Aidan is very anxious to exercise what he believes should be the rights and privileges associated with turning four. It seems that every day he's proclaiming at least one more of them that he's thought of.
Again the other day, he told me "When you're four, you make the rules and growups have to listen." Nope. Still no. The other night, the rule thing didn't get him anywhere, so he told me he was making up a law. Oh really? Yes, he told me, it was a law that he would go downstairs and watch one of his shows (TV) before bedtime. Of course, I put him to bed with flagrant disregard for his law, and he was completely incensed. Felt apart. Total meltdown. I don't believe his outrage came from going to bed; he really doesn't mind that. He just kept telling me, through the tears, "You broke my law! You broke my law!" It took a lot not to laugh, for several reasons.
First, I completely remember the outrage and indignance that he's feeling. I have distinct memory of being in those shoes, even yelling at my dad at a similar age that just because he was the dad and I was the daughter didn't mean he would always be right and I'd be wrong. What if he was wrong and just didn't know it? Had he ever thought about that? I know in my heart why he's so upset, infuriated; I understand how unfair his situation is and will be, so there's a laugh of recognition (and now understanding) brewing in the whole situation.
Second, it's pretty funny that a four-year-old (today!!) would be so insistent that he makes the rules and laws. I must, however, be proud of his self confidence. When he's sure he's right, he's sure he's right.
Third, I love the problem solver in him. If he doesn't get his way at first, he'll try two or seventeen other approaches, fully believing that the current one will work.
Fourth, he doesn't "do" the letter l. So, "You broke my law," comes out, "You broke my waw."
The combination of these four things was nearly insurmountable. However, I was able to suppress it until I leaned down to kiss his forehead, at which time he couldn't see my silly grin, and then recomposed myself to say good night. Another day to come, more injustice in the universe.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
this morning's gem
"Jesus is like a basilisk person."
Torn about explaining or not, but because I probably won't remember for more than an hour, I will (despite the fact that I think it's more effective on its own). We were in the car, and minds will wander. He's been watching educational TV about animals and is fascinated by the basilisk, a lizard that's able to skim/run across water. Then his mind was wandering about God and Jesus, and how you can't see them, but you can talk to them anytime you want to. Then, out popped the gem.
Torn about explaining or not, but because I probably won't remember for more than an hour, I will (despite the fact that I think it's more effective on its own). We were in the car, and minds will wander. He's been watching educational TV about animals and is fascinated by the basilisk, a lizard that's able to skim/run across water. Then his mind was wandering about God and Jesus, and how you can't see them, but you can talk to them anytime you want to. Then, out popped the gem.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I celebrate Sloan
Tomorrow is Sloan's birthday, "March forth." He would be 43, and it seems incredibly unfair to me that he won't be. It also seems incredibly unfair that he suffered so and so long, physically, before he passed. He is beautiful and thoughtful and kind and funny and talented and generous and selfless and brave. He has celebrated my brother endlessly; sadly, he found it hard to celebrate himself. He always felt a little unworthy, which seems unfathomable to me.
I'd like to kick a few people who contributed to his notion, for example, his "original" family. He was removed from them, a bad situation, and placed in foster care for many years, which turned out to be some worse situations. One year, his birth grandparents actually sent him a bakery-made birthday cake, from what I understand, his first birthday cake. I think he was 10. He was so thrilled - they remembered him, they made an effort! He took a bite and choked - they'd had the baker overdose it with pepper to make it inedible because somehow a beautiful ten-year-old not only wasn't worthy of a cake but was worthy of that? Unthinkable.
I am proud that Sloan knows that I celebrate and have celebrated him. He knows how special he is to my brother, too - right up until he was no longer conscious and able to talk, Brett was in constant contact despite their distance (Sloan lived in NC). I'm grateful that Sloan found, finally, a family who did love and celebrate him. My heart's broken for his dad, who lost his wife in May and his son in August - also unthinkable.
I can't find reason in it. I can only take the lesson to let those I love know that I love them and not to waste time on things that aren't important. and be grateful.
Sloan, I'm celebrating you, and I hope that you know it. I hope you know that you're missed and so very loved. I hope you are no longer feeling pain, and that you're at peace. We all love you.
I'd like to kick a few people who contributed to his notion, for example, his "original" family. He was removed from them, a bad situation, and placed in foster care for many years, which turned out to be some worse situations. One year, his birth grandparents actually sent him a bakery-made birthday cake, from what I understand, his first birthday cake. I think he was 10. He was so thrilled - they remembered him, they made an effort! He took a bite and choked - they'd had the baker overdose it with pepper to make it inedible because somehow a beautiful ten-year-old not only wasn't worthy of a cake but was worthy of that? Unthinkable.
I am proud that Sloan knows that I celebrate and have celebrated him. He knows how special he is to my brother, too - right up until he was no longer conscious and able to talk, Brett was in constant contact despite their distance (Sloan lived in NC). I'm grateful that Sloan found, finally, a family who did love and celebrate him. My heart's broken for his dad, who lost his wife in May and his son in August - also unthinkable.
I can't find reason in it. I can only take the lesson to let those I love know that I love them and not to waste time on things that aren't important. and be grateful.
Sloan, I'm celebrating you, and I hope that you know it. I hope you know that you're missed and so very loved. I hope you are no longer feeling pain, and that you're at peace. We all love you.
Brothers
My friend Jeri had a son the other day, and so now Annelise has a brother. We went to visit, and Aidan had a fabulous time with AE, basically ignoring the baby. No problem.
While we were leaving, he asked me, "Mommy, who can be my brother?" There is no forthcoming brother, but I don't want Aidan to feel left out. He's got Audrey, his little cousin, but she's a girl. I mentioned Conner, my husband's best friend's son, who's 5 months younger than Aidan and lives about an hour away, and who he's called his brother for years (as many years as he's been able to talk, that is - admittedly not many). He perked up and said, "Yes! Conner is my brother."
Then he did what he's been doing lately - expounding upon a principle he's just worked out in his head. "Sometimes, Mommy, even if you're almost the same age or the same size, or if you live close or far away, it doesn't matter. Someone can still be your brother. Even if they're far away, they can still be your brother. Sometimes."
That's right, Baby - sometimes.
While we were leaving, he asked me, "Mommy, who can be my brother?" There is no forthcoming brother, but I don't want Aidan to feel left out. He's got Audrey, his little cousin, but she's a girl. I mentioned Conner, my husband's best friend's son, who's 5 months younger than Aidan and lives about an hour away, and who he's called his brother for years (as many years as he's been able to talk, that is - admittedly not many). He perked up and said, "Yes! Conner is my brother."
Then he did what he's been doing lately - expounding upon a principle he's just worked out in his head. "Sometimes, Mommy, even if you're almost the same age or the same size, or if you live close or far away, it doesn't matter. Someone can still be your brother. Even if they're far away, they can still be your brother. Sometimes."
That's right, Baby - sometimes.
Sometimes
"Sometimes, Mommy, when you're almost four, you make the rules and grown-ups have to listen."
ROCK N ROLL!!!
I put it in all caps because he says it like that - deliberately, and with the gruffness of a 65-year-old smoker. He's digging classic rock right now (which isn't what I learned to be classic rock, but is now mysteriously stuff that I grew up listening to - a thoughtstream for another day), most especially Seger's "Old Time Rock n Roll" and Billy Idol's "White Wedding." Apparently, those were the first two songs that came on when Daddy put the classic rock station the other day, and they're now the bar against which all other rock is measured.
Anywhoo, he somehow learned about air guitar. He gets a really pained look on his face and scrunches his hands into claw-like forms, then plays, sometimes sitting, sometimes laying on the floor. There's a little of everything. He's got a new move in which he puts one hand behind his head and points with the other. I asked him what it was the other day, and he says it means, "That's the truth!" Others have asked the same, and he's pretty consistent in his story, so clearly he's got the soul of a Baptist preacher in addition to the sensitivity of an artist.
Sometimes it's not a full dance and air guitar; sometimes it's just a scrunched up face and head nodding. He's also started yelling, "Bomp, bomp, bomp," like imitating the guitar or bass line. He doesn't seem really to get that that's what that means, though, so he kind of yells it out at random times.
He also has informed me that, while he does like ROCK N ROLL!, he doesn't really like when girls sing it. Pat Benetar was singing on the station I use to try and find his classic rock, and he was not pleased about it.
"I'm better than that, Mommy."
"Better than that?"
"Yes. I'm really, really good at singing rock and roll. She's not. I'm better."
He also gets frustrated when boys sing who sound (to him) like girls. "I don't like that either, Mommy." Fair enough; point taken.
I've got to go now; I've purchased his two faves from iTunes and am about to entice him into entertaining me for as long as my stomach can take the laughter. I'm wondering, does this count as burning calories?
Anywhoo, he somehow learned about air guitar. He gets a really pained look on his face and scrunches his hands into claw-like forms, then plays, sometimes sitting, sometimes laying on the floor. There's a little of everything. He's got a new move in which he puts one hand behind his head and points with the other. I asked him what it was the other day, and he says it means, "That's the truth!" Others have asked the same, and he's pretty consistent in his story, so clearly he's got the soul of a Baptist preacher in addition to the sensitivity of an artist.
Sometimes it's not a full dance and air guitar; sometimes it's just a scrunched up face and head nodding. He's also started yelling, "Bomp, bomp, bomp," like imitating the guitar or bass line. He doesn't seem really to get that that's what that means, though, so he kind of yells it out at random times.
He also has informed me that, while he does like ROCK N ROLL!, he doesn't really like when girls sing it. Pat Benetar was singing on the station I use to try and find his classic rock, and he was not pleased about it.
"I'm better than that, Mommy."
"Better than that?"
"Yes. I'm really, really good at singing rock and roll. She's not. I'm better."
He also gets frustrated when boys sing who sound (to him) like girls. "I don't like that either, Mommy." Fair enough; point taken.
I've got to go now; I've purchased his two faves from iTunes and am about to entice him into entertaining me for as long as my stomach can take the laughter. I'm wondering, does this count as burning calories?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
a rough patch here and there
My uncle is fond of telling me, when I'm in a rough patch, "without its stones, the brook would lose its song." Hmm.
We've gotten stitches recently - unfortunately for Aidan's later telling when he's impressing girls who see the scar on his chin (that will, inevitably, be there due to the obvious mediocre stitching job done) ask what happened, he fell coming in the door during a snowstorm. That's a little rough patch - you can't take the gorgeous out of Aidan, and it's really under his chin anyway; you can't see it unless he's looking up.
A more rough, rough patch is what I'm hoping is a phase. I keep thinking of the poem my dad used to say when I was little (and had curlier hair)
There was a little girl, and she had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead,
and when she was good, she was very, very good,
but when she was bad, she was horrid.
I think the poor kid's me. You either got one or the other from me, and that's about what you get from him. This morning OSU cheerleaders and Brutus came to his gym class. He loves them, knows some of their cheers, and was saying he hoped that Brutus would be there when he saw the cheerleaders. Auspicious beginning, and we should've just left then. He wouldn't participate; he didn't feel like doing the things they wanted to do. He elaborately yawned, said he was tired, and draped himself across the floor or me. He wouldn't interact, and when they'd try to talk to him, he was poopy, for lack of a better word. I think at the beginning he might've thought he was being cute/shy, but it got worse and worse, and we eventually had to take him out of the class. Really?
Last night we went out to dinner, and he was delightful. The waiter even commented that they have lots of kids there, and his behavior had been exceptional. We were so proud; I think it made us cocky.
If he gets in a mood, he makes angry faces, he tries to hit my face, he's just awful. Last weekend we left his friend's house when he wanted to stay (which would've been a nonending condition), and he was poopy for hours. It could be something small - once I "broke his rule" by getting him new socks (because his feet grew), and he was awful for hours. He doesn't like new things or change; wants everything to stay the way it is. Sometimes he snaps right out, and sometimes it's like he's determined that everyone should be miserable.
Wish I had the solution. I've tried about every approach I can think of, and almost nothing works. All I can do is hold on to the "very, very good" portions. He is the most snuggly, loving, sweetheart boy. Every night when I ask him what he'll dream that night, he says something about me. He and I will make cookies in his dreams or some other fun thing. He's effusive in his affection. He just needs to work out how to be disappointed without falling apart.
We've gotten stitches recently - unfortunately for Aidan's later telling when he's impressing girls who see the scar on his chin (that will, inevitably, be there due to the obvious mediocre stitching job done) ask what happened, he fell coming in the door during a snowstorm. That's a little rough patch - you can't take the gorgeous out of Aidan, and it's really under his chin anyway; you can't see it unless he's looking up.
A more rough, rough patch is what I'm hoping is a phase. I keep thinking of the poem my dad used to say when I was little (and had curlier hair)
There was a little girl, and she had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead,
and when she was good, she was very, very good,
but when she was bad, she was horrid.
I think the poor kid's me. You either got one or the other from me, and that's about what you get from him. This morning OSU cheerleaders and Brutus came to his gym class. He loves them, knows some of their cheers, and was saying he hoped that Brutus would be there when he saw the cheerleaders. Auspicious beginning, and we should've just left then. He wouldn't participate; he didn't feel like doing the things they wanted to do. He elaborately yawned, said he was tired, and draped himself across the floor or me. He wouldn't interact, and when they'd try to talk to him, he was poopy, for lack of a better word. I think at the beginning he might've thought he was being cute/shy, but it got worse and worse, and we eventually had to take him out of the class. Really?
Last night we went out to dinner, and he was delightful. The waiter even commented that they have lots of kids there, and his behavior had been exceptional. We were so proud; I think it made us cocky.
If he gets in a mood, he makes angry faces, he tries to hit my face, he's just awful. Last weekend we left his friend's house when he wanted to stay (which would've been a nonending condition), and he was poopy for hours. It could be something small - once I "broke his rule" by getting him new socks (because his feet grew), and he was awful for hours. He doesn't like new things or change; wants everything to stay the way it is. Sometimes he snaps right out, and sometimes it's like he's determined that everyone should be miserable.
Wish I had the solution. I've tried about every approach I can think of, and almost nothing works. All I can do is hold on to the "very, very good" portions. He is the most snuggly, loving, sweetheart boy. Every night when I ask him what he'll dream that night, he says something about me. He and I will make cookies in his dreams or some other fun thing. He's effusive in his affection. He just needs to work out how to be disappointed without falling apart.
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