I think I may have mentioned in the past that George can be a bad, bad, bad little boy. He ignores direct commands and often smiles in response to scolding. He gets into EVERYTHING and has recently targeted anything that Eleanor considers “special to her.”

I can’t even tell you how many times I had to look for a little plastic raccoon from her Disney Princess game today (Side note: Will someone please let me know which princess had a raccoon familiar? Maybe Snow White during her sojourn in the woods?) George kept grabbing it and running away. I thought Eleanor might have a nervous breakdown the third time it happened. And I thought I might have a nervous breakdown if I overheard just one more occurrence of evil giggling in response to her wails of despair.

Last Sunday when I picked up my three from the kids’ gym at the YMCA, I was informed by a woman on duty that George was cute, but he was “a handful.” Oh really – ya’ think? Exactly why am I going to the gym on a Sunday? Because they offer two hours of FREE CHILDCARE for my devil spawn son.

Okay, okay – he’s not that bad. But he really is exhausting. I don’t have to get into the screaming (it’s been well covered here I think), the intensity that could shatter glass through vibration alone, or the irrational need to finish every sentence no matter what catastrophe just occurred (“George – stop screaming – you can tell me about your Spiderman bandaid AFTER I put out the grease fire.”) And the naughtiness that started developing last year has now come to full fruition. He’s officially a bad, bad, bad little boy. Even if he is cute.

And unlike his older brother, he is an instant acolyte to any older boy who crosses his path. Luckily, we have a lot of good kids on our block. But I’m sorry – four year olds are not supposed to roam the neighborhood at will. Especially not on a scooter.

The scooter obsession (and yes – it really is an obsession, as part and parcel of the intensity that I often think will cause him to burst into flames right before my eyes) started last year when he was three. We got them all scooters in the Spring. And while Oliver and Eleanor liked them well enough, George made it his mission to ride a scooter as well as the seven year olds streaking past our door on their way down the hill. And he actually did it. He was dedicated. He practiced and practiced and by the end of the month could speed down our hill and make the hairpin turn to continue to the end of the cul de sac. It was pretty impressive.

It was also annoying. While his obsessive streak helped him do something that we would never have thought possible, it also guaranteed a constant stream of requests, pleas, demands to “go play scootering.” But it appears that this is just the way George (literally) rolls. It’s in or out, all or nothing, do or die.

Of course it’s now freezing outside so we’re not using the scooters much anymore. So all addictive behaviors are now focused on indoor play. For a while it was painting, which while preferable to me, added even more paper to the already out of control pile of his “workings.” Then there were the Uno cards (which he calls “Oh No” cards) that he insisted on strewing all over the floors of every room. And most recently we’ve had had to contend with colored pencils that he drags everywhere. I finally convinced him to carry them in a bag after describing gruesome scenarios involving falling, tender flesh and sharp objects. But seriously – colored pencils? He’s so weird…

The only thing that will ever trump his predilection for hoarding random objects of interest is his new passion for games. And I don’t mean Candy Land (although he’s driven me nuts with other board games in the past). It started with Chris’ iPhone. My husband doesn’t always have much foresight when it comes to entertaining his children. Letting George play a game on his phone may have seemed like an easy way to stop the screaming, but it also unleashed a whole new brand of crazy. He would never have done such a thing if he thought he’d be spending entire weekends hiding from a mini-tyrant who won’t stop asking, “Daddy – can I play games on your phone? Daddy – can I play games on your phone? Daddy – can I play games on your phone? Daddy – can I…” George is relentless.

We own a Wii that I got for Chris as an anniversary gift a couple of years ago. But it quickly disappeared to a high shelf after George jammed it with pennies and it had to be sent out for repairs. It was then only taken down when the children were in bed for the night, and I don’t think I had ever even tried to turn it on. Recently though, the son of a friend has become rather obsessed (in a George kind of way) with Wii games. I decided to learn how to set it up so that I could provide entertainment for him when he was visiting. And of course, the other kids loved it and wanted to play too.

But no one ever loves anything as much as George loves things. And he LOVES the Wii. He doesn’t really know how to do everything all on his own, but for his age and minimal exposure to technology, he’s learning fast. There have been a few times that he’s navigated through menus I didn’t know existed. I did say that he was dedicated…

So George has a new addiction. And “Daddy – can I play games on your phone,” has been replaced by, “Can I play WEED? Let’s play WEED. I want to play WEED!” Yeah – no matter how many times I correct him, he insists on calling the Wii, “the Weed.” Which makes for many “just move along quickly and don’t make eye contact with anyone” moments when Eleanor selects public places to announce “George REALLY likes Weed.“

I expect that George will always be driving me crazy with something…but I do admire his enthusiasm and general stick-to-it-iveness. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. It makes me think that almost anything is possible if you really want it enough. If you’re willing to put your whole self into attaining a goal. If you have the confidence to really believe that you can make things happen. This is a quality that I should try to cultivate in myself.

So as much as I may want to lock him in his room or spank him or just sit on him to keep him from wreaking any further havoc on the world at large, I just can’t help but be a little dazzled by my incandescent blaze of a boy. He’s a handful – yes. And he may even be the death of me. But after all all of the empty threats, reasoning, yelling, excessive punishments, begging…I usually just end up grabbing him and covering his impish smile with as many kisses as he’ll endure. Because as bad as he can be – he really is DAMN cute.