Fabulous Four

January 24, 2013

Monster GrahamOn New Year’s Eve, the Nord family officially said goodbye to the Terrible 3’s. Our little man Graham turned Fabulous 4, and we’re all pretty excited! (Understatement.) Don’t get me wrong—I love Graham to pieces and give thanks for every day he’s in my life. But 3 is a tough age, especially for parents who suffer from Patience Deficiency and Whine Aversion (both debilitating medical conditions).

I’ve been reflecting about our family adventures as I always do at this time of year, and I’ve thought a lot about why the merry old age of 3 was so generally grumpy for Graham.

Why does he despise everything I cook?

Why does he insist on wearing pajamas all the time?

Why does he take such fiendish delight in the words “fart” and “poopy”?

Why does he run and hide under the dining room table when I’m already 10 minutes late for work forcryingoutloud???

The answer is clearly and obviously “because he was 3.” My logical brain knows this, and yet I’ve pondered these questions as I would the great mysteries of the universe.

When it comes to Graham, though, I think there’s a bit more to the answer. It comes down to the fundamentals of his personality, which vexed me deeply at age 3 but will probably make me very proud as he grows into adulthood.

Graham is his own man. He is confident. He is decisive. He is spirited! He’s also frustratingly stubborn, but then again, so am I…and I rather admire that quality in myself. 🙂

Without a doubt, Graham will lead a life of adventure and independence. He will travel the world. He will skydive. He will climb the sheer side of a mountain with no ropes or shoes. And he will most certainly cause me many hours of anxiety.

But he is also the delight of my life—such an interesting and wonderful person, and I can’t quite remember what Christian and I talked about before he arrived on our scene. So here’s to the Fabulous 4’s for Grammy Henry! I wish him a year—and a lifetime—of brilliant escapades, pirate adventure and a restful nap from time to time.

Published in: on January 25, 2013 at 1:52 am  Leave a Comment  

Fact or Fiction

January 17, 2012

A typical weekday evening in the Nord household sounds something like this:

Mommy/Daddy: “Wyatt, how was Kindergarten today?”

Wyatt: “Oh brother. Fine.”

Mommy/Daddy: “What did you do?”

Wyatt: “Ummmmm…we went outside one time and we played in the warehouse two times.”

M/D: “Oh, yeah? Did you learn anything?”

Wyatt: “Nope.”

M/D: “Lovely.”

You can imagine my surprise and delight one recent evening when Wyatt responded to my “How was your day?” query as follows: “We had a program today at school. The first and second graders from the other campus came over on the school bus and did a program for us. Then we went outside to play and we had hot chocolate when we came back inside.” Though not exactly an academic discussion, I was nonetheless pleased that he had something moderately interesting to say about the last eight hours of his life. I thought, perhaps, we were having a breakthrough.

Such hopes were quickly dashed, however, when I went to choir practice that night. You see, I happen to sit next to Wyatt’s Kindergarten teacher in the church choir. She’s a lovely woman, and we like to chat it up while the rest of the choir rehearses their parts. While our lone bass stumbled through a particularly tricky passage, I leaned to Wyatt’s teacher and said, “So, I hear you had a program today.” She looked at me puzzled. I said, “Didn’t you have a program from the first and second graders at the other campus?” She said, “Noooo…” I asked if they had gone outside. No. Hot chocolate? Definitely not.

Wyatt had made up the whole story. And with confidence! I was dumbfounded, and frankly felt pretty dumb. He had taken me for a ride on his imagination train, and I’d been a very willing passenger.

If this had been a single occurrence of truth-stretching, I probably would have shrugged it off. But unfortunately, Wyatt has been intermixing fact and fiction for several weeks now, and I can’t help but think that he enjoys pulling a fast one (or twelve) on the adults in his life. He hasn’t lied about anything serious, but there’s definitely a pattern of half truths, quarter truths and nonexistent truths going on here.

I stewed about Wyatt’s “program” story all night, and as soon as I could reasonably drag him out of bed the next morning, I did. We sat together at the dining room table, and I told him that he was busted. (He sulked.) I asked him why he lied to me. (Because he wanted to.) And I told him that he had made me sad. Did he like making me sad? (No, of course, he didn’t.)

I know this latest phase for Wyatt is perfectly normal. And I know it’s not the last time he’ll pull one over on me. He’s way too good at it not to try his luck a few more (hundred) times. There’s also a part of me that’s impressed by his imagination. The kid can spin a good tale, and there are lots of useful applications for such a talent. (Famous novelist, anyone?)

What this situation calls for is a little “channeling of energies.” Maybe a heavy dose of imaginative play will lessen his need to embellish his ho-hum life. Or maybe it will just make him better at his craft. Either way, he’s a good kid. And I love that little dude.

Published in: on January 18, 2012 at 4:52 am  Leave a Comment  


October 30, 2011

Christian and I went on a kid-free bike ride on Friday afternoon. We’ve been trying to do this for approximately 5 years—ever since parenthood staked its claim on our mythological “free time.” With a few hours of relief from our hectic work lives, and with the boys safely tucked away at school, Christian and I made our escape down the Tomahawk Creek Trail, and we had the best time. The October sunshine was absolutely perfect, and we felt like kids again, speeding along with the wind in our faces. I’m pretty sure I inhaled a bug at one point, but no matter. It was a glorious afternoon.

As we pedaled along, my mind traveled back to my childhood summers in the country. As a kid, I was a bona fide bike-a-holic. My friend Brian and I rode all over the neighborhood, and we enjoyed total freedom in our little adventures. I can remember riding miles in the blistering heat, and there were many times when our folks had no idea where we were. And frankly, it didn’t matter. Our environment was safe. We were trustworthy kids. And we had earned the right to go and do as we pleased, within reason.

While Christian and I enjoyed our own little adventure on Friday, we talked a lot about our childhood bike excursions. We also talked about our own kiddos and their serious lack of freedom—at least at the present time. We watch those boys like hawks, partly because they are uber naughty, and partly because we are terrified at the thought of losing them. It’s hard to imagine a time when we’ll let them take off on their own bikes, riding out of sight to who-knows-where. It makes me crazy to think of it, but it also makes me very sad to think that I would not allow them the freedom I enjoyed as a kid.

The media’s hyper-coverage of childhood tragedies has given me leave to indulge my psycho mom-ness to the nth degree. And I do think there’s a lot to be said for being aware of what your kids are doing, who they’re with and where they are. But it’s also possible to take a “constant vigilance” approach way too far. Kids need freedom to play and chase and climb and break a few bones without Mommy being right there to squash their fun.

I hope we can raise our kids to be trustworthy, and I hope they’ll earn the right to do as they please, within reason. But most of all, I hope that we can parent like our own parents did—giving Wyatt and Graham the opportunity to make their own choices and mistakes, knowing that they are equipped to make good choices. After all, how can they grow up to be fine young men without inhaling a few bugs along the way?

Published in: on October 31, 2011 at 3:03 am  Comments (1)  

Gone in a Flash

August 14, 2011

Ah, summer is here. That wonderful time when we kick back, relax, and enjoy a cool glass of lemonade while swinging lazily in a hammock, reading an emotionally stirring best seller. Birds are singing. Lawn mowers are buzzing. Children are playing contentedly in the sandbox, taking turns with the shovel and pail while the dog rests quietly nearby. It’s summertime, and the living is easy.

[Please insert sound of record scratching…if you remember what that sounds like.]

Summer is GONE, and I’m ready to put out a missing person’s report on it! I swear, I turned around for one second and it’s vanished. Poof. Sayonara. See you later.

How on earth did this happen? Wasn’t it just yesterday that we put our house on the market…then sold it…then bought a new one…then moved…then celebrated Wyatt’s 5th birthday…then painted every non-moving surface in the new house…then had our cat’s cancerous leg amputated…then went on a much-needed family vacation? I’m certain this was all just yesterday, but perhaps I’m losing track of time. Yes, that must be it.

As I flung open the windows this evening for our first AC-free night in a long time, I heard the all-too-familiar chorus of cicadas singing, “Go to school! Go to school you fool!” I simply can’t believe how quickly summer escaped us this year. Wyatt is packed and ready for Kindergarten, Christian’s cross country season is underway, Graham is experimenting with women’s clothing at daycare, and we are all back in the swing of things…kicking and screaming the whole way.

I’ve been entirely remiss in my blogging this summer, and since I can’t even remember what we had for dinner this evening, I won’t attempt to describe our dog days with any wit or style. Instead, I’ll take the cheap and easy road…a photo journal. Enjoy!

Wyatt kicked up his heels in the Brookside Soccer Club. He was fairly terrible but very cute.

Graham and Wyatt put in the hard work to get our house sold.

Grammy’s future is so bright!

On moving day, Wyatt decided to find his perfect sleep number on the family room floor.

Grammy informed us that the Justin Bieber hairdo is so last season. Now it’s all about “The Rooster.”

Gone are the days of dark-wood paneling! After a marathon painting weekend, the family room is now bright and cheery.

Wyatt spends his free time dreaming up the next Facebook.

Peas. Pod. Need I say more?

Maiden voyage on the new bike! Easy on the breaks there, Captain.

Newly painted bedroom. Buh-bye pink walls.

First evening in Cape Cod with the family. Cold water cannot stop us!

The scuba brigade…and Pig-Pig.

Jacob, Wyatt, Abby…and Trout.

My little beach bum. No, really. He’s a bum. He has no job.

Bittersweet end to a wonderful vacation with our boys. Goodbye summer. We’ll see you next year!

Published in: on August 15, 2011 at 4:14 am  Leave a Comment  

Tough Sell

April 22, 2011

After six years of happy residence in Santa Fe Hills, we put our first home on the market yesterday. This action was coupled with all the usual feelings of excitement, anxiety and uncertainty that come with selling…or attempting to sell…a house. But for me, there’s also a great sense of sadness. We did so much in this house as a family, and as much as I’d like a quick sell for the preservation of our sanity, I also dread the day that we’ll have to turn off the lights, shut the door, and walk away.

This house is very special to us, primarily because we made so much family history here. Some of our notable firsts include:

  • First baby (and second)
  • First bottles, binkies and blowouts
  • First rolls, crawls and steps
  • First smiles and giggles
  • First words—spoken and read
  • First tricycle rides and big wheel races
  • First dance parties in the living room
  • First tender hugs and kisses from our two wonderful boys

Christian and I also learned so much as homeowners, like how to build a deck, how to install tile, how to hang drywall, and how to paint, paint, paint. (Did I mention painting?) Out of all the hours that Christian and I put into remodeling nearly every square inch of this house, we also learned that we make a GREAT team as husband and wife. Sure, we bickered a bit, but we also supported each other, praised each other and powered through the difficult moments together. I’m so proud of Christian for all his handiness and hard work, and I think he’s proud of me, too, and happy to have a wife who gets her hands dirty.

Over the last several weeks, we’ve worked like mad to get our house picture perfect and ready for sale. We’ve finished all those last-minute projects, touched up all the paint, hung a window box for flowers—all things we should have done years ago for our own enjoyment. We’ve worked ourselves into near exhaustion, and I definitely hit a low moment one evening when I was painting over a thousand little fingerprints on our hallway walls. I realized that I was covering up all evidence that our children had learned to walk in this house, one wobbly step at a time. Christian found me crying, wet paintbrush in hand, and wondering why we were doing this at all.

Our first house is wonderful, indeed, for all the work we’ve put into it and all the memories we’ve made. Will it be a tough sell? The current market is certainly not kind to sellers, and I’m prepared to be patient…to a point. But I think we have a good chance of finding someone who will fall in love with it like we did six years ago.

For our family, though, this house will definitely be tough to sell. We’ve been so happy here, and it’s hard to imagine this house not being OUR house. I do look forward to finding our “family home”—the one we plan to stay in until the boys are grown and off to see the world. But this house, our first house, will always be special to me, and I think I’ll always harbor some regret about letting her go.

Published in: on April 22, 2011 at 6:50 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Year in the Life: Grammy Turns Two

January 29, 2011

I must admit that I’m nearly a month late in paying tribute to my wonderful Graham Henry, who turned the big T-W-O on New Year’s Eve. January 2011 has been a very busy month, and I’ve been neglectful in my blogging duties. But as I always say: Better late than never! I simply cannot let Graham’s wonderful 1’s go by without calling attention to a few of his most memorable moments.

In 2010, Graham transformed before our very eyes from a babbling baby into an intelligent child who thinks and speaks for himself. At two years old, we still don’t understand much of what he says, but it’s clear that HE knows, and he speaks with purpose and passion. Most of his chattering is funny and cute, intelligible or not. But there are a few words that he’s taken hold of that we rather wish he would forget.

For example, “frog” and “truck” are two words that Graham has come to love, but as a one year old, he struggled greatly with pronunciation, and these two words came out all wrong. I’m sure you can guess what I mean. Start with “frog,” end with “truck” and leave the “r” out of it. Yeah, you got it. And unfortunately, Graham came up with about a hundred reasons to say “frog” or “truck” extremely loudly every day for several months. The situation became so dire, in fact, that we began avoiding church, dodging neighbors and generally hiding out at home with shades drawn. Just in time for his second birthday, though, Graham graduated to “fog” for “frog” and “shruck” for “truck.” Not perfect, but presentable, and we feel nearly confident enough to emerge back into society.

Graham’s expanding vocabulary constantly reminds us that he’s growing up and will soon be ready for preschool. But he hasn’t let go of all his baby ways, and I for one am thankful. I’m not ready for him to stop sucking his thumb—the telltale sign that he is sleepy and “over it” for the day. I’m not ready for him to abandon “Pig Pig,” his favorite stuffed animal, which he holds so tightly that all the stuffing has been squeezed out of the poor pig’s neck. I’m also not ready to move Graham into a big-boy bed. Not yet. He’s happy as a clam in his little white crib, and I still love reaching over the rails to lift him into my arms every morning.

I’d be fooling myself if I didn’t admit a little sadness on the day that Grammy turned two. I delight in his growth and development, of course, but he was so sweet as a one year old, and it’s hard to say goodbye to such a joyful year. His chubby baby cheeks, playful giggles and wobbly first steps will live on in my memory forever. Yes, this little boy will always be my baby, no matter how tall and fast and clever he grows. He’ll always be my beautiful Golden Graham.

Published in: on January 30, 2011 at 3:07 am  Comments (1)  

A Merry Christmas with Our Mischievous Elves

December 26, 2010

Another Christmas season has come and gone with the usual flurry of activity and snow. The Nord boys are stuffed to the gills with cookies and candies, and our living room is awash in new toys—so much so that there’s hardly room for living! But while Christian and I may be tripping over something or other and stubbing our toes at every step, Wyatt and Graham are delighted with their stash, and really…what more can you ask?

The weeks leading up to Christmas 2010 were excessively stressful for me this year, but the holiday itself was just about perfect. We ate, we drank, we relaxed, we loved, we played, and we spent some quality time rejoicing in the birth of Our Savior.  

Yes, it was a merry little Christmas. But I would be negligent in my duties as the Nord Family historian if I didn’t mention a few little hiccups. Let’s start with our Rascal in Chief, Wyatt Oscar:

Less-Than-Silent Nights: Wyatt has taken up coming into “the big bed” in the early morning hours, right at the moment when Christian and I are most catatonic and least capable of giving him the boot back to his room. On Christmas Eve, we explained in no uncertain terms that Santa would skip right over our house if he didn’t find Wyatt in his own bed. And what do you know? Wyatt never budged from beneath his blankets, and we all enjoyed a long winter’s nap. But last night, with the “Santa is watching” threat off the table, Wyatt was right back in our bed at 3 a.m., elbowing me in the kidneys as usual. I’m now considering the installation of a low-voltage electric fence.

Feliz Navidad a la Mick Jagger: Both boys participated in the Calvary Christmas program this year, and I have to use the term “participated” loosely on Wyatt. For the most part, he sulked in the back of the children’s choir like a sullen teenager, trying to pretend he didn’t know all the words to Silent Night and We Wish You a Merry Christmas (even though I’ve heard him softly singing these tunes on the way home from school every day for weeks). He had a major turnaround, however, when the group broke out into Feliz Navidad. Wyatt quickly transformed from a wallflower into the next great American Idol contestant, singing at the absolute top of his lungs and drowning out all the other children. His bilingual teacher, Miss Ceci, was extremely proud of his rock-star performance. 🙂

As for Graham, he really started to “get” Christmas this year, and it was a lot of fun to watch him shove his chubby cheeks with cookies and tear his presents open with relish. It wasn’t all visions of sugar plums, though. Our sweet little Grammy was no slouch in the rascal department. Consider these two examples:

Neglecting His Flock by Night: Like Wyatt, Graham had a less-than-stellar performance in the Calvary Christmas program. His teacher dressed him in the most adorable shepherd’s costume, but he was entirely uninterested in playing the part. For the first half of his class’s performance, he just looked stunned—a true deer in headlights. Then after 30 seconds or so, he simply gave up, lying down on the ground and refusing to be roused to his feet until the song was over and it was time for juice and cookies.

All I Want for Christmas Is Your Mitts Off My Presents: Graham is quickly shedding the meekness of his infancy, taking on a personality that can best be described as “Don’t Mess with Texas.” He is also fiercely protective of his “personal property,” watching over his new Christmas gifts like a testy mother hen. On several occasions over the last two days, Wyatt has unceremoniously snatched a toy out of Grammy’s hands mid-play, only to be greeted with a tyrannical “MINE!” or, better yet, a punch in the face. Grammy doesn’t believe in subtlety. And while we don’t encourage violence in the Nord household, it’s nice to see our little guy take a stand.

Behavioral blemishes aside, I loved this holiday season with our boys, and the memories of their playful giggles will stick with me for many years. I also loved the relaxed pace of our family festivities. No rushing about. No cramming 27 activities into a single day. Just leisurely enjoyment of good company, yummy food and generous presents. I count my blessings at this time of year—more than any other—for the gift of a wonderful family. One in which love abounds, laughter is plentiful, and a warm hug is always within reach.

Published in: on December 26, 2010 at 11:15 pm  Comments (1)  

A Lot Like Me

September 18, 2010

If you’ve read any number of my blog posts, you may have noticed several references to music by Sara Groves, a wonderful singer whose lyrics seem meant just for me. I’ve been thinking lately about a song of Sara’s called “A Lot Like Me,” which explores a topic of parenting that most people don’t talk about—those personality traits you pass down to your kids that you really wish you didn’t.

Here’s how her song begins:

Baby I’m afraid you’re a lot like me
You can’t help feeling everything
I can see you’re trying to hold it in
I see your eyes and your trembling chin

So for you and myself I will pray
That our weakness become our strength!

I’ve been noticing lately that Wyatt has a pretty quick temper, and this is an aspect of my own personality that I’ve struggled with for years. I don’t get violent or scream or throw pots and pans, but I do huff and puff at pretty inconsequential things, and I definitely say things in the heat of the moment that I later regret. (As my friend Annie would say, “So many swear words!”)  🙂

In recent months, I’ve noticed some of these same tendencies in Wyatt (not the swearing, thankfully, since he’s only four).  As an example, he’ll be playing with his train set, perfectly happy, and then seconds later, he’s screaming and crying because his train track has fallen apart. It seems like such a little thing—so easily fixed—but he absolutely comes unglued, and it pains me to see him struggle with unnecessary frustration and anger just the way I do.

I guess this flaw must be genetic, because I know my dad also grapples with it, and he spends time in prayer every day on this very subject. I suppose I could look at my dad’s difficulties in overcoming his quick temper, and I could despair of Wyatt and I ever conquering our own. But a conversation I had with my dad this morning made me think in a very different way.

I have a person in my life who is giving me a lot of grief, and I’ve been feeling a mixture of anger, frustration and hopelessness over it all. I was talking to my dad about it this morning, and he listened to everything, agreeing for the most part with my assessment of the situation. But when I’d finished rattling off my story, he put a challenge out to me that I wasn’t entirely prepared for. He urged me to forgive. Even if the circumstances are never set right, I need to forgive.

Dad also cautioned that, if I’m anything like him (and I’m a lot like him), I may find it difficult to forgive. But a good place to start, he said, is in remembering that I, too, am a flawed and sinful person. And when you approach the hard work of forgiving someone by understanding that you are also very imperfect, it makes the goal of forgiveness much more attainable.

This conversation has been rolling around in my mind for the last several hours, and I’ve realized something remarkable about my dad: his long-time struggle to overcome his quick temper has been both a curse and a blessing. A curse in that he battles this issue every day, just as I do, and just as Wyatt may, too. But also a blessing in that his awareness of his own flawed nature perhaps makes him more capable of forgiving others because he approaches forgiveness with prayerful humility. 

Dad and I may never totally master our tempers, and Wyatt may very well inherit “the bug,” too. But as Sara Groves says, perhaps this weakness in some way becomes our strength. We’ll always have to work at staying cool in stressful situations, taming our sharp tongues and keeping frustration at bay. But out of this struggle, God will manage to bring about something good, and that’s pretty amazing.

As Sara Groves sings to her own son in “A Lot Like Me”:

Baby there are some holes you just can’t fill
You try and try but you never will
Baby I believe a God who can
He loves the boy and He’ll love the man

So for you and myself I will pray
That our weakness become our strength!

Published in: on September 18, 2010 at 9:03 pm  Leave a Comment  

Devil May Care

August 28, 2010

My father in law has said many a wise, witty and memorable thing in his day, but one of my favorite Carl Nord statements of all time is this: “Sarah, what you need to understand about Christian is that he has a ‘devil may care’ attitude with his physical wellbeing.” This particular comment was in reference to Christian and his college buddies sneaking out onto the roof of a Denver hotel and hanging over the edge. But Carl could have been talking about any number of my husband’s antics: the swimming with sharks, flying over mountain bike handlebars, running in unsavory parts of town, adventure racing, etc., etc.

When we had our first son, I braced myself for a life of motherly psychosis, figuring he’d be just like his dad with the daredevil stuff. To my great relief, though, Wyatt seems to be pretty cautious with his body. He has no need for speed and sticks fairly close to his people. Granted, he’s only four, and this could all change at a moment’s notice. But for now, my blood pressure remains at a healthy level when it comes to Wyatt and his physical welfare.

But not so fast Momma Bear. Enter stage left: Graham Henry, the most reckless child who ever stepped foot on the planet. My party baby, born on New Year’s Eve. At only 20 months now, Graham has me in an absolute state of panic with his incessant climbing, furniture jumping, flipping off the couch, disappearing acts, sticking sharp objects into power outlets, etc., etc. This kid is a regular Phineas and Ferb. (Great show, by the way.)

It must also be said, though, that Graham is as sweet as he could possibly be. As I said in his birthday tribute back in January, he smiles with his whole body and has the best belly laugh in creation. So why would this otherwise wonderful child plague his mother’s heart out with his unruliness? The answer is simple: he’s just like his dad.

Wyatt is Christian’s clone—a “mini-me” like you’ve never seen before. But Graham has Christian’s spirit of adventure. That “devil may care attitude with his physical wellbeing.” As a result, I expect that Graham will live his life to the absolute fullest, with plenty of travelling, sky diving, running with the bulls, and yes…even swimming with the sharks. Wyatt will perhaps take a more cautious route through life, though I hope he’ll enjoy the journey every bit as much—just in his own way.

As for me? I’ll find a good blood pressure medication, a yoga master and a glass of red wine. And I’ll learn the fine art of pretending that THIS IS NOT HAPPENING―a survival skill that so many mothers before me have mastered.

I guess it’s human nature to want to hold you very still
I guess it’s in a mother to inject a little guilt
Go on son and see the world; I hope you see it all
But please please please don’t forget to call

…Go on son and spread your wings; I hope that you take flight
But please please please don’t forget to write

Sara Groves, “Small Piece of You” from the album Station Wagon Songs for Parents

Published in: on August 28, 2010 at 1:38 pm  Comments (1)  

Bossy McPhee

August 15, 2010

“Grandma, when I tell you to stop when we’re in Target, you need to stop immediately!”

That would be a direct order barked at my sweet mother by my too-big-for-his-britches four year old. He seems to be going through a rather lengthy assertive phase, and he has lots of ideas on how big people should behave in his presence.

“Mommy, listen. This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay here and take care of Graham, and Daddy’s going to take me to [insert desired location of the moment…the pool…Smoothie King…the park…McDonalds…what have you].”

Christian and I are trying to figure out where Wyatt’s big-boss personality is coming from since neither of us is particularly pushy. Well, OK. Maybe I’m a little pushy, but nowhere near the level of our little Tony Soprano. He seems to thrive on doling out orders and bringing down the hammer when we don’t follow his instructions to the letter.

Just today, we were driving home from church, and Christian and I took advantage of a few minutes while the kids were strapped in their car seats to actually have a conversation with one another. Grammy Bear was busy babbling away to his stuffed pig (AKA, the beloved “Pig-Pig”), and we thought Wyatt was also perfectly content, lost in his own thoughts. As it turns out…not so much.

Interrupting me mid-sentence, Wyatt says, “Mommy, can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Wyatt. What’s up?” 

“Well…[long pause]…Well, I don’t like it when mommies and daddies talk to each other and kids can’t say anything.”

“Oh yeah, Wyatt?”

“Yeah. When I talk, I need you to listen to me.”

Christian and I look at each other, stifle a laugh, and heave a sigh. “Wow, Wyatt. I would never have guessed that about you,” I say.

What’s to be done about all this bossy-boss? For starters, we have to stop finding it cute and funny when Wyatt tells us like it is. But darn it, it’s cute and funny! He sounds so enthusiastic when he shouts to me in the car, “Mom, when you see a goat, shout GOAT!” And I love his little news anchor hand gestures when he’s putting me in my place. So serious. So professional. Just plain cute.

I know, I know. It’s wrong to indulge him in this current phase of ruthless dictatorship. (Can you really call it a phase when it’s been going on for a year or more?) In our defense, though, Christian and I don’t bow to his every command. Technically, we are still in charge of our household. But we’re not in a rush to squash his “leader” personality, partly because it’s just who he is, and partly because he amuses us.

Until his classmates start greeting Wyatt with a “HEIL!” when we drop him off at school, I guess we won’t worry too much about his quest for world dominance. It will surely be much less cute when he’s 13 and pimply. I just hope it won’t be too late then to reform our Bossy McPhee.

Published in: on August 16, 2010 at 3:54 am  Leave a Comment