The trying times of toddlerhood

My toddler is terrified of flies.

Houseflies.

So this evening, when I heard the Scream of Terror, I knew -- a fly must have gotten in.

The only other thing that elicits that kind of scream is a cat. The E-man had a few bad experiences with kitties in earlier years and hasn't ever recovered. I'm not really a cat person, either, however, so I totally get this particular fear. I compare cats to premenstrual women -- one minute they're adoring and slathering in their affection and the next minute they're swiping you with newly unsheathed claws. I have no patience for that. Only one PMSing creature per household, and that is ME, thankyouverymuch.

So -- back to the flies.

The scream traveled from the living room to the kitchen, where I was cooking dinner. And then the E-man hurtled toward me. "Mommmmmmeeeeeee! A flyyyyyyyyy!"

Thus followed 30 minutes of sobbing. Each time he subsided, the fly would buzz by and the screaming started all over again. Finally, out of desperation -- the kid wouldn't touch his dinner -- I pretended to kill the fly and dispose of its freaking carcass.

I am so diabolically clever.

Five minutes later, as a forkful of noodles was headed toward the E-man's mouth, the fly rose from behind the couch with a loud buzz.

"WAAAAHHHHHHH!! MOMMEEEEEEE! THE FLY!!!!!"

Again, I chased it around the living room, thwacking my library book against walls and windows. I smashed the damn thing umpteen times. But. It. Would. Not. Die. At last, after much cussing and flailing, I killed it.

"Look, E.," I said, holding out the paper towel. "It's dead. No more fly."

"Let me see," his sister said, pushing forward.

After she peered into the folded paper towel, I headed toward the trash. Just as I approached -- I kid you not -- that freaking fly miraculously came back to life and buzzed upward.

I flew at it again, book still in hand, and this time, I flattened the little f*cker into nothingness.

By this point, however, the E-man was so distraught, he wouldn't eat his dinner. So my efforts were in vain.

.......................................

OK, psst...

Since I know how this works -- brag about your kid and the vengeful gods fling karma bolts at your house -- I'm just saying...

My son is NOT peeing or pooping in the potty after we sent him to daycare without pullups, hoping the sensation of cold, wet pee would convince him to head for the potty.

He is NOT telling us when he has to go. He is NOT running into the living room to proudly declare, "I POOPED in the potty!"

And I am not cartwheeling through my house, shrieking "YIPPEEEEE!!!" or toasting Hubs with an overly full glass of wine or calculating how much we're going to save by not buying those useless pullups.

No, indeed. None of that is going on here. I always wear a party hat and perform cheerleading jumps in the bathroom.

Really.

*wink*