A Table Fable!

We bought Andy a little plastic table and chairs set. The poor kid has nowhere comfortable or ergonomically satisfying to sit when he colors or types up his monthly newsletter "Keeping It Dandy With Andy," and my efforts in setting him up with a breakfast tray as a makeshift desk have gone mostly unappreciated. "You expect me to sit on the carpet and bend over this tray while I crank out my manifestos?" Andy has spat in my face. "I may eagerly eat dirt and sand when we go to the park- but, please, I do have SOME dignity."

I ordered him his table and chairs as a way to make things right between us, and they arrived yesterday. When Andy saw the giant box, he just about wet his pants. In fact, he did wet his pants, but that's unrelated to his level of excitement- it's just a thing he does. I got the box open and, slowly- with much fanfare- pulled out the table and two chairs- and watched as Andy shoved them aside and crawled into the box, squealing with delight like a homeless child who had just hit the jackpot.

Why didn't I see that coming?

With his attention span being what it is, it wasn't long before he lost interest in his new box house and decided to check out what I was doing, which was arranging his new table and chairs in the center of our living room. I'm trying to eventually make the front living room of our home into a play room, since all we use the room for now is changing diapers and spying on the neighbors through the front window. I thought the table and chairs would fit perfectly in the center of the room, and of course they did because I'm often right about these things. Andy came over to the new set up and began to investigate his table. I took this opportunity of Andy being distracted to sneak away for a minute to the back of the house, where the family room and kitchen are, so that I could get a start on dinner. It was just me and Andy for the evening, which means- scrambled egg night! Chris despises eggs because there's something broken in his head, which means that Andy and I indulge in eggs and hashbrowns whenever Chris is out for the evening. And sometimes cake, but don't tell that to Chris, he'd be so upset with me.

Not even ninety seconds had passed, however, when I heard a ruckus- the sound of a plastic table being dragged from the living room, down the little hallway, and into the family room. I watched from where I stood in the kitchen as Andy shoved the table into the family room right up against the couch. Having accomplished this task, he turned on his heels and ran off. I heard some more grunting and groaning and then the scrape of a plastic chair against the lineoleum. He put the one chair in place by the table, then ran off again and came back in a minute with the second one. Having set up the table and chairs perfectly in the house's center of attention, Andy admired his handiwork for all of two minutes.

Then he grabbed one of the chairs, knocked it down, rolled it to the front door, and left it there. He came back, grabbed another chair and basically threw it down the hallway. He came back once more, tilted the table, and completely overturned it. Having then run out of ways to use his new table, he walked up to me, lifted his arms up, and sweetly demanded, "Uppies."

"God dammit, Andy," I thought to myself as I picked him up. So much for him enjoying his new gift, which I had been so excited to present to him. Aloud, I said, "Soooo... want to watch 'Caillou' for few minutes while I scramble nature's most perfect food, the egg?"

Andy nodded, and I set him down on the couch and put on an episode of "Caillou." Andy loves that show, and it's currently his favorite. This infuriates me, because there's something about that Caillou kid that rubs me the wrong away. That French-Canadian bastard is always whining about one thing or the other. "I wanna be big right now!" he sings in an alarmingly catchy tune, "I wanna be big right now! I wanna do the things that grown-ups do- RIGHT NOW!"

Give it a rest, Caillou. Why don't you go hug your grandma, you big baby?

The rest of the evening rolled by, and before long, Andy was fed, played with, bathed, and pajama-ed. We sat in the chair in his room, and I sang him a few songs while the sun set. I sang two Tori Amos songs, one wildly inappropriate Red Hot Chilli Peppers song, a Tom Petty tune, and a verse or two of "Old McDonald Had A Farm." I was horribly off-tune on every song, but every time I finished singing, Andy looked up at me and said, "More, more." There's another perk of being a mom- having someone who loves your singing voice even when it's as soothing as a scalding hot mug of tea filled with glass shards.

After Andy was in his crib, I headed downstairs and cleaned up the house, collecting the three pieces of his table and chair set and re-arranging them back in the living room. I followed this up with eating two buttered English muffins and contemplating having a third but instead settling for just licking the butter off the knife since I don't want to gain TOO much weight in this final trimester.

Off to bed, and in the morning, I brought Andy downstairs and into the living room. "Why don't you sit at your new table set while I make breakfast?" I suggested in an upbeat voice. I had even put a puzzle in the center of the table to tempt him, although Andy's never once been "tempted" by a puzzle since puzzles fall in that boring gray area between edible and poisonous-slash-choking hazard.

I left him at the plastic table and walked into the kitchen. Five seconds later: Scrape, scrape, scrape. Andy appeared around the corner pushing the table back into position by the couch in the living room. He wandered off, returned with one chair. Walked off again and returned with the other. Then he sat down in one of the chairs and waited patiently for his bowl of Cheerios. Just for fun, I tried to bring the Cheerio bowl to his normal place at the normal table- but was stopped by the sound of Andy whining and pointing down at his new plastic table. "I'm eating here now, lady," I could almost hear him say. And, despite my obvious losing battle at keeping the table in the front room, I was happy enough in his interest in the table- and in the fact that he didn't throw the chairs- to let him have breakfast at his own new spot, on his own new table, at its super inconvenient and unattractive place by the couch.

But, Andy wants what he wants, and I guess that's where we're keeping the table. Although I'm pretty sure I'll be moving it back to the living room tonight if just for the joy of watching Andy move it back again tomorrow. Either that, or keeping the table where it is and then moving myself and all the food and the TV into the front room. I would do that just to mess with his head, and it would be hilarious and awesome and just the right amount of jerky.