Sweet Surrender (Or Why I Haven't Been Writing Much Lately)

Hello, dear friends!  Long time no talk at.

There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, and he is currently 2 1/2 years old.

Let me state AGAIN that I did not have an oops, nor am I prematurely a grandmother.  Brandon is my little charge that I care for, 8 - 10 hours per day, 5 days a week.  I've written about him before.

Oh, the agony and the ecstasy.  Like childbirth, I think we largely forget what spending all day with a full-on toddler is like.  And a boy at that.  I don't really want open the whole "nature/nurture" gender debate, but as someone who raised two girls and is now caring for a boy, I can tell you that they are completely different animals.  I was never able to distract my girls away from a potential meltdown by pointing out a dump truck.  At least not successfully.

And the energy level!  Buttons exist to be pushed, levers pulled, containers and doors opened, and sticks - they MUST be banged against any available surface.

And Brandon has never been a kid who was content sit back and observe life.  Even as an infant, before he could crawl or flip, he would do what we called "baby crunches."  When lying on his back he would raise his head and shoulders to see what was going on.  He was not even 1 year old when he peeled my hand open and slapped a book into it for me to read.  If I'm not paying sufficient attention when he's talking to me he will grab my face between his hands and turn me to look at him.

The saving grace is that he's not much for temper tantrums.  I do not, however, appreciate the person who introduced him to the Power Rangers, since his general reaction is to assume a fighting stance.  (He's the orange one, he tells me, because "orange my favorite color." Note to the people who've been lucky enough to avoid the Power Rangers: there is no orange one.)  I can oftentimes talk him down by saying "No ninjas!"

The craziest thing about daily life these days is trying to accomplish, well, anything.  I liken it to trying to row a boat across a lake in a powerful crosswind.  You never really know where you're going to land!  I think I've tried to go to the library for about a week now.  But to get to his shoes we may need to walk through the kitchen, which reminds him that he needs some juice, which leads to climbing the step stool by the counter to play with the toaster until I get him down at which point he finds his orange bouncy ball and it's off to play with that.

There's a natural ADD that goes with early childhood.  One morning I was recounting to my daughter how we had already played with the boys across the street, gone to Depot park, and had some sandbox time when I realized it was only about 9am.  If something holds his attention for a full 5 minutes it's a successful activity.

We've also entered the pretend-play stage, usually by taking on different personas.  For awhile he was Kyle and I was Tyler.  I think these are children he met at his grandmother's house in Virginia.  (He'll walk up to me and ask "Do you remember my friend Kyle [or Tyler, or Conner, or Little Dave, or whoever the person du jour is.]?"  I've never met any of these people.  I think he's trying to ask me if I know them.)  Anyway, he'll be Kyle, and I'll be Tyler.  The game goes something like this:
"Hi, Tyler!"
"Hi, Kyle."
"Hi!"
"Hi!"
(scene)

Sometimes we're firefighters, or pirates, or he's the daddy and I'm the baby.  I like to whine a LOT during that game.

I'm fully aware that I could probably get stuff done if I really wanted to.  I am the grown-up, after all, and I can put my foot down and make things happen.  But I rather like the path of least resistance.  It's somewhat easier, and certainly more fascinating, to follow his lead, to experience what is going on in that little mind of his.

And it definitely has it's rewards.  Sometimes he will just look at me, and, out of the blue, say "I love you, too!"  Of course, he also likes to tell me I look like a beach angel.  One day we had been playing pirate at a playground and we were taking a break in the shade of a picnic shelter.  I was lying on one picnic bench and he was on the other one across from me.  He looked across and simply said "I love you, Katy Pirate."  I melted like warm candle wax.

Another advantage?  During medical check-ups if I'm asked if I exercise regularly I can just answer "I spend all day with a two-year-old."  'Nuff said.

And how are you?

(P.S.  I'm able to write this because Brandon is on vacation!)