Extra Life Reward: A Tiny Mr. I Story

I promised last week that if we raised $150 by the end of the day, I would tell a Tiny Mr. I story. (After discussion with the Hubs, we’ve agreed we shouldn’t post the video of this event, since Tiny Mr. I is in his underpants and even we have limits as to how far we’ll embarrass Future Not-So-Tiny Mr. I.)

Tiny Mr. I is my son, and he’s at an age where he’s pushing boundaries. In the wrong circumstances this makes him an incredibly whiny, bratty little booger.  A “threenager” as I’ve heard it called. This is exacerbated by his wild, D&D-tinted imagination. Tell him the rule is that he must brush his teeth? POOF! He cast a spell and took that rule away. Tell him he has to wait for other people? POOF! He made a wish that everyone would disappear.

It is adorable and maddening.

Earlier this week, Tiny Mr. I wanted some crackers and he wanted them in a pretty little ceramic bowl we have. We have a set of these, but at least half of them have broken. There are three left and the bowls are not made anymore, so they’re not for crackers in little boy hands. I offered him crackers in his choice of a melamine bowl instead. No. Unacceptable. It must be the ceramic bowl. I did not budge.

Tiny Mr. I begged. He nagged. He argued. No dice.

So he cast a spell on me to make me change my mind. POOF!

And what happened next is among my greatest parenting triumphs.

 

Me: Whoosh! My shield spell goes up.

TMI: No, because my spell is too powerful, it just goes through your shield, because I am a really powerful wizard.

Me: I’m the Sorceress Surpreme. I’m the Chosen of the Goddess of Magic. Don’t step to me, son, I do this for a living.

TMI: *scrunches face* POOF! I made you—

Me: POOF! I turned you into a turkey.

 

At this point, I start giggling. I can’t stop. There’s a strong chance I have just cracked completely.

 

TMI: No, because I just have a spell that just makes any spell against me not work. It just POOF! Turns me back into a human. Sorry.

Me: What’s that? “Gobble, gobble, gobble”?

TMI: NO. I said I’m [Tiny Mr. I]!

Me: “Gobble, gobble gobble”?

 

I turn to my husband. I am laughing so hard I’m crying and I don’t stop until we’re done. This is when he starts recording all this nonsense.

 

Me: In turkey-speak, “Gobble, gobble, gobble” means “Hi, I’m a turkey!”

TMI: Momma! I am not a turkey. I’m a human being.

Me: “Gobble, gobble, gobble”? That means, “Look at my fancy feathers!”

TMI: MOMMA!  I just want the bowl!

Me: “Gobble, gobble, gobble”? That means, “I know better than to ask my momma sixteen times for the same thing.” Silly turkey!

TMI: *half-giggling* I don’t want to be a turkey!

Me: Okay. POOF! You’re a glass of pancake juice. *Grab his leg.* Here’s the straw! Imma drink you up!

TMI: *giggling and squealing* No! No! No! Turn me back!

Me: Okay. POOF! You’re a turkey again. Better?

TMI: Momma, let’s stop pretending to be things.

Me: Sounds good, turkey. POOF! Now–pink bowl or blue bowl?

****

Did you enjoy this silly story? Seattle Children’s Hospital helps kids like Tiny Mr. I when they need it most! Don’t be a turkey: donate to Extra Life.

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