It started with this:
J is for jellybean, I would say. Then I realized the poor kid had no idea what a jellybean was. Also, Easter is coming, and I feel that an important part of my parental duty is to prepare him thoroughly for the garden of delights he’ll find in his basket. In other words, get him hyped up.
I tried to explain them in terms he’d understand: “They’re sweet, like chocolate.” The Boo was unimpressed and asked for chocolate. “The next time we go to the store, we’ll get some jelly beans.” He remained placid. To him, going to the store means a ride in a cart and maybe some stickers. None of it is nearly as exciting as running in a circle (our new favorite game now that the big baby gate is down).
As promised, I procured a small packet of Jelly Bellies during our next grocery trip. At home, I waited for the Afternoon Crabs to come skittering in with their whining and drama and penchant for pinching. Then I pulled out the packet with a flourish, tore it open, and let the Boo select a bean.
He looked at it with suspicion, but ate it and accepted another. This one, though, was greeted with a squinty face and his trademark, “Don’ like it!” He was looking for somewhere to spit it out, so I did the classic Mom thing and offered my hand. I gazed at the mangled pale pink confection in my palm and chuckled, wondering how this small thing had offended my child.
I sat down to eat the rest of the packet. I’m not crazy about jelly beans but I do enjoy the occasional Jelly Belly and after all, someone had to eat them. I may have emitted a small sigh as I poured a few onto the counter (I like to figure out what the flavors are before they go in my mouth. Also, they’re pretty.)
The Boo came over, asking/demanding to be picked up. Once in my lap, he asked for the packet. Then the real fun began, because he wanted to feed them to me. Quickly.
And so that’s what we did for the next 20 minutes. He’d pick up a bean from the counter and try to shove it in my mouth. I’d make a ridiculous face and say, “still eating!” He’d open his mouth wide, tongue out — his way of saying, “show me!” I’d happily oblige and the giggling would ensue. Inevitably, beans were dropped and went spinning across the hardwood, so I’d put him down, he’d collect them, squealing the whole time, and hop back up with me. Then he’d feed me another one, wiggling with delight the whole time.
Best $1.69 I ever spent.
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Mama-Come-Lately 