Friend Request

The Munch and I (well, okay, just "I") are exploring the idea of finally joining a play group. I have been reticent to find one because we are "actively trying to move" (a phrase that exhausts and depresses me), but since it appears that we'll be in this house until 2084, I guess I should find the poor kid some friends.

So, to all the Potential Play Group Friends out there, here are some things you should know about my child--in the interest of full disclosure:


He has PLANS. And woe to you if you try to screw them up. He has doors to CLOSE, drawers to OPEN, dog crates to MOVE, stools to PUSH (um, STEPstools, that is), things to take OUT of the box, things to put IN the box. And please don't help me, mommy!

Like his dad, he jumps up from a dead sleep. Not like his mom, who rolls around in a fog and tries to ignore consciousness for as long as possible.

He doesn't like food goop on his hands. He would much rather spread it in his hair. We frequently refer to this as "banana gel," for reasons I'm sure you can infer.

I'm certain he will be a linguist of some kind, and his primary language will include words containing many "L" and "K" sounds.

HE CAN DO IT HIS OWN SELF. (Did I mention that already?)

Anytime anyone anywhere is clapping, he must also clap. If he cannot clap (because he's laying butt-up on the floor and clapping would cause him to face-plant), he must pound the nearest surface. This may prove problematic in public places such as sporting events when the one person in the entire stadium who is rooting for the other team happens to be sitting in front of him. ("Yay! The White Sox scored!" [insert: clap clap clap] [insert: echo clap clap clap from The Munch] [insert: a panic induced, "STOP THAT," from any of the Munch's living relatives on his dad's side.] )

He is the ultimate multitasker. He can play with toys that mechanically roll, make sound, spew ribbons, clean the floors, and rock--ALL AT THE SAME TIME. He refuses to sit anywhere (car seat, high chair, crib, countertop (just kidding) ) without something occupying his little multitasking hands. Again, like his dad. Hey! I should get him a Crackberry!

He takes no issue with snot running down his face. He prefers it to Kleenex and CERTAINLY to the dreaded Booger Sucker. (Speaking of which, when/how do I teach him how to "blow?" What a totally odd concept for a human to learn.)

He best expresses his love and affection by ducking his head and playing a coy game of peek-a-boo...either that, or he swats you on the face. Depends on the day.


Who wants to play?!