Three and a half and other miscellany

Oliver is going to turn 3 and a half years old on May 5th. Yes, yes, time is flying by. I know. I try hard every day not to think about the fact that he is now over a year older than his sister was when he was born. Watching old videos recently has not helped this fact (I can not remember Ali as a toddler. I mean, wow. Thank God we have those videos.) That is not the point of this post, however.

3 and a half has been, with both children now, a bit, well...challenging. I do a lot of deep breathing and fist clenching. I also walk away a lot. I would be lying if I didn't admit to losing my patience sometimes, too. It's just, the one thing that has always driven me absolutely bonkers as a parent is the whining. That high-pitched, nasally tone is enough to drive me to drink. And it has. Several times. Oliver does two things* if he doesn't get his way: he whines, or he completely loses it and has himself a nice crying fit about the unfairness of his young life and the evil overlords he lives with. Or maybe it's just that he can't get his shirt on. Or he's frustrated because the zipper is stuck on his jacket again. Or I, GASP, suggest he wear pants with a button on them instead of jogging pants. I mean, BUTTON PANTS? Have I completely lost my mind for suggesting such a travesty? Because no, he WILL NOT do it. And I'm sorry, but sometimes it's necessary for a boy to leave the house in something other than jogging pants. Like maybe when we go to church. Maybe I have high standards here but this particular little hang up of his drives me NUTS. (Here's where I admit I have control issues. I KNOW I DO. You don't have to remind me. You have no idea how many times a day I tamp that part of my personality down because I know I'm being ridiculous. Oliver doesn't ever tamp that part of himself down. And yes, I know he's 3 and I'm 32. SHUT UP.)

Anyway, I don't want to focus on that now. Oh, wait. I just did. Moving on, then...Lately I think he's gotten a bit better, and he has started telling me he loves me all of the time. What mother can hear that enough? I mean, man. He tells me he loves me when he goes to bed at night, when he lays down for a nap in the afternoon, when he wakes up, when I read him books, but especially when I tell him I love him. He also tells me he misses me on the days I work and he goes to Jodi's. I always tell him to remember all day that I love him very much, so when I pick him up he gets in the car and says "I wemembewed that you love me all day, mama". Then I melt into a puddle in the driver's seat of the car. Then I remember I have to drive home and solidify just in time for Alison to chime in. "...and that you're proud of me!". Sometimes it takes us a while to get home.

*I guess he does sometimes say "OK, mama" when I tell him to do something. When that happens I make a big deal about how great he is and wonder if there was some way we could rig something so confetti and balloons fly down from the ceiling every time he listens right away without whining or fighting with me.

Here is where I'm going to just put a few memorable things that have happened recently since, as I've mentioned several times on this website, I don't keep baby books.

Oliver had to pick up his toys outside the other night wearing nothing but my sweatshirt and a pair of socks. When he got out to the front porch he immediately lifted up the sweatshirt and announced "look, I outside with my penis!".

I picked up Ali from school the other day and she had a scrape on her nose. I asked her what happened. "Well, we were playing outside and my nose ran into the sidewalk!"

Oliver was playing with his remote control car a while ago, suddenly stopped, looked at me, and said "Mama, thanks for getting me this. I always wanted a bemote contwol caw in my life!".