Oh, Please No!

Across the street there used to live a family of whiners: Mommy whined at Daddy and at the children, Little Toddler Man whined at everyone in his family (though apart from them, he is the sunniest little dude); Princess 6 year old alternatively whined and flounced belligerantly (she’s uniformly awful, no matter who’s with her); Dad issued ultimatums which were routinely ignored. Ick. Then, praise be, a For Sale sign appeared on their lawn! The SOLD sign followed within two weeks.

The new neighbours arrived late last week. They have two blond boys, about 2 and 4 years old, who match blond mummy. Dad I’ve not yet set eyes on. That is all I know yet about this family.

But just now, during naptime, I hear a child crying. Thinking it’s the one in the front room upstairs, I hasten to the bottom of the stairs. Not my tot; the sound is coming from outside. It is little blond 2-year-old across the street. He’s standing beside the open side door of their van. Seems he doesn’t want to get into his carseat. All right. Two-year-olds will do this. So what mom needs to do, right, is bundle him into the seat, whether he likes it or not, SHUT THE DAMNED DOOR, and drive his noise away. Right? Right?!?

No. She leans in and starts discussing matters with him. He roars louder. I hear a stirring upstairs. If they wake my sleeping 2-year-old, I will be seriously annoyed. She retreats. His roaring lessens somewhat. She – what is she doing?? – she walks back into the house, leaving angry toddler by the van! She closes the front door. His roaring increases. Then – surprise! – he follows her, still raging, to their front step. Screams at the door. She opens it. They “discuss” some more. They go back to the car. He – glory be! – climbs in. Before my sigh of relief is fully breathed, he changes his mind and climbs out. AND SHE LETS HIM!

(I go cold when I notice that he seems to be wearing some kind of a uniform. They don’t dress their toddler in a white shirt with a collar and a sweater vest normally, do they? Do pre-schools have uniforms?? Please, please don’t let this be something that is connected with pre-school, and will happen every day at this time.)

And during this whole pointless episode, she is murmuring to him, and he is roaring, full volume at her, “I DON’T WANT TO!” being the gist of it.

They continue this way for another four or five minutes, until finally, finally, she gets his seat buckled and closes the door on his noise, and leaves. To my relief, all my children remain peacefully sleeping.

Oh, how I hope this is a one-time deviant behaviour for the kid. A bad day at the end of a difficult week. Please, please, please…

If You Dream it You Can Achieve It. Maybe.

Harry is industriously shoving a doll under his shirt.

“I. Ah put..ting this baby uh-, baby uh-nur my shir’ so. It. Can. Gu-woe,” he declares to the room at large in his peculiar start and stop enunciation. It’s an idea that is very well received by the other two three-year-olds. In seconds, all three older boys have similar lumps in their fronts.

“We’re just waiting for our babies, so they can be borned.” George explains to Zach, who watches, intrigued, and pokes the occasional lump.

“I’m geh-in fa’, because my bay. My bay-be is growin’. And tha’, makes me fah-at.”

“Yeah, he’s growing, and soon you will be so fat, and that will mean he’s getting ready to be born.” George pats Harry’s bump.

Darcy echoes George, and pats his own bump. “He’s getting ready. My baby’s still in my tummy. He’s sleepin’ in my tummy. But sometimes he wakes up and gives me a kick.”

“MY baby is a girl!” declares Harry.

“And you can sing to your baby in there,” Darcy declares.

“First I will sing,” George agrees, “and now I’m resting, because my baby makes me tired.”

“Yes. Babies make a mommy tired,” Harry nods sagely.

“You know what, guys?” George observes. “When we grow up, we will be good mommies.”