My little guy Owen has been busy these past three months acting like a typical three-year-old (i.e. crazy spoiled tyrant). It’s hard to fathom that in three more months he’ll be a four-year-old.
Even though he drives me bonkers on a daily basis (and by daily I mean every minute of every hour of every day), I still dread him getting older. I already miss his outlandish behavior and absurd commentary, which I know will one day be replaced by a disinterested attitude and video game/texting obsession. But there are some things to look forward to as he approaches four, namely full-day preschool.
In the meantime, I try to soak in all of his cuteness and the zingers he comes up with as he constantly chatters. Most of his “zingers” are less than complimentary, but at least he’s honest, right?
Advice for parents: If you happen to get pink eye, don’t expect sympathy from your children. I was greeted by a horrified expression and a disgusted “Mommy, you have zombie eyes!” And one day when I told him I didn’t feel well, he responded “Yeah, your face doesn’t look so good.” However he did offer me some hope: “But don’t be sad, Mommy. Santa can bring you a new face for Christmas.”
He doesn’t hesitate to point out mistakes. As I was helping him get dressed a few weeks ago, he loudly complained “Mommy, your boob touched my face!!” I automatically replied “I’m sorry, but I had to lean over you to help get your pants up.” He magnanimously forgave me, saying “It’s okay. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes.”
As well as being quick to forgive, I can always count on Owen to find the silver lining. After I complain or express frustration, Owen usually provides some positive encouragement like “But at least we have toys!”
Mornings are Owen’s favorite. The earlier the better. He likes to wake me up with cheerful quips such as “It’s time to play, not time to lay!” (I have no idea why my child turns into Dr. Seuss at 6 a.m.) He also likes to bombard me with profound questions as soon as he rises, asking things like “Mommy, why do we have nipples on our chests?” As much as he loves waking up, he hates going to sleep. He never admits to being tired. When he falls asleep in the van, I tell him he must be tired after all. He vehemently denies it; “The sun forced my eyes shut!! I am NOT tired. BAD sun!!!”
He’s becoming more and more observant as he gets older. He noted that “Barbie is not like my other dolls. She’s a big girl. She’s like 18.” He’s currently obsessed with dinosaurs and while taking a bath he recently remarked “I have a ginormous penis like a ginormous dinosaur.” My son does not lack confidence.
Owen and Carmendy have a typical sibling relationship. Sometimes they play together and get each wound up and giggle hysterically. But mostly, they tolerate one another. If one of them gets three Cheerios, the other one must have three Cheerios. And then while they squabble over them, our dog sneaks in and eats all of them (if you’re imagining that our house must be chaotic, you are right). Owen, of course, blames Carmendy and he doesn’t hold back with his bitching about her. During car rides when Carmendy is crying, Owen says things like “Mommy, Carmendy stopped crying. Why? Maybe she didn’t want to annoy us anymore. Ugh. She started crying again and it’s even worse now. BE QUIET, CARMEN-KNEE!!” Makes for peaceful times on the road.
Owen’s personality isn’t much like mine, but we do have one thing in common. Both of us love sweets. Owen is always trying to manipulate me into giving him ice cream or candy. He can be downright feisty and rude when it comes to sugar. Richard recently told him that the rule in our home is you can’t eat dessert unless you have dinner first. Owen immediately snapped back “Well, MY rule is eat dessert FIRST.” I don’t want my kid to be disrespectful, but I also kind of agree with him. I wanna have ice cream for dinner too.
One day, out of the blue, Owen somberly said “Mommy, I’m starting to feel like I want to be good now.” Rest assured, those feelings didn’t last very long because he was back to giving me a raging headache ten minutes later. But at least he wants to be good. There is hope.
And even though he doesn’t show it much, I know he cares about me and my feelings. A few weeks ago I was having a tough moment and crying a little bit. Owen asked what was wrong. I said I was thinking about something sad. He took my face in his hands and said “Listen to me, Mommy. Just don’t think about sad things, okay?” Of course, this made me cry harder because he was just so darn cute and KIND. It’s nice to have these random moments when he’s not running around yelling “poopie head.”
