This morning I wrote a post. That post totally sucked. It was, in one of my loyal reader's words, "mysterious and vague... and a little bit icky". She was so right. It pretty much reflected my headspace as of late, which has been muddled and icky. So I've decided to delete that awful bit of confusing mess and start over. Here is attempt #2 at a decent bit of blogging.

This is Spawnling. By all appearances he is your average toddler. He has two older brothers, a father and a terribly good looking mother. He knows his colours, most of his upper case letters and how to count to fourteen. He boycotts the potty and has a healthy fear of the time out spot on the stairs.

But there's another persona lurking in the shadows. For, when the world needs righting and there are parks to conquer, Spawnling is magically transformed into Super Spawn!

Actually, he likes to be called Super Batmunk, after a most horrific Chipmunks at the Movies episode where they redo Batman in singing rodent form. It's also where he picked up Kenny Loggins' Danger Zone, which he sings at least once every waking hour. There's something very amusing about a two-year-old child singing a song from an 80's classic film. I almost want to teach him to say ' You can be my wing man any time!' but I don't want anyone answering with 'bullshit! You can be mine' because then he might add yet another unpleasant sentence to his growing vocabulary of words that make me blush.

Super Batmunk always wears a cape and sings Danger Zone. It's apparently in the rule book I'm not allowed to read because I'm not a superhero. The cape changes every few hours; sometimes it's an Ikea pillowcase, sometimes it's an old receiving blanket, and sometimes it's fabric I was going to make a pillowcase out of except that would mean I'd need to learn how to sew first, and who wants to do that? I'm busy enough as it is socializing and blogging keeping my house clean and caring for my children. It's not like I exactly have time to...

Sorry. Got a little sidetracked there.

Super Batmunk wears his cape to the park. He wears it to the grocery store. He wears is to bed. He wears his pirate patch (the sticky patch we put on his eye for a couple of hours every day and pray he doesn't take off) and says he's Pirate Super Batmunk. We make cars and planes out of anything we can find so he can whisk around and do whatever it is he does when he's in character. Because, you see, Super Batmunk doesn't appear to have an agenda. He doesn't hold a grudge or appear in any way like a vigilante. He never rescues people or fights bad guys. He simply runs/flies/drives around singing Danger Zone.

That, apparently, is all it takes to be a two-year-old superhero. Wouldn't it be better if every job description was that simple? It's a far cry from my stay-at-home-mom/writer/postpartum doula/social butterfly career. Fitting it all on a business card is virtually impossible.

Yesterday, I tried to help Pirate Super Batmunk stay distracted and thus prevent him from tearing off his eye patch prematurely. I figured a discussion about superpowers would be a good start.

I asked him if he could fly. He said no.

I asked him if he was super strong. He said no.

I asked him if he had super hearing or x-ray vision. He said no.

Super speed? Fireballs shooting out of his hands? Eyeball lasers? Enlarged toenails? No. No. No and no.

Creatively spent, I asked him what, exactly, his superpower was.

'I have spicy arms, Mom.' said Pirate Super Batmunk, picking at his patch.

'You... Huh?'

'Spicy arms. Don't touch them. They're hot.'

Goodness gracious, how I love that boy.