a musing

Sipping an ice coffee, digesting an over-priced cheeseburger, and reading a book that literally made me laugh out loud, made up what was quite possibly, my (shelley's) happiest Nadia-nap-time ever. That's a lot of nap times. She's two years old now, and some quick math tells me that out of 1,095 naps (including the year in which she took two glorious naps per day), this day in the sunshine on the island of Bali was a rare find; a sparkling gem in the veritable coal mine of motherhood. What has made this nap time so exceedingly stand-out-ish? It is not solely the tropical setting, the lack of meaningful tasks awaiting completion, nor the fact that I'm wearing shorts in public (on the equator) for the first time in well over three years. No, it was this morning's events that has set the backdrop for this afternoon of bliss. They say that black velvet is used so often to display diamonds because of it's ability to provide such a stark contrast to the jewel's inate shiny-ness. Thus was this morning, to the inate shiny-ness of this blessed afternoon of peace and quiet.

It all started when we made the mistake of wanting to find a new and tiny pair of Bali silver earrings for our two year old. That sentence in itself should provide sufficient foreshadowing. We embarked on our quest by piling onto our rented scooter, hoping that the freshly quitted rain would not return for the remainder of our outing. This time, we took no wrong turns, hit zero traffic and were met with parking a-plenty at our destination. It was about this time that our aforementioned two year old decided it was about time to stir up some ruckus. We, apparently, had all gone far too long in our day without whining and pleading incoherently for the instant fulfilment of our inattainable desires. It was 9 am.

We parked the scooter and began our walk up the street full of shops. Our two year old's voice could be heard over the din of half a world on vacation. The shrieking tenor of her tone told us that whatever it was that she wanted was of an urgent nature.

Here, we made our second mistake of the day. We attempted to inquire after her discomfort. She is two years old. Not surprisingly our inquiries came up fruitless. As parents, many of you know the following complication: "Just how bad is it? How long (exactly… in seconds) we can still drag her through a few more minutes of ________ and possiby find at least a very crappy, very over-priced version of what it is we came to find?" We weighed this complication quicky and silently. It has only been two years, but both of us have mastered the silent weighing of the complication. There is usually no need for verbal conversation. A simple nod of the head or roll of the eyes is all we need. A nod signifies that we will muscle through and count our losses. A roll of the eyes signifies that only daddy should be allowed within a 3 foot radius of the two year old because mommy may eat her for lunch. Having exactly 1 and a half days left on one of the world's most beautiful islands, we decided, silently, to muscle through and try to find a pair of those stupid, tiny silver earrings. 12 shops and over an hour later, we found them. By this time, the two year old was being carried by her father like a 30 pound sack of potatoes; over his shoulder. She was actually kicking and screaming.

This was not to be the end.

By some stroke of sheer stupidity, we decided to, at this point, take the two year old out for lunch. Let me say in our defense that we thought perhaps the root of her problems were hunger based – granted, a very improbable notion considering the fit-for-a-viking-breakfast she had recently ingested.

We set off once again on our rented scooter, in search of a restaurant worthy of our humble vacation. Again, we were met with smooth sailing on our journey, the two year old now only whimpering in her general distaste. Once seated at our restaurant of choice, we ordered a cheesburger each. (Have I yet mentioned how long it has been since we have eaten good quality beef? It had been a very long time). While waiting for our food, the two year old passed the time by trying to wrangle free from the "death hold" that the highchair had on her, all the while whining in alarmingly increasing intensity. This may be due in part to the fact that she is now accustomed to eating at the table while trying to balance on a teetering upside-down bucket atop her chair. Her parents' lack of desire to purchase yet another piece of child-specific furnitre strikes again.

The food arrived. Steaming, grilled deliciousness delivered right to our table. The two year old is not impressed. If anyone in the universe could have possibly understood her garbled, whining requests, which were often self-conflicting, we would not have cared, at that time, to hear it. We, once more, weighed the complication, and much to our individual surprise, decided to sit and attempt to enjoy our long-awaited beef. We quickly became that obnoxious spectacle at an almost-family restaurant. Mommy stuffs her face while daddy waves a balloon and a bite of cheeseburger in the screaming two year old's red, tear-stained face. Then they trade places. Daddy takes 5 bites of his delicious beef burger while mommy, nose to nose with the two year old, threatens through gritted teeth to rip her out of her seat and give her something to cry about, so-help-me. This, shockingly, only makes the child scream louder. In a moment of desperation, mommy offers a bite of melted cheese on the end of her finger to the screaming one. The child sneers at the offering and bats mommy's hand away. Now mommy is mad. Now the child will take a bite. The two year old, shaking her head vigorously, adamantly refuses by screeching out, "Noooooooooo!!!!", as if some bum off the street had just rammed a shiv under one of her floating ribs after forcing her to lick a LSD-laced lollipop.

Eventually, after a full three minutes of cajoling, the child conceded. I will mention here that she loves cheese. Especially melted cheese. She opened her mouth, I foolishly placed my cheesy finger onto her tongue. In a moment, my poor decision and all its ramifications flashed before my eyes. A look of sheer satisfaction passed fleetingly over her face. Before I had the chance to rip my finger away into safety, the angry and mystifyingly frustrated two year old bit down on the cheesy end of my finger that I had rammed into her mouth. I deserved it. Sort of. I won't mention here what she deserved. In short, we cut our losses, finished our burgers, and got the heck out of there. At some point between biting my finger and the end of our meal, the two year old apparently repented. She appeared nearly darling by the time we strapped her to the scooter. Somehow, biting my finger was the catharsis she had been craving that whole time. I cannot express how angry this made me.

We made it back to the hotel, tossed her in bed, closed the door and tried to forget our morning. It was at this point that I decided I needed to lock myself out on the mini patio with a book. In the blazing rays of blinding Bali sunlight, I made silent peace with my toddler, laughed out loud at a book (written in English!) and sipped my iced coffee until my skin was a satisfying shade of boiled lobster red.