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| Exhibit A: aka "Sack of potatoes" |
I've always been a fan of children, well I'm a fan but I definitely have an insight into the dangers accompanying the production of your own. Sure it's all fine and dandy when you get to look after one or two or however many little monsters you've got for a few hours, this is what I imagine one of the perks of being a grandparent is, but when it's a full time gig dig in because it's gonna be a rough ride. This little aside was inspired by today's events at the shopping mall with the aforementioned sack of potatoes named Joan. Let me backtrack a bit because I'm sure some of you are wondering why I'm even a part of the potato's life.
I'm currently in Spain doing a teaching internship and my set up is with a host family in Malgrat de Mar. The host mom is awesome and she has two boys, Joan y Lluis. Lluis is 10 and Joan is 5. Both are pretty cool kids as far as I'm concerned, plus I'm the little brother so I don't know what it's like to be the eldest. The 10 year old has gotten to the point of semi independence, by which I mean no more fits about not wanting to get dressed or crying because you won't listen to their secret. My friend Louis will elaborate.
I've never had to live with a five year old before and let me tell you it's quite a show. They've reached the point where they're officially cute, not the obligatory ohhh so cute comments while secretly thinking "wow I forgot how similar babies and aliens are." As my new "little bro" has taught me, cute on the outside super condensed ball of terror on the inside.
Back to the trip to the mall. I attribute some of the upcoming nonsense to the fact that we had just finished a four hour lunch/playdate with Marga's family. It was awesome and I really appreciated how tight nit people are on this side of the world. I've seen my host family and their extended family almost every day I've been here. That's a lot of love. Off we went driving to Mataro, where the shopping center is located. Joan had fallen asleep on the way over and I was a little tired myself but being 22 allows me the luxury of not becoming a 230lb tantrum monster. Arrival. We get out of the car and head to the mall but Joan is tired and hungry and bored. The three deadly sins for a parent raising a five year old, because if not handled properly can be the end of your sanity. We get inside the mall and then the wheels begin falling off the wagon. "We thank you for your patience passengers, we'll be waiting in line until we get the go for takeoff." The potatoes hit the deck and didn't want to reanimate any time soon. Now Joan is pretty thick for being five years old. Some of the little people I work with at school I feel as though may be lost on a windy day, but not Joan he must weigh about 50 lbs. So we're standing in the mall and while the potatoes was getting acclimated to the floor Marga went off to get a shopping cart. I know what you're thinking, "Why would there be shopping carts in the mall?" But aha, here in Spain they've wonderfully combined a giant supermarket and shopping center. Talk about the American dream.
After we placed the potatoes in the child transportation area of the shopping cart we were off. Cue the next obstacle directly related to our resident preschooler. At the first store we get to, turns out you can't bring shopping cars inside. So once again we have to abandon ship and Marga says to me "Jemari, can you take the sack of potatoes out of the care please?" He's getting to the point where she risks throwing her back out trying to life this kid, so I oblige and take the mini human out. This was the beginning of rough 24 hours for me. Being the good citizen that I am and wanting to help out since I'm living in her home I decided I would carry Joan on my shoulders for a while since Marga needed to get clothes for Lluis. This was a mistake. It started out well enough but I can safely assume that parents have the best immune systems on the planet because I'm pretty sure that all children below age 7 are 24/7 disease factories waiting to give you a cold. Enter the title of this post. Joan is a fairly chill passenger on the Jemari train but on this occasion he was getting a little handsy. Before I know it my face is being massaged by little hands from whence I don't want to even imagine. We survived the shopping trip and headed home.
Fast forward to the next morning. I felt like Miley Cyrus came in like a wrecking ball straight into my back. My shoulders and neck felt like they were going to fall off. This was strange though because I had carried Joan before to no ill effect but I quickly surmised that my body was fighting off something and it was exacerbating the pain I felt from carrying the little dude. It was crazy for about 12 hours until my immune system said enough is enough. Note to self, shower after all future contact with the mini humans. On a more positive note, I'm learning oodles about the joys of parenthood. The tagline for the parenting handbook should say, "Children, pushing you towards serial killer one day at a time."
Back to the trip to the mall. I attribute some of the upcoming nonsense to the fact that we had just finished a four hour lunch/playdate with Marga's family. It was awesome and I really appreciated how tight nit people are on this side of the world. I've seen my host family and their extended family almost every day I've been here. That's a lot of love. Off we went driving to Mataro, where the shopping center is located. Joan had fallen asleep on the way over and I was a little tired myself but being 22 allows me the luxury of not becoming a 230lb tantrum monster. Arrival. We get out of the car and head to the mall but Joan is tired and hungry and bored. The three deadly sins for a parent raising a five year old, because if not handled properly can be the end of your sanity. We get inside the mall and then the wheels begin falling off the wagon. "We thank you for your patience passengers, we'll be waiting in line until we get the go for takeoff." The potatoes hit the deck and didn't want to reanimate any time soon. Now Joan is pretty thick for being five years old. Some of the little people I work with at school I feel as though may be lost on a windy day, but not Joan he must weigh about 50 lbs. So we're standing in the mall and while the potatoes was getting acclimated to the floor Marga went off to get a shopping cart. I know what you're thinking, "Why would there be shopping carts in the mall?" But aha, here in Spain they've wonderfully combined a giant supermarket and shopping center. Talk about the American dream.
After we placed the potatoes in the child transportation area of the shopping cart we were off. Cue the next obstacle directly related to our resident preschooler. At the first store we get to, turns out you can't bring shopping cars inside. So once again we have to abandon ship and Marga says to me "Jemari, can you take the sack of potatoes out of the care please?" He's getting to the point where she risks throwing her back out trying to life this kid, so I oblige and take the mini human out. This was the beginning of rough 24 hours for me. Being the good citizen that I am and wanting to help out since I'm living in her home I decided I would carry Joan on my shoulders for a while since Marga needed to get clothes for Lluis. This was a mistake. It started out well enough but I can safely assume that parents have the best immune systems on the planet because I'm pretty sure that all children below age 7 are 24/7 disease factories waiting to give you a cold. Enter the title of this post. Joan is a fairly chill passenger on the Jemari train but on this occasion he was getting a little handsy. Before I know it my face is being massaged by little hands from whence I don't want to even imagine. We survived the shopping trip and headed home.
Fast forward to the next morning. I felt like Miley Cyrus came in like a wrecking ball straight into my back. My shoulders and neck felt like they were going to fall off. This was strange though because I had carried Joan before to no ill effect but I quickly surmised that my body was fighting off something and it was exacerbating the pain I felt from carrying the little dude. It was crazy for about 12 hours until my immune system said enough is enough. Note to self, shower after all future contact with the mini humans. On a more positive note, I'm learning oodles about the joys of parenthood. The tagline for the parenting handbook should say, "Children, pushing you towards serial killer one day at a time."
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