Little Boys grow up too fast
Category: Raising boys
Poor Jeb was in such pain that they gave him an IV and a shot of Morphine. That eased the pain enough to allow him to play cars with Scott. There’s hardly anything worse than holding down your 2-year-old while two strangers put an IV in him. I know. I’ve had to do it to all three of my kids right around that age.
I took a small ceramic plate and made five separate globs: red, blue, green, yellow, orange, and purple. I put it in between two boys who each had a sheet of construction paper. We’ve done this before – we do this often. Painting with brushes, sponges, fingers — none of it is new. But this time, Scott decided to lay his entire hand on the globs of paint at one time. With glee, he smeared his hand over his yellow construction paper and exclaimed at the fact that the colors all mixed together made brown.
I’ve talked before about how Scott was born premature. I’ve shared little bits and pieces of how I’d spent 10 days in the hospital prior to his emergency c-section, and how my blood pressure finally got too high on a day when the ultrasound results showed Scott in serious distress, and the doctor – who had been waiting for either one of us to start failing before he would take action – realized that both of his patients were critical and he needed to move NOW.
She babysat for me a few weeks ago on a day she just didn’t feel like babysitting. I had to go to an office supply store while I was out, and I saw this pad of sticky notes. Kaylee’s favorite color is orange. I couldn’t help but buy them. The next morning, this was on my bedroom mirror.
The first time Kaylee ever kneeded dough, she still had a pacifier in her mouth (I wish I could find that picture.) That made her younger than 3. Now, at 13, she can make anything. She can read just about any recipe, follow the instructions, and create. I let her cook without restraint, and have, just this year, started letting her cook even if I’m not home.
I bought two swords and handed them to Scott and Johnathan. They immediately, immediately started sword fighting. It was hysterical – I have no idea where they even learned to sword fight. But in the two hours between the time we got there and the concert started, they were well entertained.
I love it how they’re young enough to WANT to help.
Now, wherever we go, so goes Wightning. And Scott replays the movie as he races Lightning over the backs of chairs in the dentist office waiting room, his car seat arms, the back of the couch, his bed, his stroller frame, the slide at the park. He is never without Wightning unless we’re at the table (“No cars at the table, here, Mommy,”) or in the bath, (“Wightning will get ruined in the bath, here, Mommy.”). The only time he wakes up in the middle of the night anymore is when it falls out of his hand. I’ve spent many a 3AM pulling the fallen car out from behind Scott’s bed or digging it out from under his pillow.
If it looks like summer…And it feels like summer…And tastes like summer…Can we just go ahead and call it summer? What do you say?
