The Happy Chair

My son hates his swing. I never met a child who was not immediately soothed by the rick-rock of a mechanical swing. So many people I know ask if Lucas likes his swing and then register genuine shock when I disappoint them by saying, "Sadly, no. I am cursed to a life a having a child cling to my neck like a little monkey while I perform mundane tasks like unload the dishwasher or brush my teeth." I've mastered brushing my teeth. I leave the dishwasher to someone else.

Lucas, does love his bouncy seat, also known as "the happy chair" in our house. He can sit in it and look at either a blue parrot or an orange monkey and set off a chain reaction of lights and music whenever he manages to grasp one of their plastic artifices and throttle it within an inch of its life. His squeals and howls of maniacal laughter totally make up for me having to listen to "Down by the Station" in musical toots and whistles over and over and over again.

He will be crawling soon, which is a good thing, as he is getting a little too big for the bouncy seat. His feet are already threatening an overflow onto the ground, and the last thing I need is to have catapaulting himself out of it to the tune of "Pop Goes the Weasel."