Sharing is Caring. Really? (Picture this with as much sarcasm as a 2 year old can muster.) It is? There are big people in my life like to say this. Actually, big people who don’t even know me, like at the playground or market, like to say it too. Have you ever heard something so ridiculous?! I heard it again the other day when Lyla tried to play with my Legos. My Legos.
Uncle Tim Legos
Baby Legos – Pfff
Here’s the thing about Legos. They. Are. AWESOME!!! You can build something different every day with Legos. They have great colors. There are big ones, mostly for babies, and smaller, “regular” ones. Actually these smaller ones we call “Uncle Tim Legos”. My Uncle Tim and Legos go way back. He is kind of a super hero with them.
Anyway, Lyla always tries to play with my toys. Please tell me why the pronoun “my” exists because I NEVER get to use it. When I say “my toys”, or “that’s mine”…I get angry eyes, a couple sets, and a story about sharing. Really? Does the whole world share? Will life always be full of sharing, nice people? I don’t THINK so! I am probably doing Lyla a favor by teaching her this. The sooner she realizes it, the better. Moments like this make me wonder why THEY get to be in charge.
Speaking of THEM, if sharing is caring, then why don’t they share their stuff with me? No good answer? Hmmm? Yea, that’s what I thought. If sharing is caring, then Momma could show me how much she cares by sharing her camera, her computer, or her popcorn! If sharing is caring, then Daddy could show me how much he cares by sharing his tools, his beef jerky, or his cell phone!
So, about those Legos…
It’s no secret I love my toys. What warm-blooded kid wouldn’t? I can share them when I need to…but mostly I feel like I don’t need to share them. Doesn’t everyone have their own toys? Someone should tell Momma this, because she keeps taking mine. It wouldn’t be so bad if she was playing with them…with me. You think she is playing with them though? No. I’ll give you one guess as to what she is doing with MY toys. Yep…taking pictures. PICTURES!! Please. Spare me.
When does it end? She tells me to not worry, and to focus on the bigger picture. Like I know what that is. Please, I’m 1 ½. My bigger picture entails baths, warm nighttime bottles, timely diaper changes, snacks and … oh yea, TOYS!! I just stare at her, blinking away the horror. I cross my arms, puff out my chest, stare some more, trying to communicate my message: Put. The. Toys. Down. Step. Away. Clearly, she can’t read my body language. And she calls herself an anthropologist. Pfff. She then tells me I’m helping “them” with photos for the new Imagery website. Like I care.
My toys…not hers.
Just walk away.
When will it end!!!????
I don’t care. But, I notice she missed all my blocks and trains, so I carry them over to her. “Bocks, bocks…twain”, I suggest in the most uninterested tone I can muster, followed by a yawn. Hey, if you can’t beat “them”, might as well join “them”…or pretend to. If I could only get my hands on that camera, or at least beat it with my blocks. Hmmmm….And what is this Imagery website anyway? Wait…does this mean even more pictures!!!???!!! Oh, poop. No…I really just did.