Wednesday, April 11, 2012

i have a serious love hate with change.
doesn't matter what it is.
location, body stuff, clothing, food
it takes a week or so for my mind and body to make the transition.
so annoying.
and that's where i reside currently.  in that stuck place.
seriously lacking creativity or motivation.
and let me tell you, i'm a PEACH to be around when this happens.
but i don't apologize for it.  it just happens.  then moves along.  
just steer clear.
i just need to be left alone with my thoughts and my behaviors until i'm through it.
so, during these 'transitional periods' of each season, 
my usual creative, reflective, contemplative self, 
gives way to grumpiness, envy and larger waistbands.
i master the art of curmudgeon-ary.
how do i break out of it? 
i organize sh**.
and i write.
but what do i write about?  (since my usual deep thinking has packed up and moved on without me,)
i write about the children.
because they are an endless supply of stories.
especially this one.
my baby.
i know moms aren't supposed to pick favorites.
but he is mine, right now.
he (shockingly,) is the easiest. 
and the most hilarious.
since i spend the most time with him, i've learned how different we are.
but we get each other.
(he's not pooping with his pants on.  i think he's meditating?)
and how much we love each others' company.
or need space from each other.  even if it's just a handful of feet.
he's a simple man.
he likes his blankie.  his Christmas socks.  rock n' roll (preferably motley crue, dr. feelgood.)
a snack as often as possible.
he's easily bribed with food.
watches way more t.v. than should be legal.
would rather be outside (which we will, when mommy's done organizing the innards of our home.)
there is not a part of his body not covered in a bruise or a scratch.
he is fearless, but must have a band aid.  even if it's pink with kitty's on it and sealed with a kiss.
he YEARNS to play with the big kids.
he wants nothing more.  to ride around the block on his big wheel, play freely without supervision.
i try to grant him that as much as possible, reminding him often, "dude.  you're 3."
our daily field trips to target
have found him graduated from the cart to walking alongside me.
a HUGE milestone in the life of a mother. . .when your child (for the most part,)
can be trusted to walk at your hip, without straying,
or grabbing everything in their path, or begging.
or whining.
i have to say, he does pretty well for a 3-year-old.
he loves to have a clean nose.
has mastered the art of blowing his nose, probably because the past few weeks, 
that's all he's heard me yell to his siblings, "BLOW YOUR DANG NOSE?!?!"
(HUGE pet peeve.)
but not this guy.  he knows.
he's beefy.  with hands like baseball mitts.
he's all brawn, like his dad, but a delicate doiley (like his dad.)
the aggression and force of a blunt instrument,
the sensitivity and charm of. . .his father.
and he'd trade his dad in for five more minutes with me,
but ADORES his big sister, who takes care of him and watches out for him, like a mother.
he LOVES her.
it's funny.  you think you know your kids, no matter the age.
what they'll grow to become.
for charlie, i imagine lots of things. . .
an NFL football player, a marine, a coach, a WWF wrestler. . .the big tuna, a ninja.
(clearly all falling in to a similar theme.)
but i could be way off.
maybe a teacher, a priest, a garbage man, a zookeeper?
gosh, who knows.
for now?
my baby.  as my mind tries to settle somewhere between you're-good-with-3-and-maybe one-more,
he is simply my baby.
 or my little jedi.
"mom!  look at me!  i'm batman!"
"ah, pretty sure you're not."
(i didn't say he was bright.)
(look at his eyes!  omg, i was dying.  hilar.)
"mom?  i gotta' poop."
and since he's 3, generally frustrating, irritating and trouble-making,
it's so hard not to fall in love.
his eyes alone, suck you right in.
he corrects all his friends at school now when they call him 'charlie.'
"No!  I Charwels!"
Yes, yes you are, Charles.:)


BEES'NETTA said...

Love this! He's so handsome.

Post a Comment