Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Army Men

I grew up with two sisters. Barbies ruled the day. I wasn't a tomboy. I imagined Barbie lives of nearly unimaginable wealth and success and marriage to Ken, who always had a vague "job" where he made millions without having to do much but go off to work and then come home and have make-out sessions with Barbie.

I had a daughter first. By then I had become a staunch feminist and was against Barbie on principle. But Oldest Daughter liked Barbie, and so she got the Barbie yacht and pool and mansion. And tons of clothes. Considering Oldest Daughter is a major clothes horse . . . perhaps it was a mistake.

Along came Son #1. He wasn't that into cars. He liked puzzles and math things. Quieter toys. And Buzz Lightyear.

Baby #3 was a girl. She wasn't all that into Barbie. She liked watching old movies with me. She kind of emerged sophisticated, choosing watching GYPSY with Natalie Wood over cartoons--even as young as three.

And now . . . Demon Baby.

He got a gift of green plastic Army men. And he asked me to play "soldiers" with him. So I got down on my belly on the floor, and we set up 200 men. Then Demon Baby knocks them down. I scream out, "MEDIC! I need a MEDIC!!!!" And he laughs. Then stomps on more men.

Then, because this is ME we're talking about, I say, "Time for Peace Talks." We choose a city (Paris, most often). And I stand the Amry men up facing each other, and say, "Why can't we be friends. Let us unite in our loathing of a common enemy, the fascist leader . . . ." (and I fill in a name, most often the leader of the United States). We agree to shake on things and be friends. Demon Baby gives me a thumbs up on peace. I give him one. We high-five each other that the Peace Talks of Paris 2008 have been so successful. I suggest we toast each other with champagne and escargot.

Then Demon Baby stomps on the Peace Talks.

And I realize . . . well, he is just my special little Demon. And I adore him. And his little green Army Men.


The Anti-Wife said...

What a wonderful image. Are there plenty of giggles while the stomping is in process or is he fierce in his intentions? Lovely story.

Erica Orloff said...

Hi anti-wife:
He is fiercely determined in his stomping, and then when he is all done, he doubles over with laughter at the destruction and begs me to set the men all up again.

Wendy Roberts said...

We love to bring army men to the beach where they can guard castles, drown in flash floods and then be buried forever. I have 3 demon boys and one clothes horse girl.

Erica Orloff said...

Hi Wendy:
I have four kids, too. But this last one???? He's gonna kill me. Truly.

LOVE him. But he's gonna kill me.

Demon Hunter said...

Your son sounds hilarious. He won't be a pushover, I can tell you that much! LOL. :*)

Erica Orloff said...

Hi Demon Hunter:
Well . . . if anyone would know a Demon Baby, it's a Demon Hunter.


And no, he won't be a pushover. That I know for certain.


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