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When we were in Kyoto last year, toby was quite taken by a picture of a daruma on map of local sights in the lobby. So taken, in fact, that we attempted to visit the daruma shrine, only to discover that the map was apparently not created by people from earth, so not only was it considerably farther than anticipated, but even though the picture of the daruma had been one of the largest on the map, none of the people we stopped on the street had any idea that it existed. Eventually, we gave up and headed to the golden temple instead. In any case, because toby was so smitten by them, when I returned to Kyoto a month
and a half later, I decided to forgo buying him his perennial favorite, a stuffed owl toy, and instead picked up a little plush daruma. I’m not sure if it’s the beady eyes or thick scowling eyebrows, but from the first moment he saw it, toby has hated that daruma. Recently, he started to play a game with it wherein he insists that it is his “friend” then proceeds to throw it down the stairs. My part in the game, from what I can tell anyway, is to insist that daruma is my friend and try to steal it back before toby hurls it over the banister. The other day, after rescuing the daruma from yet another flight down to our foyer, I hid him under my shirt. In retrospect,
this was not my best idea, but at the time it was pretty amusing since Toby was completely flummoxed by this move. He searched and searched for the daruma, always returning to just stare up at me, his brow furrowed, his eyes blank and confused, while I pointed frantically at my suddenly larger belly. Eventually, I let the daruma peek out from beneath my shirt hem and something clicked in toby’s head. What I mean is that now, whenever toby comes into contact with one of my softer parts, and these days I have lots more softer parts than I used to, he will poke me in said softer part and ask “daruma’s in there?”
then try to peek under my shirt. I have to say that some of these softer parts are parts that you don’t necessarily like to have a two-year old poking you in or digging through in search of his most hated stuffed toy, especially while you are, say, riding a crowded bus. But I guess so long as he doesn’t try it on anyone else (friends, strangers on the bus, first girlfriends) I can probably manage, and at least it means that the daruma, and my various softer parts, have gained a more favorable status. And perhaps best of all it has provided us with a new euphemism so that we can say things like “check out the darumas on her” and, really, who wouldn’t want to work that into their lexicon.
While jon and I were eating dinner the other night, toby wandered in holding what looked like chunks of colored cardboard. “Look, somebody broke this box.” Since it was a box that had been held together by duck tape, we were not particularly fazed by this news. “uh huh”. He struggled to try to fit the extra piece back onto the other two unbroken parts. “But look, this box is broken. Somebody broke it”. I replied, “Yes, I suppose so, but, you know, that’s okay”. We returned to our wine. “Mommy, look, somebody broke it. can you fix it?” I considered this for a second, whether it was even worth hunting down more duck tape to fix that old box. "You know toby, that box sure is broken, I don't think I can fix it. but, again, that's okay, it was an old box." he looked concerned. "somebody sure did break it." I waited for him to accuse someone, Jon or I or maybe the cats, when he chimed in “maybe somebody sat on it.” hmmm, maybe. “Um, Toby, did you sit on the box?” his head was down, he was still fiddling with the pieces, and his voice was distracted, innocent and perhaps even a wee bit patronizing. “yeah”. Well, I guess we solved that mystery. Up next, somebody got paint all over the floor, and it’s not who you think. Or is it?
When we were in Kyoto last year, toby was quite taken by a picture of a daruma on map of local sights in the lobby. So taken, in fact, that we attempted to visit the daruma shrine, only to discover that the map was apparently not created by people from earth, so not only was it considerably farther than anticipated, but even though the picture of the daruma had been one of the largest on the map, none of the people we stopped on the street had any idea that it existed. Eventually, we gave up and headed to the golden temple instead. In any case, because toby was so smitten by them, when I returned to Kyoto a month
and a half later, I decided to forgo buying him his perennial favorite, a stuffed owl toy, and instead picked up a little plush daruma. I’m not sure if it’s the beady eyes or thick scowling eyebrows, but from the first moment he saw it, toby has hated that daruma. Recently, he started to play a game with it wherein he insists that it is his “friend” then proceeds to throw it down the stairs. My part in the game, from what I can tell anyway, is to insist that daruma is my friend and try to steal it back before toby hurls it over the banister. The other day, after rescuing the daruma from yet another flight down to our foyer, I hid him under my shirt. In retrospect,
this was not my best idea, but at the time it was pretty amusing since Toby was completely flummoxed by this move. He searched and searched for the daruma, always returning to just stare up at me, his brow furrowed, his eyes blank and confused, while I pointed frantically at my suddenly larger belly. Eventually, I let the daruma peek out from beneath my shirt hem and something clicked in toby’s head. What I mean is that now, whenever toby comes into contact with one of my softer parts, and these days I have lots more softer parts than I used to, he will poke me in said softer part and ask “daruma’s in there?”
then try to peek under my shirt. I have to say that some of these softer parts are parts that you don’t necessarily like to have a two-year old poking you in or digging through in search of his most hated stuffed toy, especially while you are, say, riding a crowded bus. But I guess so long as he doesn’t try it on anyone else (friends, strangers on the bus, first girlfriends) I can probably manage, and at least it means that the daruma, and my various softer parts, have gained a more favorable status. And perhaps best of all it has provided us with a new euphemism so that we can say things like “check out the darumas on her” and, really, who wouldn’t want to work that into their lexicon.
