Through the Mud

Meet Eeyore.
He is Theron's favorite stuffed animal.
He gets carried/drug everywhere.

He gets sat on
hugged
snuggled with
chewed on
laid on.

He has water poured on him
mud smeared on him
rocks thrown at him
things piled on him.

He gets carried to the stroller to join in on the walk,
then dropped in the dirt
and rolled over
and picked back up
and handed back to outstretched toddler arms
to repeat the process again.

Because the love of a toddler is a little traumatic for the object of love.

Eeyore gets washed much less frequently than he should,
because there is no time to wash and dry him between naps
and heaven forbid a nap happen without Eeyore.

Eeyore gets thrown out of the crib in a fit of anti-nap fervor
and then post-Eeyore-throwing remorse immediately sets in
and we hear a mournful wail from the nursery
EEEEYYYYOOOOOORRRREEEEE!!!!
and we have to go and hand Eeyore back, if the nap is going to proceed.

Eeyore gets drug through the mud
and his bedraggled, muddy state,
like that of the Velveteen Rabbit,
bears witness to how much he is loved by a little boy.

The other day, I noted this to my husband, as Eeyore underwent yet another traumatic event in his stuffed life.
"I don't know whether to feel sorry for Eeyore that he is so mistreated, or be happy for him because he is so loved!"
And my wise husband responded,
"Just remember that thought when you feel like you have been drug through the mud -- it is because you are so loved!"

Because the love of a toddler is a little traumatic for the object of love.
But us who are loved by the toddler
wouldn't change it for the world.

Because Eeyores and Mommies are just a little different from regular humans.
Eeyores and Mommies try to see you,
not what you say when you are mad. 

Eeyores and Mommies will snuggle you
when you are covered with snot
and dirt
and who knows what other Toddler Cooties.

Eeyores and Mommies will love you
at your worst.

Even when you drag them through the mud.

I'm so glad that God
is a little bit like Eeyores and Mommies
when I act like a toddler
and my love is a little traumatic.

Life at Kudjip: Rhino the Toe Beetle

There are a lot of bugs here. I suppose there are probably a lot of bugs everywhere, bugs seeming to be a nearly universal phenomenon. Perhaps there are fewer bugs in, say, Siberia, but I think most places actually occupied by sane people have bugs. (No offense, Siberians)

However, here in the tropics, I feel that we have more than our fair share of bugs. And our bugs seem to have more than their fare share of… size. Sometimes I feel like I'm living in Jurassic Park with the size of our bugs, ferns, etc. Rather than cute little fireflies buzzing around our house, we have GARGANTUAN CICADAS OF DOOM. They are seriously the size of medium-range bats. Also, they buzz loudly enough to drown out most of my less important thought processes. And they have a particular fondness for banging repeatedly into the metal siding of our house while I'm trying to go to sleep.

Forget the geckos keeping our bug population under control -- our bugs seem to be doing a pretty good job of keeping the gecko population in check. Which is sad, because while not being a sissy girl who screams at bugs, I still vastly prefer geckos to cicadas. I really don't like cicadas. Or cockroaches. Or the much smaller, but infinitely more annoying mosquito. Praying mantises are pretty cool though. They always make me think of Kung Fu Panda. I now always imagine that they are preparing for some cool kung fu move, with their crafty little bug-eyes and folded kung-fu-ready legs.

Morgan walked in the door this morning and informed me that there was a bug on his toe. Given the average size of our Average Joe Bug here in Giant Bug Land, I don't know why I expected a petite little buglet to be perching on my husband's toe, but I was. I was wrong. Instead, meet Rhino Beetle the Toe Bug:

Not as large as some rhino bugs I have seen, true, but still not really the cuddly friend that I, personally, would want wrapped around my toe. My husband seemed quite content with his new pet, however, and since rhino beetles do not stink, sting, bite, or fly (my main quarrels with other bugs), I did not protest.

Come to find out, rhino beetles do have one neat trick that can be a little surprising if you aren't expecting it: they hiss. Like, scary, loud, angry-cat hissing. Interesting.

Theron, being a normal 1-year-old boy, has quite the fascination with all forms of creeping, crawling critters. Also, anything that can break or that Mommy doesn't want him to play with, but that's beside the point right now. More to the point, he LOVED Rhino the Toe Bug with his creepy hissing trick.

Theron wanted one of his very own, but I, sadly, had to decline on the grounds of not being particularly keen on the idea of my toddler eating large crunchy hissing spiny bugs. And, as we all know, anything that Theron has, Theron eventually eats. Dirt, rocks, toys, dust bunnies, Mommy's chocolate that he stole off the desk while she was occupied with the baby. All that to say, Theron had to content himself with playing with Daddy's Toe Bug.

Fortunately, the hissing toe bug eventually was deposited outside, a sadder, wiser bug for it's brush with Toddlerdom. I don't think it will be latching on to any roaming toes in the near future, I think it has learned its lesson. We can hope.

Theron still wants a toe bug of his own. But we don't always get what we want, do we. For example, I want geckos who can conquer cicadas and rhino bugs and the world to be free of cockroaches and mosquitos forever. Oh well.