I had some free time to spend today while running errands and decided to stop by the library that I adore. Yes, it has a much smaller selection. Yes, it is much farther from our house, and relatively inconvenient most of the time. Yes, their online web page is virtually impossible to accomplish anything on, and since I manage our library experiences primarily by checking things out online, this is a huge impairment. That being said, I love going there. It is the type of library that is inviting - full of warmth and light, with shelves that don't cause vertigo or claustrophobia. I could easily spend an afternoon there with the children, an experience that would could only be improved if they provided patchwork quilts and hot cocoa.
Anyways, Smash was my only companion - which was great. One munchkin at the library is an adventure, an experience, a treasured memory. When Songbird was little I used to cut class and pick her up from the day care early so that we could nestle together in the children's section and spend the afternoon exploring the pages of well loved books. When Sunshine was added to the picture, Songbird was old enough to play on the computers, and we set to reading the entire children's picture book selection, starting with the letter Z and working backwards. Add in Starlet and Snickers, and suddenly there are children crawling through the bottom shelves into the other isles, rambunctious bouts of hide and seek, book towers built and then demolished, tug of war over head phones at computer stations, and quite a bit of squealing. With the addition of Smash, we reach a sum of five children...Five creative and curious children with a healthy dose of enthusiasm and exuberance. I am quite certain that they have contributed to the demise or removal of the library pets. Especially in the most recent case where not only were they tapping the glass, they were also testing the water temperature for the fish. So the trip to the library is still an adventure and experience, but not always the treasured memory that I would like.
Smash acted as Smash does, experiencing and exclaiming about the various elements and nuances that contribute to the endearing atmosphere. Then we got in line to check out. It was at this point that Smash folds himself in half over my arm, grabs a board book I had selected, yanks it from my hands and starts chewing voraciously. With sound effects that would impress Cookie Monster. I admonished him not to chew the book, and the juggling in my arms to pry the book from his teeth allowed him to get the movie case. This provided even more chewing satisfaction as that it allowed him to pull his head back with the case in his mouth, making a delightful "thwacking" sound. It quickly became apparent that not only was this not the approved purpose of the case, nor was it sanitary, he was also leaving imprints of his teeth in the plastic.
Lacking anything else, I handed him his library card. This became a suitable distraction only once the opposite end was placed in my mouth and a game of tug of war started. This whole time he is making various biting, gnawing, and chewing sounds that sound like a cross between the beloved snack eating monster and a tyrannosaurus rex. The librarians and patrons surrounding me glanced at me with looks of shocked alarm and disapproval. I was powerless to do anything else however. Smash missed his usual naps today and the temper tantrum that would ensue was not something I was mentally or physically prepared to deal with. And besides, it was his library card. So I playfully tugged and shook my head with the card between my teeth. At one point he decided that he was tired of loosing and bit my nose. Finally, after over 11 minutes in line, and seven with a library card in my mouth, it was our turn to check out. I red faced apologized to the clerk, and quickly doused the card in hand sanitizer, drying it with a kleenex.
This left Smash with nothing to chew, but it would be okay. Oh no, it wouldn't. He promptly seized my glasses and began gnawing on the lenses and legs. You could hear the grinding and scraping across the plastic coating of the lens. Holding the virtually frothing child slightly away, I requested very very quietly, if I could please have the library card back.
I should note that Smash has literally two plastic shoe boxes of teething toys that he has never wanted anything to do with. Nor has he demonstrated a need to gnaw, chew, tear, or imitate a certain blue animated alien as of late. I was not being remiss in my parenting duties by not having something more suitable on me. He just suddenly, without warning, morphed into a ball of teething terror. When I strapped him into his car seat, still slightly nervous and counting my fingers, he morphed back to the beautiful boy baby he normally is.
I will check my genealogy again, but I don't remember there being any canines. Or Jim Henson muppets. Or Disney aliens.
I did, in a braver moment, check him mouth. Sure enough there are two molars, one on each side, trying desperately to get through his gums. He really doesn't like his teethers, or teething gel to help with the pain, and tries to console himself by gnawing on ME. Given recent behavior, I am seriously considering getting a rawhide bone.
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