And so it is for the mother

Nathan and I capped off Carter's first year of real school with the required Parent/Teacher conference. I remember as a child being very nervous when my parents attended these yearly events. It wasn't so much that I was afraid that my teachers would say something to get me in trouble with my parents but rather that my parents would say something to embarrass me. Especially my father. His main purpose as my father, especially in my teens, was to embarrass me at every opportunity. He was good at it, too.

Carter's was kind of different. As we sat there, our mouths dropped in wonder and our brows furrowed in confusion. His teacher told us that he was a wonderful student and a class leader. She had told us these things before, and while they were disorienting for us, we were braced for them. She went on to show us examples of his work and provide suggestions for how to keep him on track over the summer. Frankly, it sounded like three months of homework. Regardless, then she told us that when a new student entered her class and he was kind of shy and had a lisp, she knew immediately the thing to do was to put him next to Carter because Carter would take him under his wing and help him adjust. Then she kind of teared up on us and said "he was just a real blessing to have this year." Talk about awkward! My first instinct is to crack a joke because I don't like displays of emotion, but I fought it off. Here was a teacher who really loved my son and I shouldn't discard her mistiness for my own comfort. She was really the perfect teacher for Carter and he has refused to move on to 1st grade without her.

So, it makes it all the more curious to me when I, his mother who carried his huge 10 pound baby body in my belly, get this kind of treatment:
Me: Carter, what are you eating?
Carter: Uh (moving ever so slyly to hide himself from my line of sight) a...uh...fun dip.
Me: You didn't ask if you could have that and you must ask before you get it.
Carter: Well, I didn't give any to Will...
Me: Will is not allergic to those.
Carter: I know, but you know, the swine flu is going around and you don't know who might have it; I might have it. I don't want to give it to him.
He said it with the greatest sincerity. There was really no where for me to go from there since I was completely thrown.

Then, Nathan but mostly me made the mistake of trying to explain to Carter the difference between rights and privileges. He was under the idea that dessert is a right and we were trying to explain that desserts are really privileges. That is hard to explain to a young child and I figured he was not really even paying attention. Though he was asking pertinent questions. It didn't come up again.

That is until today. He and I were driving toward home and he referenced his age as 7. I corrected him - he is 6. No, no, he insists he's 7. Then he goes on a civil disobedience tirade telling me that "No one can take away my rights! I am 7! You can't take away my rights, no one can and I am SEVEN!" I sat there a slightly dumbfounded but shook my head and said "your age is a fact not a right" hoping he would not bring that small detail up to me when he figured out one cannot be 29 for so many years consecutively. Again, he protested "no one can take away my rights and I am 7." I had no idea where this was coming from nor what he was really meaning so I just said "Being 6 or 7 has nothing to do with your rights. You were born in 2003 and you are 6." My little activist piped up "I am 7! No one can take away my RIGHTS and I AM RIGHT!"

He rendered me speechless again. Carter 2, Me 0. Life will surely only get more complicated with him; he has clearly inherited his Papa Carter's gene for argumentation.

But, I shouldn't leave out our precious little angel, Will. Since his brother is exerting his strong will these days, Will has taken his place on deck and waits his turn to be the strong-willed son when Carter relinquishes the post. One day he sat sweetly curled up next to me on my bed. He reached down and pulled off his sock and stuck his foot directly in my face. Then he asked "which one goes to Target?" For a split second I didn't know what he meant, but when I saw his big toe sticking straight into the air and I began laughing so hard I couldn't speak. Finally, I grabbed his big toe and said "This little piggy went to Target...." I figure, we don't live on a farm, so that makes more sense anyway.