"Cowboy Dan is coming," Steve Martin (Gill) confidently assures his son, "He's coming!" Ah, the movie Parenthood. I loved it pre-kids, love it even more post-kids. If you're parent and haven't seen it--see it.
Steve Martin's ever-neurotic, but well intentioned "Gill," father of three, is constantly attempting to stay one step ahead of his kids, particularly his eldest and emotionally sensitive son. If Gill can control all environmental factors posing threat to high strung "Kevin," then perhaps he can stave off Kevin's volcanic eruption sized emotional breakdowns. Gill goes as far as taking on the part of "Cowboy Gill," after an unfortunate mix-up that resulted in Cowboy Dan's no show to Kevin's ninth birthday. If Cowboy Dan couldn't make it, by golly Cowboy Gill in his green bathroom rug chaps, $1 gold sheriff badge and straw hat would. Gill goes as far as to shoot water guns at Kevin and his pals in the backyard from the rooftop.
It got me thinking; as parents, aren't we all Cowboy Gills or Cowgirl Gillians? Like over-caffeinated monkeys we jump up and down at kid photo sessions just to get a smile, turn plastic baby spoons into zooming airplanes, transform pillows and blankets into princess castles and troll fortresses...all to please the masses, and sometimes to keep from meltdowns of some sort or another.
Lately, I have been moonlighting as Cowgirl Gillian. To ward off the volcanic eruptions of my three-year-old and to assure some measure of sleep for my own cowgirl self, I desparately try to transform objects and bedrooms from scary monsters and creepies, to magic "boots" and dazzling castles. I even introduced a " magic night time turtle" (with help from Grandma Kim) with the hopes that the stars and moons projected on the ceiling would serve as added meltdown imobilizers. But alas, at 1:30a.m., "TURTLE! TURTLE!" (in three-year-old screech). Fully expecting to find the turtle levitating in on the ceiling, I transformed from sleeping mommy to cowgirl Gillian and busted into Laura's room--at the ready to cast anti-levitating turtle spells. In an anticlimactic ending, the turtle's light had automatically shut off after a period of time, ceasing to project its soothing constellations (bleepin turtle!). Cowgirl Gillian spent the next hour trying to lasso toddler angst and fear from the room, simultaneously praying that bleepin' turtle would just stay on until morning.
To all you cowboys and cowgirls--git yerself a cowboy hat, and have yer bathroom rugs at the ready. We in for a long riiiiddddeeee! A yipee-ky-yay a yipee-ky-yo!
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