Tag Archives: Little Ones

Who’s Big Idea Was This Anyway?

13 Replies

What do you mean, “who’s big idea was this?” It was my Uncle Dick’s idea. Haven’t you read my posts from Monday and Tuesday? No? Here’s a quick recap. My Uncle Dick called me while I was half naked in a Target dressing room to tell me that I should write a Dear Abby style column for children. Oh right – and we are Covenys, and think we have better ideas than anyone else. I think that sums it up pretty nicely.

To conclude this three part series, I will now attempt to execute THE IDEA. The following letter is based on the experience of my oldest son when we tried to ruin his life by bringing newborn twins into our house – allegedly to be his siblings.

Dear Mrs. Hood,

I am a one and a half year old boy living in the DC metro area. Recently, my mother disappeared for several days, and then returned with two little things that she calls babies. They do not look like babies, and I am worried that she may have suffered an injury during her absence that is making her delusional. These “babies” do not coo or giggle, they do not have chubby arms and legs to tickle, and when I do try to tickle them, they scream. Then I have to sit on the naughty step for being too rough with the “babies.” My father is no help. It seems that he has lost his mind as well. At first I thought he may just be playing along while he tried to get my mother help, but I lost hope when the neighbors started showing up to “see the new babies.” It appears that these creatures have the ability to brainwash grownups. Everyone leaves our house talking about how adorable the “babies” are. They are in fact, not adorable. They look like turtles without shells. I like turtles – but not without shells. How do I make my parents understand that they are being brainwashed by shell-less turtle creatures, and that they should return these so called “babies” to the pit of hell from whence they came?

Sincerely,
Reviled in Reston

Dear Reviled,

First, I would like to compliment you on your advanced vocabulary and writing skills. Most 18 month old children are just starting to put two to three words together, so you are an exceptionally gifted young boy. But remember – you are a young boy, and your parents have a lot more life experience. They are not delusional, and they were just as thrilled with you when they brought you home as a newborn shell-less turtle. All newborn babies are small and twins tend to be even smaller. You may not believe it now, but they will quickly grow and gain those rolls that you would like to tickle. They will also start smiling when they are about six weeks old, and this too will make them more recognizable as babies. The reason that your parents send you to the naughty step is because they have not slept since the minute they brought the twins home; and when the babies scream, it makes them want to buy wigs and fake passports and hop on the next plane to Brazil. This is not your fault, but they are not exactly reasonable at the moment. While you are awfully young for this responsibility, you will have to be patient with them and understand that it takes a while for parents to adjust to a new baby in the house. Even more so for two new babies. You will be surprised at how quickly they adapt though, and in a few months they won’t even remember a time when the babies weren’t part of the family. And by then, you will be happy to see that your twin siblings will be cooing, giggling, ticklish, chubby babies that don’t look like turtles without shells. Until then – keep your chin up and watch a lot of TV. This will make your parents very happy. Guilty – but happy.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Hood

Hey! Not bad right? I will try to come up with these every once in a while. And in the meantime, feel free to send me any questions that you would like answered (either real or made up). You see – not only do I have really great ideas….I have answers for everything.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Hood

Why Good Girls Go Bad

12 Replies

The other night, we were in the middle of our evening routine (dinner for kids, baths for kids, bedtime for kids, bottle of wine for parents) and had the conversational equivalent of a wardrobe malfunction.

It was Eleanor’s turn (we’re still doing separate baths since Oliver goes to bed later and George…well – the explanations are boring and not based on any real logic – we just do it that way most of the time). Anyway – Chris agreed to do the bath while I cleaned up the kitchen, and he brought my daughter over for a goodnight kiss.

I said something about it being bath time and she tossed back the house party line, “no.” I explained that she had played outside that day and that her legs were so dirty that I could wet my finger and write my name in the filth (kind of like what people to do my – I mean – dirty cars). Actually – I didn’t say that to her because she wouldn’t have any idea what I was talking about, you know, not being two yet and all…but it’s good imagery for the amount of grime she had acquired during the day.

The rest of the conversation went like this:

Me: Okay – I love you – night night.

Eleanor: No!

Me: Yes – you need a bath. You are SOOO dirty. You have to clean up.

Eleanor: NOO-HOO-HOOO-HOO!

Me: YE-HEH-HEH-HESS! You are too dirty. You HAVE to take a bath.

Chris: That’s right – cause you’re a dirty girl.

(long pause as parents take in the words that seem to inflate like giant porn balloons in the air between them)

Kate: Don’t ever say that again?

Chris: Yeah – that didn’t sound good…

In My Opinion, You Can Never Have Enough:

10 Replies

1. Icing on your cupcake (but only if it’s the homemade kind – the canned stuff is sub-par).

2. Butter on your baked potato (unless you have a dairy allergy and have to use fake stuff like Molly McButter – it’s just not the same).

3. Help with a newborn in the house (unless this involves family members that make you feel like you are 7 years old and playing with dolls).

4. Pairs of black heels (because regardless of what our male contemporaries think – they are all TOTALLY different).*
*This of course only applies to women – and drag queens.

5. Time to do nothing with your children (unless they are whining and crying – then they should go immediately to daycare where that magical woman turns them into pod people for the day).

6. Comments on a post (come on – this is a blog!).

7. Memories of great times with your friends that have nothing to do with the opposite sex (unless you are gay – and then you have to imagine that you have a whole group of friends where no one has ever hooked up. What? So I like The L Word).

8. Glasses of wine to come up with a lame list of things that you can never have enough of (and the inclination to think ending sentences with prepositions is just fine and no one will notice).

9. Respect and appreciation from your spouse/partner (finally – one that applies to all!).

10. Friends that remember you as you were in the past – and love you all the more for it.

Weird on So Many Levels

12 Replies

(Now with Eleanor update at the end.)

I was planning to post this quick sound byte from our weekend (already written below) but I need to do a little venting first (and I’ll TRY to keep it short since don’t want to be an online whiner).

I sometimes really wish I just wanted to (okay – that’s 50% that we could afford for me to) be a stay at home mom. Sometimes this is just too hard. Work is incredibly stressful right now. We have a seminar taking place tomorrow and the President is speaking. She’s notorious for finding SOMETHING wrong every time she does a seminar, and I’m just bracing myself for this one. Too many things were going wrong at the last minute today…

THEN at 4:00 I got a call from daycare that Eleanor had a temperature. Not too high – just 101 – but she has been having this off and on for the past few days, and it was up to 103 on Saturday. I only sent her to daycare because she seemed fine this morning.

When I picked her up, I planned to leave the boys there and bring her to the store to pick up a few things before the regular 5:15 pick up time. THEN while I was getting details about her day from our daycare provider, she threw up ALL OVER ME. The good news is that while it drenched my top, it somehow missed my skirt and I had just picked up the dry cleaning this morning. The bad news that there wasn’t one of my own tops in the dry cleaning. So I ended up wearing one of Chris’ dress shirts.

By the time I got Eleanor and myself somewhat cleaned up, it seemed ridiculous to leave and come back, so I packed everyone in the car. We carpool with Chris, so even though I called and told him to leave early, we had to circle the metro for almost 30 minutes. Thank god for portable DVD players, and Curious George, and the fact that my kids didn’t feel like watching the WIggles since their songs are already haunting my dreams.

Fast forward an hour – we decided that we wouldn’t wait until tomorrow to see a doctor since she gave us a 105.2 temperature scare last summer due to a UTI. I had a feeling that this might be another one and I’d rather not relive waking up at 3:00 a.m. to find my daughter having a seizure. We agreed that Chris would take her to our local urgent care center since the boys are both convinced that the world comes to an end when I leave the room (and because we naively thought that it would only be a couple of hours).

Now it’s 9:30, they’ve been there almost four hours and it will probably be another two. Eleanor has an IV, a catheter and has had blood taken for testing. Poor Chris has a phobia of needles (he passes out when he gives blood) and has had to be there for all of it. I did it last time and it was hard enough for me!

I’m not worried about Eleanor for anything more than her immediate discomfort. I know that this is another UTI. It’s not the end of the world. I certainly know people that have experienced worse – but it doesn’t make it any less scary for her. It doesn’t make it any less disturbing for my husband. And it doesn’t make it any less frustrating for me. I want to be there. I want to hold her and comfort her and let her know that I will ALWAYS be there if she needs me. That’s my real job. I’m the mom.

This time I will have to go to work. I’ve already exceeded my current vacation time by making the last minute trip to Key West. Chris can stay home with her as necessary tomorrow and I can’t. It’s just not a good day. I hate even thinking that. How can it ever be a bad day to take care of my children. If Chris was traveling for work, I would have to rearrange my schedule. But he can manage taking the day off – so there is no reason for me to stay home. Other than the obvious reason that I WANT to.

Don’t get me wrong – on good days, I like having a job. I won’t go into the history of that because I’ve gone back and forth on the subject. But I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t want to be a working mom. It’s just not working for me today. And I’m feeling a little sorry for myself. And I’m feeling guilty for that since I know that I have so much to be thankful for.

I just wish I could trade for a minute. I want to be at the urgent care center right now. I want to be home with my daughter tomorrow. And I want to feel like I’m giving 100% of myself to my children.

Okay that’s it. Sorry – didn’t keep it short. I did try though.

Back to our regularly scheduled program. This is some dialogue from this weekend that I found “weird on so many levels”:

Conversation over lunch at Chipotle:

Oliver (3 years old): OFF! OFF!

Me: No. Boys don’t take off their shirts off at Chipotle.

Chris: Yeah – what do you think this is? Your mother’s favorite gay bar at the beach?

8/12/08, 10:00 p.m. Eleanor Update:
Okay – so she’s fine. We have no idea what was wrong with her – but she woke up this morning like, “psyche!” (I’m feeling very 80s). But she really did seem to be very sick last night – so we don’t regret the ER drama. I mean they hooked her up to tubes and all…so it wasn’t like they were just humoring us. Anyway – it doesn’t seem to be a UTI like I thought, she hasn’t had a fever in 24 hours and she was tearing around the house causing as much mayhem as ever up to the minute we put her to bed. So for everyone that has been sending words of support – all is well. One last thing. Chris told me that when they were in the ER, she kept asking for her twin brother, “where George?” How cute is that?

Late Breaking News from Our Bathroom

9 Replies

On Saturday, something incredibly exciting happened in the Hood residence. Oliver didn’t just “go potty” as directed by us, he did so of his own volition.

He walked into the house after running errands with his Dad, beelined for the bathroom, took off his pants and hopped on the toilet. Okay he actually took off his shirt as well, but the point is that he pulled down his pants BY HIMSELF (and anyone who has seen the size of my sturdy son’s “backyard” knows that this is no easy feat). Then when he was finished, he flushed the toilet, found his father and asked for help in putting his pull up back on.

Now I know that mothers of potty trained 2 year olds (i.e. girls) are thinking, “so what – isn’t he now a few months past his third birthday?” Well , yes – but the concept of potty training has not been all that well received, and we’ve been making very slow progress over the past few months. Steady progress – but slow progress nonetheless. So this is big for us. BIG I tell you!

Not sure what to make of the needing to be naked thing (my own little George Costanza) – but at least he no longer requires a snack while he’s taking care of business.

Bandita

6 Replies

Since I’ve written several posts involving my oldest son, Oliver and just dedicated the last one to my youngest son, George’s blankie obsession – I think it’s only fair to give a little air time to my only daughter.

When Eleanor was born, she was quite possibly the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. As a twin, she was tiny at not quite 6 lbs. (at least the twins seemed tiny to me after my first newborn experience with Oliver who was over 9 lbs.). She had an angelic little face, a perfectly shaped head (thanks to the c-section), and even had golden skin. Okay – so she was a little jaundiced, but I don’t think I’m the first mother who thought that this subtle “tint” made her baby look pretty. I didn’t get to see as much of her as George that first week since she was in the NICU with breathing problems. But when I did spend time with her, I marveled over what a little gem she was. So peaceful, so delicate – the perfect baby girl.

When she first came home, we all agreed that she was the “sweet” one. She would be the best sleeper. She would bring a calming balance to George’s spastic flailing. She would be the one to crawl into our laps for a cuddle. She would sit and color while her wild brothers tore the house apart.

At some point she must have realized that she was going to have to make some noise if she ever wanted to get any significant attention. And after a few weeks of quietly cooing, she started to use those lungs. The honeymoon phase of the relationship was over. She “would not be ignored” (10 points for anyone who can guess the movie reference). Well – good for her, I say. Or that’s what I say now. Then I just said, “et tu Eleanor?”

Then at about six weeks, she developed a nasty case of eczema/baby acne that covered her entire head. Combined with a clogged tear duct that refused to be remedied (the result of which was one eye perpetually clogged with yellow goop), she wasn’t quite ready for any baby beauty pageants. Yet we still found her enchanting (as only parents can) and knew that she would quickly outgrow this reptilian condition. And she did. And I was so happy to bring her out in public and not feel compelled to hide her in a baby bjorn.

She continued to be considered the sweet one through most of her first year. But as the twins became more mobile, we began to see signs of feistiness that threatened to shatter this illusion. Too many times I caught her grabbing toys out of her brothers’ hands. She also became a bit of a princess in demanding all of our attention, waking up to check in with us several times each night and insisting on being carried at all times. Our visions of a quiet little girl with a coloring book began to fade away.

By the time she could walk, she made it her mission in life to grab whatever George had and race off with it. In the early days, this was great comedy. Since neither of them could move very fast, it looked a bit like a geriatric couple shuffling around in a snail paced chase scene. Eleanor would snatch the item, pivot and begin to make her getaway. George, full of fury and indignation would follow. They would then take about 10 minutes to circle the room. One of my greatest regrets is having never recorded this on video.

The twins got older and more agile – and eventually, I began to call Eleanor “bandit” in earnest. Two months shy of her second birthday, she really has become a terror. She is not particularly girly or interested in dolls, but neither does she share her brothers’ fascination with cars and trains. This of course does not stop her from stealing said items and sprinting out of the room in peals of maniacal laughter. We don’t encourage this behavior, but we secretly revel in her moxie. Why did we want a little mouse of a girl when we could have this lion cub, this spirited tornado, this lovable little dictator.

I don’t want to give the impression that she isn’t sweet. Of course she is (all three of them are). She just isn’t quite what we initially expected. But for every time that she steals a toy from one of her brothers, she gives them a kiss, she gleefully calls their names when they enter a room, and she cries with abandon when one of them leaves the house to run an errand with mom or dad. Eleanor’s love is as fierce as her sense of entitlement.

I’ve stopped trying to assign a future personality to my daughter – or any of my children really. They have already changed so much and will continue to do so in the years to come. But this is Eleanor’s story, and in honor of her preference for grabbing all that life has to offer and running with it, I’d like to state for the record that I fervently hope that this never changes. She steals the spotlight whenever she can. She steals kisses when you least expect it. And from the minute we first saw her, she stole our hearts forever.

Insecurity Blankets

14 Replies

In a previous post, I mentioned George’s obsession with his blankie. This started a few months ago and has recently peaked in an ongoing power struggle that more often than not concludes with George doing a victory lap around the playroom with said blankie wrapped around his head.
In the beginning, the blankie didn’t leave his crib. It was for sleeping only. The first sign of our current descent into madness was when we would get him out of bed and he refused to put it down. But we were still able to hide it before leaving for daycare or weekend plans, so it was just a matter of transporting it back up to his room. Then he had to start this irritating cognitive development thing where he puts two and two together. That’s when he realized that when the blanket wasn’t in view, it still existed somewhere in the house, and that the sight of one of his parents racing up the stairs with something stuffed under their shirt was a clue as to where it went.
Now he’s onto us. Just try to coax him to hand over his blankie and and he’ll give you a look that clearly says, “you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead fingers.” Trickery is now the only option, and I have a new item on my daily to do list: “steal blankie from George.”
In all honesty, I do understand George’s love for his blankie. I had one myself. Even when I was a teenager, I would put the pathetic little scrap that remained over my pillow at night because I still liked the feel of it against my cheek. Then I left it a my friend, Alyssa’s house right before she left to spend the summer with her father in California. By the time she returned, it was nowhere to be found. I can only assume that its value was not recognized, and someone threw it away. It was a little sad – but I let it go without too much remorse. My blankie had lived a good life – much longer than most.
I think this cuddly object obsession that is so prominent a theme for small children (blankets, stuffed animals, special pillows and the like) is just an early shade of something very basic and human. We live in a chaotic world and we all need something to help us stay anchored. We battle insecurity every day – mainly over where we fit into society. Whether it’s high school, the boardroom or the neighborhood moms group – we often need something tangible to make us feel safe or connected. As teenagers we have strong connections to our friends, at work we get identity from our achievements, and with other moms we define ourselves by our parenting. George just wants his blanket.
Sometimes I think it sounds very appealing to go back to this simple set of priorities. If just holding a blanket made me feel good about myself, I’d drag one around too. But as I’ve grown up, my security blanket has become my family, my marriage and children, my sense of self worth. A piece of fabric is no longer enough. But what I do have is more than enough, and my anchor is just being able to remember that every day.

10 Things People Love to Give Kids/10 Things Parents Wish You Wouldn’t Give Their Kids

13 Replies

If you didn’t catch my guest post at Light Refreshments Served on Friday, here it is below (but I still suggest that you visit LRS – they are very funny even if you don’t understand all of the Mormon references):

10 Things People Love to Give Kids/10 Things Parents Wish You Wouldn’t Give Their Kids

Balloons
Almost every visit to Trader Joe’s is accompanied by a meltdown, typically occurring at some point after the complimentary balloon is presented to your child. This can happen in the parking lot when the balloon slips out of his/her grasp and floats away. It can happen when you arrive home and the rest of your children want to play with the balloon. It can happen when it ascends to the top of a stairwell where parents risk breaking their necks in any attempt to retrieve it. There are limitless possibilities – and all seem to end in heartbreak.

Musical Instruments
This always sounds like such a wonderful idea. Who doesn’t love music? It’s inspiring, it’s creative, it’s a window into culture and genius, and some think it actually brings us closer to God. But when a child is banging a drum, blowing a horn or strumming a ukulele, it’s not music. It’s just noise. Migraine inducing noise.

100 Piece Puzzles
First of all, this 100 piece puzzle is usually presented to a six year old who has no hope of being able to start, let alone finish the activity. So the parent is required to coordinate, monitor and execute the entire process. Usually while the child is watching TV. This basically makes the puzzle a gift for the parent. Please don’t ever buy me a 100 piece puzzle.

Toys That Involve Assembly
Everything looks fabulously entertaining and educational on a box cover where well dressed children are pictured laughing and exclaiming over their love for the miraculous toy. What isn’t pictured is the reality of 750 tiny pieces of plastic and 50 pages of directions that can only be read with the use of a microscope. Much like the puzzle activity, assembly of the toy will require up to 24 hours of the parent’s time. Time that the child will most likely spend watching TV.

Toys That Require Batteries
Oh, I know. You always buy the necessary batteries and include them in the gift. That’s irrelevant. The problem is not purchasing the batteries, it’s inserting them. Most toys developed for children include child proof battery covers. Initially, this makes complete sense – I mean, I can’t imagine what might happen if one of my children was able to dislodge a battery and put it in their mouth. Oh wait – that’s right – it happens every day with our TV remote control. Anyway…in order to get the battery into the toy, you must first locate a special screwdriver made for very tiny people and remove about 25 miniscule screws. Even though we own one of these Lilliputian tool sets, it seems to disappear whenever I need it (or maybe I just can’t see it since it’s so small). The fun really peaks when you are done replacing all 25 screws and the toy still doesn’t work.

Toys That Include Tiny Accessories
How many times have you found yourself tearing a room apart looking for a Barbie shoe, a Star Wars action figure’s light saber or another essential component to a toy’s wardrobe or function? These itty bitty necessities are impossible to keep track of and disappear within days of removing the toy from its packaging. It is my belief that these items are sucked into the same vortex that abducts my sunglasses, nail files, pool ID card and car keys. Some items escape and are eventually located. Others are never recovered. Sometimes I suspect that my son may have eaten them.

Toys That Go With Other Toys That Must Be Purchased to Complete the Set
Why do people insist on committing parents to spending more money on yet another collection? Maybe my children don’t like Thomas the Tank Engine. In that case, I won’t feel compelled to add to the gift of a new “Percy” or “Emily” with more engines and “Troublesome Trucks” to complete the set. OR MAYBE my children will become addicted to these little trains that usually cost about $12 apiece. Which scenario seems more likely?

Toys That Involve Science Experiments
I’d like to say that this doesn’t require any further explanation, but just for the sake of argument… “Learning toys” are extremely popular right now. So one could assume that an older child would really like a do-it-yourself volcano kit. The reality is that parents don’t want a volcano in their house. It’s like, one of the perks of living in suburban America. We enjoy our lava-free lifestyle. Besides – Hollywood has raised the bar in the wonder department with all of the special effects our kids see in movies. It’s unlikely that they will be impressed by a homemade volcano. Parents will have plenty of time to do science experiments for school projects. Let them enjoy their homework-free time without any volcano construction.

Different Toys for Multiple Children
Without fail, someone will always prefer what someone else got. Usually, there will be a correct guess for what one child will like, but it’s very hard to hit multiple home runs… With the little ones, there are tears and with the older ones there is sulking. It’s not that they are ungrateful – they are just children. And they don’t understand how you could be so stupid to give their older brother a Swiss Army knife, yet think that they would like a handmade corn husk doll from Amish country. I mean – it doesn’t even come with plastic shoes – or a light saber.

Identical Toys for Multiple Children
This sounds like a good idea. Total equality, no fighting over who got something better or more expensive – it’s like Communism at its best. But children don’t believe in equality. They will always find the flaw to point out to the youngest sibling: “Your Barbie’s hair isn’t as thick as my Barbie’s hair,” or “my racecar is faster than yours.” Sometimes they use imagination to contrive even more unlikely comparisons: “My robot is smarter than your robot,” or “my Barbie is really a princess, and a fairy, AND a mermaid…but yours is just a Barbie.” Kids can be so cruel.

“But,” you say, “I just wanted to do something nice. Won’t the parents at least appreciate the gesture?” Well…there isn’t a good answer for this. In a perfect world, I would say yes. Yes, parents appreciate anything you do to acknowledge their children. Why wouldn’t we? But we just don’t enjoy all of the complications that these unsolicited gestures can create.

While presents are expected at birthday parties, they are not otherwise necessary. If you want to do something nice for a child, just talk to them. Take an interest in their activities, let them show you around their playroom, engage in 15 minutes of playing “grocery store” or throwing around a football. Kids will always appreciate attention more than things. And if you feel that you absolutely must present them with something, make it something that you can actually do with them. Except for a do-it-yourself volcano. If you bring one of those to my house, you will never be invited back.

Thursday Confession

7 Replies

Day four of my vacation and week of confessions. Here is number four: I don’t really like playing with my kids. Well – let me clarify. I don’t really enjoy playing with toy trains, building Lego tower after Lego tower so that my toddler can knock them over, or running through the same “Wake Up Jeff!” scene from the Wiggles over and over and over and over again (and again and again and again and again) with my three year old.

I’ve never been all that good at this part of being with kids. I love them and I love spending time with them (I was a babysitter for years), but I just can’t rediscover that inner child that can disappear in the land of make believe for hours on end. I get bored. And then I want to sneak my headphones in and listen to one of my recorded books (see Monday’s confession). And then I feel guilty and throw myself into the game with far more gusto than I actually feel. But it makes the kids happy – so I guess it all works out in the end.

I first recognized this apathy back when my now college age cousin was three and said that playing “guys” (i.e. action figures) with me was different because I always had them taking naps. I’ve even tried this with my own kids, “Hey – let’s pretend that we’re sleeping!” But that damn Jeff always wakes up when people yell at him – so it is just more of the “Wake Up Jeff” game. Which completely defeats the purpose.

What about you? Have anything that you want to confess?

World Wrestling Champion

6 Replies

Oliver is very strong. And he’s been that way since he was a baby. I remember in those early months after getting him dressed for daycare, I’d feel like I spent the morning wrestling gorillas. Not much has changed.

He was over 9 lbs. at birth and has continued to be a very big boy. So between his size and his strength (and his force of will), he’s almost impossible to overpower in a struggle. ALMOST impossible. You see, while he’s been growing and getting stronger – I have been getting stronger myself. All of this lifting/hoisting/carrying/immobilizing of a now 47 lb. boy has developed upper body strength that I never dreamed I’d have. I honestly think that I could join any high school wrestling team and lead them to the state championship.

But that doesn’t mean it’s fun. Every day is a work out. When Oliver was first showing signs of this, I used to make jokes about how I envisioned myself grappling with a giant two year old in the mall. Now he’s three. It’s not funny anymore.

And to make things even more complicated – he has delayed speech, so we’re not really at a point where I can try reasoning with him. For now, all I can do is keep up my strength and enjoy the look of my arms in a tank top.

Really – he’s a good natured kid. And as his teacher always says to me, “there isn’t a mean bone in his body.” He’s just really physical and he loves to play very physical games. Running, throwing balls, rolling around on the floor, being tickled…it all thrills him. Unfortunately, he just doesn’t know his own strength. He never means to be too rough with his much younger, MUCH smaller siblings. But he really needs to learn when it’s just a little “too much.”

The twins absolutely egg him on of course. He can be happily playing with blocks, minding his own business, and they’ll come over and start poking at him. At first, he’ll ignore them, but once they really get his attention, you can just see his eyes light up. And then he’s all, “Welcome, to another edition of Thunderdome!”

The irony is that I’m almost positive that he’s not going to be a big man. None of the men in my life are tall (my husband, father and brother are all around 5’ 8’’). And even the tall men in Chris’ family are more in the 6 foot range. So my guess is that sometime in early high school, everyone else will catch up.

But I do think that he’ll continue to be strong. Even if he’s short (or “not tall”), he’s a solid kid and those muscles make him a match for children twice his age. This can help him in any sport, and we’re thinking that will probably be the best channel for all of that energy he has. Maybe he’ll be a wrestling team champion. I have little experience in this area, but I’m sure that I can help. Now that I’ve developed this upper body strength and perfected my “holds” – I can probably help with the training. Because you know – I can take him.