in roller-skates. And all you want is to recapture the beautiful bygone days of laying them on a blanket and being secure in the knowledge that they couldn't go very far.

Then you want them to start talking... then they do and they talk you deaf. And you long for the days when they'd smile at you quietly and point to what they wanted. Baby, those days are long gone.

The kid has found his (or her) voice and WOW! The world as we knew it is over.

My son is a jabber-jaws like I've never seen before in my life. And, he's an egomaniac.

If he talks and no one seems to be paying attention, he gets louder, and Louder, and LOUDER until he is heard, damnit! What he has to say is IMPORTANT and how dare we not stop dead in our tracks and listen to the little king as he two-year-old-speaks his super-important monologue into our joyously-waiting ears! I know it's important not only from the increasing noise level, but because he keeps repeating the same unintelligible phrase over and over until our ears bleed.

We are the Rupert to his Stewie (that's a Family Guy reference for those of you that don't watch it). He undoubtedly loves us, but we are totally his servants, and we better tow the line.

And he gets away with it, not only because he's cute and smarter than the average munchkin (my biased mama opinion!) but because at two years old, this boy has mac. You heard me, I meant what I said... the kid's got mac... a gift for the persuasive... he could get a date with Angelina and or Julia any day of the week... skillz.

When he starts to get scolded for something, he turns his 1000 watt smile upon the scolder and his eyes light up with intelligent intensity and he stops what he's doing and comes over to you and pats you on the leg or the head as if to say, "Oh, silly grown-up, it will be alright. Don't worry so much. Now let me get back to what I was doing." He does this while maintaining full eye contact the entire time. And you can hear him saying these things to you in your head.

And when he's really messing up, he replaces the pat on the head with a drooley-two-year-old kiss and looks at you while mind speaking, "You aren't really upset by that, are you? I mean, c'mon, I am the one and only Boo. I'm adorable, you love me and you need to remember that. Now, I know I'm not in trouble, and by the way, I forgive you for stopping me."

This is when your heart melts and the corners of your mouth turn up into an unplanned smile, you set them down and thank the heavens above that this little person is in your life despite the missing CDs and label-less DVD cases and the cellphones and remotes floating in the toilet and the roll of duct tape that he's just thrown at you, and that he keeps grabbing the screwdrivers and playing with the vacuum cleaner and yelling at you like you were an errant slave back in the 1700's; because in that moment, during his eye-contact-assault, you are parental-lovingly-blind.

Svengali.

Rasputin.

Screwed.