In Defense of Curious Magoo

Well, little baby heil-y-Magoolinstein has started doing an actual wave when he greets or says goodbye to people. It is quite adorable really, with the cuteness aggravated by the fact that he gets so excited at his own hand waving that he often laughs until he tips over backwards.

But this does not get him down. Very little seems to get him down. By now he’s used to the constant mouth sweeping I do, whenever he makes that “I’ve got something very dangerous concealed behind these puckered lips and I dare you to get it out” face. He’s used to blamming into walls, furniture and doll equipment. (Yes, they have “equipment.” Welcome to MY world.) He just happily bounces along to his next endeavor.

I fear that after my mars rover post, I left people with the idea that boys are very scary beings, who should be avoided at all costs. This is not the case. In my limited experience, they’re just more curious than girls.



We finally went to see Curious George and I really loved it. It was the first animated feature I’ve seen in so long that was truly aimed at little children and full of color and fun, innocence, mishap and friendship. Laylee loved the part where George played peek-a-boo with the audience from under the man’s yellow hat. Even Magoo remained transfixed for most of the film.

I think he really identified with the main character. They are similar in that neither of them tries to wipe out entire city blocks. It just happens. They want to take things apart, touch everything, taste everything, see how it works. Often disaster ensues but they both have good hearts, sweet personalities, smiles to melt even the coldest person (like me – seriously. I’m freezing right now), and neither of them has a neck that I can discover.

Little girls are not the only people made of sugar, spice and everything nice. Just as boys are not the only people fascinated with their bodily functions.

Recently my high school friend “Jo” came to visit and brought a huge box of delicious bakery treats. Laylee chose a rather large chocolate covered coconut cluster. Worried about how she would like the coconut, I asked her if it tasted okay.

She gave me that eye-rolling look and said, “It’s COVERED in chocolate and so I like it. I like it because…..it’s COVERED in chocolate.” Okay. Chocolate=you like it. Got it.

In no time at all, SHE was covered in chocolate from fingertip to forearm, with some on the chest, just for show. I decided I liked her too, but not for eating. At the height of her chocolatude, she yelled out, “OOOHH! I have to go potty,” and started dancing around the kitchen.

Me: Okay, go then.
Laylee: OOO KAAAAY! (running down the hall)
a second later
Laylee: OOOHH! Mommy! HEEELLLP!
Me: What?
Laylee: I can’t go potty because of the CHOCOLATE.
I run down the hall and lift her to liquid safety. While she’s “pottying” (Isn’t that such a nice, feminine, motherly way of saying it? I stole it from my friend Sandra.) she gets this squinty-eyed, impish grin on her face.
Me: What?
Laylee: I just did a brown poop.
Me: Hmm.
Laylee: And brown poop……is like chocolate.

I vividly remember her telling me emphatically 6 months ago, NOT TO TASTE IT when I found her playing with the contents of her diaper. Both of these statements concern me to a degree that leaves me unable to respond.

Today, I concluded a short telephone conversation with Dan. I say it was 30 seconds. He says it was 4 minutes, according to the timer on the microwave he was using to bring his lunch to the optimum “no stirring needed” temperature. Let’s call it 2 and a half minutes, just to be fair.

I can hear flushing and squealing coming from the bathroom. I run down the hall to see Laylee trying to flush Magoo. He has his hands as far down as he can get them into the bowl of the toilet and she is flushing again. He screams out with delight, giggling hysterically and shoving them down further.

We have a moment of silence in remembrance of the carefully planned preschool lesson I gave last week on germs and hand washing. Everyone is scrubbed and bathed, not much of a punishment for people who think it’s fun to play in the toilet. The tub is just like a bigger one with more toys in it.

Now a small teaser for those of you who were part of the big order: Keep an eye on your mailboxes. If you’ve paid me, they’re co-ming…