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All parents imagine their children in the future, what they'll be like as teens, as adults, as parents themselves. It's hard to know if the roles I see my kids settling into will stick as they get older, but I do have a pretty fixed idea of what Owen and Mitch will be like at 16 and 18. As my older sister recently predicted, "Owen will not be cool enough to hang out with Mitch." That basically sums it up. I can imagine Mitch peeling out of the high school parking lot in some sputtering old sports car with Owen riding shotgun, shouting, "Slow DOWN! You're gonna get a TICKET!"
Mitch is also the middle child. All of these qualities combined have, I fear, created a child at risk of feeling alienated.
Right now, we can add to the mix an older brother who is drawing a lot of attention for starting kindergarten and an adorable baby sister, the only girl, who has just started to crawl and was recently diagnosed with a health problem that requires much doting and numerous doctor visits that leave Mitch at home. It's no wonder his first line of defense against melting into the background is raucous behavior. And he's three. As any seasoned mother can attest, the terrible twos have got nothing on the tear-your-hair-out threes.
Here's a list of SOME of the trouble Mitch has gotten into today:
Broke the printer by kicking it while sitting at the computer.
Spilled cherry Italian ice on the rug.
Bit Owen.
Ran into the family room to divebomb the couch, knocking Paige into a table in the process.
Ate one bite of a peanut butter sandwich he'd thrown a fit to get, then declared himself full.
Hit Owen. And hit Owen again. And again.
Woke Paige up from her nap on purpose.
Swiped the doctor's stethoscope at Paige's check up, and when asked to give it back said, "No thank you."
Erased two of my shows from the DVR.
Splashed juice on the screen of daddy's beloved and very fancy TV.
Pooped in his #@%^&# pants THREE times!
Unplugged the floor fan and plugged it back in elsewhere.
The list could go on if I felt like sitting here recounting all of it, but I'll give the kid (and myself) a break.
Sometimes when I'm reprimanding him, he gets this look of sheer defiance, a "bring it on beyatch" kind of look. But sometimes, especially when I am watching from a more objective place, when John does the fussing, I can see something softer beneath that look. It's a look made of sadness, defeat, anger, and a little bit of love, and it reminds me that he's only been alive three years, that he doesn't mean any harm in all the trouble he gets into. He's just figuring out the world.
So maybe I can't predict with any accuracy what Mitch will be like when he's sixteen, maybe he'll be a mild mannered boy, a devoted student and a disciplined, no nonsense athlete. But no matter what he becomes, I hope he will always know that, blond hair be damned, he's one of us. A vital, significant part. Keeping things interesting in the middle.
We call Mitch "the blond bombshell" (bombshell more in the "ka-boom " sense than in the "foxy mama" sense). He's high energy and full o' sass, a personality that childcare experts like to call "spirited" and that I like to call "obnoxious." He is fearless, loud, funny, brave, smart, and capable. He is full of confidence and curiosity. In our family, it's not only his bravado that stands out; he also has his own set of physical features: clear blue eyes and blond hair, Malibu bronze skin in the summer. The rest of us have dark hair and eyes, and resemble one another much more closely.One night when we were out for ice cream, Mitch wandered over to a table that held a family of four towheads. I whispered to John, "He's going to be with his own kind."
Mitch is also the middle child. All of these qualities combined have, I fear, created a child at risk of feeling alienated.
Right now, we can add to the mix an older brother who is drawing a lot of attention for starting kindergarten and an adorable baby sister, the only girl, who has just started to crawl and was recently diagnosed with a health problem that requires much doting and numerous doctor visits that leave Mitch at home. It's no wonder his first line of defense against melting into the background is raucous behavior. And he's three. As any seasoned mother can attest, the terrible twos have got nothing on the tear-your-hair-out threes.
Here's a list of SOME of the trouble Mitch has gotten into today:
Broke the printer by kicking it while sitting at the computer.
Spilled cherry Italian ice on the rug.
Bit Owen.
Ran into the family room to divebomb the couch, knocking Paige into a table in the process.
Ate one bite of a peanut butter sandwich he'd thrown a fit to get, then declared himself full.
Hit Owen. And hit Owen again. And again.
Woke Paige up from her nap on purpose.
Swiped the doctor's stethoscope at Paige's check up, and when asked to give it back said, "No thank you."
Erased two of my shows from the DVR.
Splashed juice on the screen of daddy's beloved and very fancy TV.
Pooped in his #@%^&# pants THREE times!
Unplugged the floor fan and plugged it back in elsewhere.
The list could go on if I felt like sitting here recounting all of it, but I'll give the kid (and myself) a break.
Sometimes when I'm reprimanding him, he gets this look of sheer defiance, a "bring it on beyatch" kind of look. But sometimes, especially when I am watching from a more objective place, when John does the fussing, I can see something softer beneath that look. It's a look made of sadness, defeat, anger, and a little bit of love, and it reminds me that he's only been alive three years, that he doesn't mean any harm in all the trouble he gets into. He's just figuring out the world.
So maybe I can't predict with any accuracy what Mitch will be like when he's sixteen, maybe he'll be a mild mannered boy, a devoted student and a disciplined, no nonsense athlete. But no matter what he becomes, I hope he will always know that, blond hair be damned, he's one of us. A vital, significant part. Keeping things interesting in the middle.
Mitch couldn't sleep tonight (my fault--I let him take too long a nap today) and kept coming out into the family room where I have been sitting quietly on the computer while everyone else sleeps, including John, who isn't feeling well. Finally, tired of taking him back to bed, I told Mitch he could lie on the couch if he could be quiet and keep his eyes closed. He tried very earnestly for about 15 minutes, doing that "I'm trying to keep my eyes shut squint/flutter" and occasionally opening one eye to check if I was looking.
After awhile, I decided I wanted some ice cream, so I got up and headed for the kitchen. Mitch sat bolt upright and said, "Where are you going, Mommy?" I told him, "I'm getting some ice cream." He nodded very seriously, looking completely aware that he had no place asking to share a delicious treat when he should be sleeping. So he didn't ask.
I got him some anyway, a tiny bit. And then I put a tiny bit of whipped cream on top.
I brought it into the family room and sat down next to him on the couch. "You shouldn't be eating ice cream at 11:00 at night," I told him. He stared back, unblinking. Then I said, "But sometimes, it's fun to do things you're not supposed to do." And I handed him the bowl.
The wave of joy that rippled across my middle child's face made up for every twinge of frustration I'd felt tonight, hearing his bare feet padding down the hall every 10 minutes to deliver some excuse for being out of bed. His happiness was pure. Nothing matches the thrill of having mommy say yes when you are sure that she'll say no, so sure that you don't even ask.
A moment later, pausing in his zealous spoon scraping, he said, "Mommy? Why did you give me a treat?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes you deserve a treat for no reason at all." And through a mouthful of Edy's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream topped with whipped cream, my sleepy, overjoyed, and too often exasperating three year old boy mumbled, "You said it!"
After awhile, I decided I wanted some ice cream, so I got up and headed for the kitchen. Mitch sat bolt upright and said, "Where are you going, Mommy?" I told him, "I'm getting some ice cream." He nodded very seriously, looking completely aware that he had no place asking to share a delicious treat when he should be sleeping. So he didn't ask.
I got him some anyway, a tiny bit. And then I put a tiny bit of whipped cream on top.
I brought it into the family room and sat down next to him on the couch. "You shouldn't be eating ice cream at 11:00 at night," I told him. He stared back, unblinking. Then I said, "But sometimes, it's fun to do things you're not supposed to do." And I handed him the bowl.
The wave of joy that rippled across my middle child's face made up for every twinge of frustration I'd felt tonight, hearing his bare feet padding down the hall every 10 minutes to deliver some excuse for being out of bed. His happiness was pure. Nothing matches the thrill of having mommy say yes when you are sure that she'll say no, so sure that you don't even ask.
A moment later, pausing in his zealous spoon scraping, he said, "Mommy? Why did you give me a treat?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes you deserve a treat for no reason at all." And through a mouthful of Edy's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream topped with whipped cream, my sleepy, overjoyed, and too often exasperating three year old boy mumbled, "You said it!"
- Mood:full
- Mood:amused
Owen keeps mixing up the 4th of July and New Year's. I think it's because we lit some leftover sparklers on New Year's Eve this year, and naturally he associates sparklers with 4th of July. He thinks we're supposed to stay up til midnight tonight, so okay, whatever, we'll stay up til midnight. At least Mitch, John, and I will. Owen probably won't make it, just as he didn't make it on New Year's Eve, despite much shaking and nudging to wake him for the ball drop.
Today I have a random assortment of funny moments to record. One happened yesterday in Target. Owen was begging for a Transformer (though I can't imagine why--it's not like they're being heavily promoted or anything), and I told him no. He was whining, begging, asking whhhhhhy? And I answered, "Cause I'm a mean mommy." He poutily crossed his arms and hmmphed, "I know. I saw it on your website." Well good, so now we're clear.
The other one was this morning. Our darling blond son is still having poop issues despite a recent improvement. He is consistently going in his pants again, and he knows that it irks us. So I came out from putting Paige down for a nap this morning, and Mitch looked guilty. He came over to me and quietly told me, "Mommy, I talked to my pants."
"You talked to your pants?" I sensed where this conversation was going.
"Yep. I talked to my pants, and I told them I wasn't ready to poop yet."
By now I could smell where this was going. "Oh yeah? And what did your pants say?"
"They said, um, I don't know. I just. I just told them no pooping."
"But your pants pooped anyway."
Solemn nodding.
"Well please tell your pants that they're big pants now and they need to put poop in the potty. K?"
"Okay. But can you change my pants?"
I had to fight the urge to follow the logic of the conversation and explain that if we changed him into new pants, those pants wouldn't know what we'd told his current pair of pants about being big pants and waiting for the potty, so maybe he should just sit his doo for awhile until his BOTTOM remembers the whole deal about pooping . But the child is obviously confused enough, so I refrained.
Sigh.
Anyway. Happy New Middle of the Year. Here's hoping that 2007-and-a-half brings blessings, growth, and potty training before preschool starts in September so Mitch doesn't get booted from the 3 year old class for having disobedient pants.
Today I have a random assortment of funny moments to record. One happened yesterday in Target. Owen was begging for a Transformer (though I can't imagine why--it's not like they're being heavily promoted or anything), and I told him no. He was whining, begging, asking whhhhhhy? And I answered, "Cause I'm a mean mommy." He poutily crossed his arms and hmmphed, "I know. I saw it on your website." Well good, so now we're clear.
The other one was this morning. Our darling blond son is still having poop issues despite a recent improvement. He is consistently going in his pants again, and he knows that it irks us. So I came out from putting Paige down for a nap this morning, and Mitch looked guilty. He came over to me and quietly told me, "Mommy, I talked to my pants."
"You talked to your pants?" I sensed where this conversation was going.
"Yep. I talked to my pants, and I told them I wasn't ready to poop yet."
By now I could smell where this was going. "Oh yeah? And what did your pants say?"
"They said, um, I don't know. I just. I just told them no pooping."
"But your pants pooped anyway."
Solemn nodding.
"Well please tell your pants that they're big pants now and they need to put poop in the potty. K?"
"Okay. But can you change my pants?"
I had to fight the urge to follow the logic of the conversation and explain that if we changed him into new pants, those pants wouldn't know what we'd told his current pair of pants about being big pants and waiting for the potty, so maybe he should just sit his doo for awhile until his BOTTOM remembers the whole deal about pooping . But the child is obviously confused enough, so I refrained.
Sigh.
Anyway. Happy New Middle of the Year. Here's hoping that 2007-and-a-half brings blessings, growth, and potty training before preschool starts in September so Mitch doesn't get booted from the 3 year old class for having disobedient pants.
- Mood:aggravated
This picture really doesn't do the haircuts justice (I think the kids themselves are just too darn cute):
- Mood:chipper
Mitch's Boy, that is.
"My Boy" is Mitch's imaginary friend, who, not unlike Bobby and Banasana (Owen's former imaginary friends who now live very far away), is frequently getting into trouble. Why just today he spilled a drink in the family room. Naughty, naughty My Boy.
"My Boy" is Mitch's imaginary friend, who, not unlike Bobby and Banasana (Owen's former imaginary friends who now live very far away), is frequently getting into trouble. Why just today he spilled a drink in the family room. Naughty, naughty My Boy.
( Read more... )
- Mood:amused
Two scares this week, and that's enough for me, thank you.
The first one happened on Wednesday. I'd had just about enough of the Bobos ("big brothers"), so I hauled them off to their room for a nap. Naps are rare for the boys these days because if they nap, they don't go to bed until at LEAST 9:00 if not much later, but some days I just can't wait for bedtime to restore my sanity.
The first one happened on Wednesday. I'd had just about enough of the Bobos ("big brothers"), so I hauled them off to their room for a nap. Naps are rare for the boys these days because if they nap, they don't go to bed until at LEAST 9:00 if not much later, but some days I just can't wait for bedtime to restore my sanity.
( Read more... )
- Mood:grateful
Today, driving on the Beltline, out of a peaceful silence and from no context at all came this question from the middle child:
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- Mood:amused
Top Ten Idiosyncrasies of the Big Brothers
ONE: Owen's fear of the beeping coffee maker, which causes him to hide on the stoop in the carport every morning, hands over ears, until the coffee has finished brewing.
ONE: Owen's fear of the beeping coffee maker, which causes him to hide on the stoop in the carport every morning, hands over ears, until the coffee has finished brewing.
( Read more... )
- Location:The couch on a stormy day while everyone naps
- Mood:content
I took all 3 kids to Roanoke Park today--it's a "mini-park," just a little strip of jungle gym, sandpit, and blacktop between 2 one way streets in Five Points. The kids love it because the blacktop has become a repository for people's cast off ride-on toys: cozy coupes, small bikes and trikes, scooters, even a seen-better-days Power Wheels. It's also known to my boys as "the park where you can pee in the bushes" because there is no bathroom and once--ONCE--I let them go pee inside a big, hollow bush in the corner of the park. The hollow bush was so great, they stayed in there afterward and played "secret fort." Only boys. No qualms at all about playing where they'd just peed.
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- Mood:pensive
