Good Try
Sam: “Hey mom– we cleaned up all the legos!”
Me: “That’s great, Sam– I heard Josh cleaned up most of them.”
Josh: “MOST of them? I cleaned up ALL of them.”
Good try, Sam, good try. Maybe next time, but probably not.
Level Up
I Love This Stage
Tonight, I let Josh stay up with us because he took a really long nap. He ate homemade Pho with us. We sat on the couch and watched Food Network together and it was so magical. He had big opinions on what would taste good and what wouldn’t. He’s super intuitive so he’d always guess who the judges were going to pick. We argued about how the dishes could have been improved. I love this stage and by “this stage,” I mean, his entire life.
My Son, the Oracle
*Sam throwing a fit in front of the preschool because I’m making him be responsible for carrying his stuff to the car*
Sam: MOM I DON’T LIKE THIS DAY AND I DON’T LIKE YOU FOR NOT CARRYING MY STUFF!!!!!
Me: You’re a big boy and big boys need to be responsible for their own stuff. I still carry a lot of TJs things because he’s still learning.
Him: *seething silence*
Me: *tearing up* I kind of wish I still carried your stuff because that means I can keep you a baby forever…
Him: MOM!!!! THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL!!!!!
My son, the oracle. None of this parenting thing makes any sense.
Some Big Shoes to Fill
Been fighting big battles on quite a few fronts lately. It’s mostly left Dave and I physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Consequently, we had a quiet and last-minute celebration of my father-in-law’s 80th birthday tonight. The boys have been fortunate to know all four of their grandparents who have been surrounding them and just being awesome since the day they were born.
We went out to eat. At a restaurant. With the three boys. At night. And I was struggling with complete irritation over not wanting to chase them all over the restaurant and correct etiquette and “don’t stick your hands in the ice water” and “stop waving around the chopsticks”… but you know that’s all they wanted to do.
Little TJ had chosen to wear Sammy’s shoes tonight. Did I fight that battle? You bet your sweet booty I did not. I let him wear those too big shoes and he was so darn proud of them. He could barely walk in them but he grinned and stumbled around.
As brother three got down for the millionth time, I saw brother one quietly get down from the table and start following him around. He did it before I could even get up. Oh trust… Dave was in the bathroom with number two so we were just playing zone defense. Everyone has 10 jobs at restaurant and only .5 of one of the jobs is actually eating food.
Josh got down and just followed close after TJ, making sure he wasn’t going to climb up on the table and table dance. Not out of character for him. Interestingly enough, when Josh gently grabbed him, TJ leaned into him whereas if it were me, he would throw a big crazy fit and I’d have to fireman carry him out of the restaurant.
I watched this scene unfold. At one point, TJ lost his too-big shoe. Josh gently grabbed him and the shoe and carefully put it back on.
My eyes filled with tears. Somewhat from exhaustion, but mostly out of pride for the small scene I had just witnessed. One brother taking responsibility for another and the other brother trusting in his guidance.
I told Josh at bedtime that watching him put his brother’s shoes on was the absolute best part of my day and I could not be more proud he was my son. His heart is so sensitive.
Take my hand, Lord. Lead me around. Put on my too big shoes when they fall off. Keep me from harm. A simple prayer tonight as I drift off, but no less sincere.
It’s My Favorite Thing, You Know.
I glanced over at Josh as he crept up in the kitchen and sat at the table next to me. I was on my computer paying bills while the brothers napped.
Sensing he was looking for something to do I smirked and said, “Hey Josh, I bet you’d like to do the dishes right about now.”
“Sure. I’d love to do the dishes. It’s my favorite thing, you know.”
Ummmmm. OK. I didn’t expect that response.
For someone who had never done the dishes, he seemed awfully sure of how much he’d like it.
And now I was stuck. I had to teach him how to do the dishes.
I looked over at the pile nervously. My ocd tendencies were screaming “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HE’S FIVE!! HE’LL BREAK THE DISHES!!! AND HE WON’T ACTUALLY GET THEM CLEAN!!!”
Then realistic Sara steps in and said, “Ummmm…. you break way more dishes than they do.”
It’s my favorite thing, you know.” Ummmmm. OK. I didn’t expect that response.
So I took a deep breath.
“Sure honey, let me teach you how.”
I looked in the sink and took mental note of how to make this manageable for a five-year-old. I made sure there was no glass. I grabbed the stool and slid it over. I grabbed a salad bowl and threw all of the silverware in there. I showed him how to clean each piece of silverware with a scrubber and put it in the dishwasher.
He diligently scrubbed and did it all at his own pace. He asked to clean more.
So I gave him a few more pieces from the other side.
I sat down and my eyes glazed over as I saw my little boy as a little human with little responsibilities. Where had my little boy gone?
He wiped his hands on his shorts. “OK, Mom, I’m done! Can I go play Curious George games now?”
There he is. Whew. For a minute I thought he had washed down the drain with the dirty water.
“At what point,” I thought to myself, “will he think this isn’t fun anymore?” What an ugly thought. I decided to file that away under “Santa Claus,” and the “Easter Bunny” in the dark recesses of my mind, and instead, pondered the bright future of endless chores for my task-oriented first born.
But what is the highest priority on that list?
Of course, you guessed it: Teaching his brother how to do the dishes.