No More Mr. Nice Monk


The Monk with his first “Me Too!” Farmers Market popsicle

Somewhere inside the sweet heart of our little Monkey, a switch has been thrown. That switch has a label reading “ME TOO!!!!!!”.

I can tell you the very moment it happened. The four of us made a trip to the mall (what else are you going to do on a rainy afternoon?) looking for something at the Container Store when Yogi talked us into making a stop for what he calls “cow milk”. This is the vanilla Horizon milk (cow on the label) that you drink with a straw and he thinks it is the nectar of the Gods. Never imagining that our baby would have any interest in such a thing and not eager to introduce him to the world of vanilla milk at 14 months, we bought only one and proceeded to go about our business.

Yogi, being the 2 year old that he is, handed me the milk after taking maybe one sip and declaring that he was “all done.” That is when the afternoon began to unravel. The Monk (no joke) charged me, grabbing at the milk for all he was worth. Somehow the little dude managed to wrestle it out of my grip and RUN through the Container Store sipping and sloshing milk everywhere. After a decent chase I grabbed his milky little self and we left the store in search of napkins at the Panera next door. The Panera where we did not buy the cow milk and never made a single purchase. When we got to the napkins, I handed the boy to my wife and thinking that I could just easily get the milk and wipe him off, I went for it.

That was when the alarm sounded. The Monkey alarm. The boy SCREAMED like nothing you have ever heard. And not only did he scream, he hung on to that milk as though his very life depended on it. Do you know what happens when you grip a box of milk with all of your might? Milk sprays everywhere. It sprays all over you and your wife and your shocked onlooker toddler and the poor guy next to you who was just stirring sugar into his coffee. In a store in which you have purchased not one single thing.

It was a low moment. But also funny. It’s good when funny can accompany low. That doesn’t happen often.

So, life is different post-milk incident. The Monk is no longer fooled. If Yogi gets a popsicle, then dammit he wants one too! The Monk will.not accept a banana as some kind of pathetic stand in. No sir. Not anymore.



12 thoughts on “No More Mr. Nice Monk

  1. I caught K trying to give D some of her milk the other day – it is coming! Thanks for the laugh and the peek into my future!

  2. I am trying not to laugh at the image of milk spraying everywhere. The only thing saving me is a similar incident with sunscreen this morning. I hope they are at least enjoying the fireworks. R also thinks that milk is of the gods and we also go to the mall on rainy day which is why is a terrible shame we can’t make these children play with each other.

  3. I’ve been reading your blog for quite awhile. I’m not a big commenter, but have to chime in here…..I can so relate!! My wife and I also have 2 boys, the oldest will be 4 in a couple months and the baby turned 1 a couple weeks ago. The little guy goes for everything his big brother has!!

  4. Allow me to add some additional comments from the other parent’s perspective:

    If you’ll recall, the first geyser actually occurred in the container store when the first cow milk reclamation was attempted. This failed attempt resulted in me covered in the sticky equivalent of a melted McDonald’s vanilla ice cream cone and you, Mama, chasing our barely toddler, covered in white droplets as if assaulted by birds with dysentary, toward an open elevator headed to floor unknown. You nabbed him literally as doors were closing on his frosted locks.

    We proceeded to Panera – in search of napkins. I will never forget the one and 1/2 feet of solid, fair skinned, sticky, sweet, son, 12 months going on 3 years, not really howling or growling, some combination of the two, actively battling for the milk box. Perfect arcs of sugar polluted organic happy cow milk traveling through the air, resembling the “urine” stream of a classic naked peeing-boy statue, again and again, covering you, me, the floor….. and us, incapable of stopping it. …. because how do you grab a milk box firmly enough to take it from said sweet toddler without contributing to the mess yourself. The grand finale was Ben doing his dramatic “downward dog.” Picture a limp screaming baby, on the floor in Panera, knees folded beneath his diapered tail, with milk covered hands and arms crossed in front of his devastated floor facing little frown. An epic rainy day.

    My only regret is that all parties involved had hands too sticky, wet, and occupied to video the scene.

  5. Love it. All accounts. I am both terrified and wildly curious what our lives will hold once the twins arrive to add to the hilarity of the every day.

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