KIDS!!!!! . . . . No . . . I mean . . . SONS!!!!!!!
I think I've told you this before, but when I was younger (heck- she still does it, when my siblings are being particularly annoying- not me though- I am never annoying) my mother used to say, "I hate kids!" Now that I am a mother, I know what she really meant, "Doggone, aggravating, pain in my rear end- KIDS!!!!!"
Alexa, Doug, and I finished off some cookies in secret- while poor, deprived Andrew slaved over his vocabulary sentences one evening not too long ago, I figured I owed him a treat (in fairness- he has no idea he missed out on the cookies- as it was done in secret). So, when I ran to the grocery store for the 50th time that week, I picked him up a treat of his choice: a Hershey bar.
Since I told him I hoped rats wouldn't eat his face off for leaving trash around his room recently, he's been doing a great job getting all his wrappers and trash up in his room. Except tonight- instead of getting the Hershey bar wrapper in the trashcan- he put it in the toilet- that he had not flushed. I discovered this well after he had gone to bed. There I am- left to deal with the candy bar wrapper, in the toilet, with urine in it. Cue my mother's phrase . . .
The thing is . . . this is just a drop in the bucket of goofball things he does. The other day, Alexa had a t-ball game and Andrew was running around playing his pals, and using Doug's catcher's mitt. Well, wouldn't you know . . . he threw the mitt about 5 feet from our wagon and it was only because another responsible, kid happened to notice the mitt, that it was not left at the fields. Later when I mentioned it to him, he goes, "ooohhhhh. . . . "
Yesterday, he was looking for some binder clips in my closet. Instead of finding the clips, he found a whole box of thumb tacks that he spilled on the floor- and in my shoes. The first time I stepped on one of the tacks I though how random that a tack would be on the closet floor. I couldn't remember the last time I used them. The 2nd time I was annoyed. The 3rd time I yelled, "AANNNNDDDRREEEWWW!!!!!!!" He had no idea how that happened. It's a mystery I am sure.
The other day, he had done something and I was just sort of standing there debating on whether it was worth it to fuss at him, or just let it go. And another mother (we were of course, . . . at the baseball fields) says, "I don't want to depress you, but it . . . it just gets worse." Oh Lord, how can it? How can he possibly be goofier than he is now? All of our possessions will be left at other places. We'll have nothing because he'll have left it somewhere and not remembered where.
However- while I'm complaining about him. He said what just might be one of the nicest things he's ever said to me the other day. He had just told me about how hairy pickles are funny and I did my best to be mature and not laugh. As I was putting him to bed later that evening he says, "Mom. I love you because you get me. You get my sense of humor." While I don't know how highly that speaks of me, my heart grinned knowing that- Andrew feels that way about me. Again- it's probably not a good thing that I appreciate 9 year old boy humor, but frankly I don't care what society says on this one- as long as my kid feels like he's got someone who gets him . . . and that someone is me . . . that's all I need.
Alexa, Doug, and I finished off some cookies in secret- while poor, deprived Andrew slaved over his vocabulary sentences one evening not too long ago, I figured I owed him a treat (in fairness- he has no idea he missed out on the cookies- as it was done in secret). So, when I ran to the grocery store for the 50th time that week, I picked him up a treat of his choice: a Hershey bar.
Since I told him I hoped rats wouldn't eat his face off for leaving trash around his room recently, he's been doing a great job getting all his wrappers and trash up in his room. Except tonight- instead of getting the Hershey bar wrapper in the trashcan- he put it in the toilet- that he had not flushed. I discovered this well after he had gone to bed. There I am- left to deal with the candy bar wrapper, in the toilet, with urine in it. Cue my mother's phrase . . .
The thing is . . . this is just a drop in the bucket of goofball things he does. The other day, Alexa had a t-ball game and Andrew was running around playing his pals, and using Doug's catcher's mitt. Well, wouldn't you know . . . he threw the mitt about 5 feet from our wagon and it was only because another responsible, kid happened to notice the mitt, that it was not left at the fields. Later when I mentioned it to him, he goes, "ooohhhhh. . . . "
Yesterday, he was looking for some binder clips in my closet. Instead of finding the clips, he found a whole box of thumb tacks that he spilled on the floor- and in my shoes. The first time I stepped on one of the tacks I though how random that a tack would be on the closet floor. I couldn't remember the last time I used them. The 2nd time I was annoyed. The 3rd time I yelled, "AANNNNDDDRREEEWWW!!!!!!!" He had no idea how that happened. It's a mystery I am sure.
The other day, he had done something and I was just sort of standing there debating on whether it was worth it to fuss at him, or just let it go. And another mother (we were of course, . . . at the baseball fields) says, "I don't want to depress you, but it . . . it just gets worse." Oh Lord, how can it? How can he possibly be goofier than he is now? All of our possessions will be left at other places. We'll have nothing because he'll have left it somewhere and not remembered where.
However- while I'm complaining about him. He said what just might be one of the nicest things he's ever said to me the other day. He had just told me about how hairy pickles are funny and I did my best to be mature and not laugh. As I was putting him to bed later that evening he says, "Mom. I love you because you get me. You get my sense of humor." While I don't know how highly that speaks of me, my heart grinned knowing that- Andrew feels that way about me. Again- it's probably not a good thing that I appreciate 9 year old boy humor, but frankly I don't care what society says on this one- as long as my kid feels like he's got someone who gets him . . . and that someone is me . . . that's all I need.
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