I'm Changing My Name

We had a play date yesterday - bookstore story time and lunch at the playground.  (I say "We" because the truth is, the play dates are as much for me as they are for Dylan.  I NEED adult conversation once and a while!)  The other mom and I were discussing how exhausting four year olds can be.  I said, "When they are little, it is physically exhausting... carrying them everywhere, shadowing them constantly, lifting strollers and car seats into the car.  When they are four, it is MENTALLY exhausting... the constant motion, the constant chatter, the way they are constantly touching things they shouldn't be touching, the negotiating, the "Mom? Mom? Mom?...", the extreme amount of patience required to get through a day without going berserk".

It's true... Lately, I'm just exhausted.  The constant chatter and endless list of requests/demands is what wears me out the most.  This morning, Dylan was downstairs.  I had just gone upstairs to get dressed, when I heard "Mom?!  I need you!"  It happens constantly.  Usually, his urgent need is for me to help him get a toy down from a shelf, or he can't get a tower to stand up, or he has his shirt on backwards.  Not usually things he NEEDS me for at that exact moment.  So, I ignored him.  Seconds later, I cringed as I heard it again.  "MOM?!"  (I'm changing my name to "Goobersnickel".  At least when I hear it 10,000 times a day it might make me laugh).

"DYLAN!  COME UP HEAR AND ASK ME WHAT YOU NEED TO ASK ME!", I shouted.  (I yell a lot lately.  A complete loss of patience will do that to you).  I continued putting on my makeup, and heard "Well... I really can't do that".  I figured he was holding a tower up, or something, and just didn't want to come upstairs, so I just kept getting ready.  But, then I had that feeling.  You know the feeling, moms?  That feeling of dread, that suddenly overtakes you, when you instinctually know something isn't quite right?

I went down the stairs to find this...

The blind cord was completely tangled around his hand, cutting off his circulation and making red marks all over his skin.  I asked the idiotic question we all ask at times like these... "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!",  and got the answer we all know we're going to get... "I dunno".   Sigh.  After finally setting him free, I said, "Dylan, I'm going to go upstairs now, and finish getting ready.  Can you be good and not need me for 10 minutes?"  He answered in his sweetest voice... "I'll try... Goobersnickel".

1 Little Problem

I mentioned before that missing pieces bother me. I've also mentioned that Dylan seems to have inherited a bit of Jim and I's "crazy".

Dylan has owned a Leap Frog magnetic numbers and letters set since his first birthday, (so over a year now). For quite a while now, the number 1 magnet has been missing. It has been missing for so long, that I have come to accept it. But, Dylan, who has recently become OBSESSED with numbers and letters has decided that the missing 1 is a problem.

This was our house yesterday...

Dylan: "A, B, C, D...", (while lining up the letters on the floor. When he was ready to do the numbers, he suddenly stopped). "Where the 1? Where the 1? WHERE THE 1?"

Jim: "The one is missing, buddy".

Dylan: "Where the 1? WHERE THE 1?!?"

Me: (To Jim) "The 1 has been missing a long time. It was missing at the old house".

Dylan: (Getting up) "We go to the old house now!"

Me: "Dylan, I think you must have thrown it in the garbage and it was thrown out".

Dylan: (Getting up to go look in our garbage can) "I get it!"

Me & Jim: (Laughing) "No, Dylan, at the old house!"

Dylan: (Stops to look at us as if we are failing to understand the situation) "WHERE THE 1?!"

Me: "Dylan, honey, I think you threw it in the garbage at the old house, and the garbage truck took it away".

Dylan: "We go get it!"

Me: (Realizing this could go on a very long time) "Dylan, the garbage took it away, but we don't know where it is. It's GONE. We can't go get it."

Dylan: "We NEED the 1!"

Me: (Trying to redirect) "Dylan, do you want to read a book?"

Dylan: "No, I want the 1!"

Oh boy. That went on and on and around and around until bedtime. This morning he seemed to be over it. Then, Jim made a BIG mistake. He said, "I brought the recyclable bin back. With this wind, the bottles are just going to blow everywhere. I hope the bin doesn't blow away. Don't we have another one? Oh, I think that was at the OLD HOUSE". That set the whole process back in motion. "WE GO TO THE OLD HOUSE AND GET THE 1!!!"

I'm going to have to go to the Leap Frog website, and see if you can buy single magnets, aren't I?

A Control Freak Perfectionist?

As soon as a woman finds out she is pregnant, she starts to imagine what her child will be like. She wonders, "Will he/she have my eyes? My husband's nose? My thick, dark hair? My husband's smile? My long, slender fingers?" She hopes that the child will inherit their good traits, and worries that they will inherit the bad.

I like to think that Dylan got some of his wonderful qualities from Jim and I. But, lately, there are a few traits that I'm noticing he has inherited that just make me feel bad for the poor kid.

My husband is a perfectionist. At work, as a graphic designer, and at home as a man who loves his tools, it often takes Jim a long time to complete a project. He is extremely concerned with the details, and he wants things to look perfect. It means that his finished products are amazing, but it also means he might drive himself (and someone else) crazy getting to that point.

I am obsessed with organization. I like everything to have a place. I have files for everything, I love labels, and I love to get rid of things I'm not using. I'm also a bit of a control freak. When I was a teenager, I told my mom I wanted to do my own laundry because she was "doing it wrong". (It is a testament to her remarkable amount of patience that she didn't slap me).

Poor Dylan was doomed. He is a mixture of the two of us, and it is both amusing, and scary. A few weeks ago, we took Dylan to Target, and we were walking past the area where everything is one dollar, when he stopped dead in his tracks. He ran over to the bins, obviously annoyed by something. The items were NOT in the right places. There were puzzles in with stickers, and stickers in with folders, and it HAD to be fixed before we could go any further.

Also, there are very specific ways that things should be done according to King Dylan. If we play with Mr. Potato Head, we must first separate the eyes, noses, mouths, etc., before we are permitted to proceed. When eating, if I try to give him a broken cracker - well, that is just insulting and will not fly.

Yesterday, as my mom was leaving, Dylan was dragging the bin with large blocks toward me, and my mom remarked on her way out, "Oh, you want to make a house, like you did with Mi-Mi?" Okay, I was pretty sure I could make a respectable house out of those blocks, but Dylan had his doubts. I messed up the very first block, apparently, because he was rolling on the floor screaming, "NO!!" "What?! That's not how you want it?" "No!! Like dis!", the King explained. After ten minutes of that, I was stressed out!

My kid is an enigma. He throws himself into things with passion and enthusiasm, but completely sweats the small stuff. Maybe the three of us can take a class on "Not sweating the small stuff"? I'll get my planner, Jim will make a checklist, Dylan will line up our shoes by the door, and we'll be ready to go.