A Matter of Perspective

Carter will simply not do what I tell him. He flat out refuses. I say "Carter, please stop growing up." And he just giggles and says "Mama, I can't help it. I just do it." I ask "What am I going to do to stop you from growing?" He laughs and responds, "Nothing. I have to grow up." Well. His last day of Pre-School was last Thursday and I was maudlin the whole day. I cried and cried and thought I must be growing hysterical. I don't usually get very emotional but when his class sang "Use Me Lord," I had to resort to thinking of the other things to avoid becoming a blubbering idiot. It almost worked. Then, as if that emotional attack wasn't enough, his teachers made a scrap book of the year for each child. It listed how much they had grown and how much weight they'd gained. It had pictures they'd drawn and activities they participated in. It was an emotional Hiroshima. There on the last page was a picture of Carter, 2 3/4 inches taller, and 5 pounds heavier. What are they trying to do to me? I wasn't even hormonal. Thank goodness, because otherwise I would have eaten a pound of chocolate that night . At this rate, I can only imagine what sending him to Kindergarten is going to do to me. Five days a week for 7 hours a day.

Luckily, to counteract my sentimentality, we had his last soccer game of the season. I'm sure his coach is thrilled it's over. Carter was in a bad mood for every soccer game. He chose some tiny reason to get grumpy which in turn made me grumpy. This week, he got knocked down and got his hands dirty. Seriously. Last fall, that happened and he just got right back up and kept on playing. This time he barely recognized there was a game going on after it happened. I was disappointed because Mimi and Papa had come up to watch him and he wasn't really even trying - except my patience. His Papa said "Now, now. We all have bad days. But we get 365 more of them in a year. They won't all be bad." Okay, okay. His Nana Jo called and asked how his last game went. I told her and she said - not kiddng - "Well, now. We all have bad days. Patience." Yeah, yeah.

I'm writing this while Will is asleep. He has now been asleep for 3 hours. I would wake him up, but he spent the 5 hours he was awake in the morning whining and crying and acting sleepy. He must be growing. Great. Him, too.

He's an affectionate little fellow and really loves his daddy. He lights up, smiling and saying "Daddy! Daddy!" when Nathan comes home. Nathan said I used to do that, but I don't ever remember calling him Daddy. Hmmm. Anyway, Will is getting more physical in his play. He loves to run, play chase, kick and throw any ball and climb. His particular favorite place to climb is up my legs. Then he hangs up-side-down for a few seconds, then flips over to land on his feet. He could do that endlessly if I would let him. However, white pants are not conducive to tiny tennis shoe tread. But 22 month olds don't get that. His vocabulary continues to grow and impress. He uses a few words together but mostly "My" + _____. My Daddy. My Tarter (Carter). My Mama. But what I find the most striking development is his ability and desire to feed himself. He doesn't like for anyone to wield his fork but him. Even if the food drops on the way to his mouth, he will pick it up and stick it back on his fork before putting it in his mouth.

In direct opposition to this scene is Carter. Carter is the slowest eater on the planet. He can't stop talking long enough to eat. He often comes to the table professing profound hunger only to let the meal get cold while he jabbers away like a magpie. Will sits quietly stuffing his face as Carter chatters on. Nathan invariably becomes aggravated as everyone's plate is emptied and Carter's is still full. See, Carter loves the "enjoying the family" part of supper. He often says to Nathan, who has just scolded him for talking too much and not eating enough, "But Daddy, I was just enjoying the family." I'm laughing as I write this because I'm sure I could never do the scene justice. Carter has talked non-stop today. We ate a little picnic in the back yard and he never stopped talking about how he was going to build a restaurant. Maybe he sees "enjoying the family" as "captive audience for Carter time." Oh, I know. One day he'll be a teenager and won't ever want to say one word to us and then we'll be sorry we didn't enjoy this time. Sure. Just come over to our house at the end of supper as Carter rattles on about whatever is on his mind and the rest of us sit slumped at the table, glazed over, and slightly exhausted and explain to us how bad the silent future is. It's all about perspective.

So, Carter gave me a hug the other day because I mentioned a headache coming on. I asked him why his hugs were sooooo goooood. "Because they are made of a little bit of candy and a lot of love." I'll take one of those any time I can get one.