Disowned By A Three-Year-Old

Weston was yelling in the car while we were inching along in the carpool line to pick Luke up, so I asked him to lower his voice. He yelled louder, so I asked him to give me the book that he was yelling about.

Weston: I want that book back!
Me: You're disappointed that I put the book away. The car is an enclosed space and we can't use loud, screaming voices in an enclosed space. You were yelling about the book, so we put it away.
Weston: You're not my mom anymore.
Me: Really?
Weston: Yes. Really. You are NOT my mom.
Me: So then who's your mom? Or do you not have a mom at all?
Weston: I don't have a mom. I have a Dada and Grandpas and Grandmas and Luke and that's all of the people I like because they're nice and they don't say mean things.
Me: You're mad that I told you not to yell.
Weston: Yes, and that was not nice. You're not awesome.
Me: I see.
Weston: Everything is awesome on my team, but everything is NOT awesome on your team.
Me: Hmm.
Weston: You're on the bad guy team.
Me: Is that so?
Weston: Yes. I'm a good guy, so I'm on the good guy team and you're a bad guy, so you're on the bad guy team and you do not live in my team. My team has a roof and doors and your team has nothing.
Me: Your team sounds like a building.
Weston: It is a building. It is a SKYSCRAPER. And your team is a nothing.
Me: Ah.
Weston: Hey, guess what! I can spell "Team." It goes tuh-eeee-mmmm. Team. Do you want to be animals now? I'll be a brown bear and you can be my friend brown bear and we'll be best friends!

During most of this conversation, I had to keep my replies brief because I was so busy laughing silently in the front seat. This might be the most impressively verbal display of anger I've ever seen from him. Also: I wish I could go from being furious to being completely calm and friendly as quickly as he does!

Bedtime Conversations

Luke: I don't like weekdays.
Me: Oh?
Luke: Yeah, I like weekends better.
Me: Why's that?
Luke: Because I never get to see you on weekdays.
Me: I miss you when you're at school, too. I do like that we see each other in the morning and in the evening.
Luke: It's never long enough.
Me: I know the feeling.
Luke: I could stop going to school and I could go to school at home like [Friend who is homeschooled.]
Me: That's something to think about.
Luke: But I have to go to school if I want to do Science Club and I really, really, really want to do Science Club.
Me: You're pretty excited about that.
Luke: Yeah!
Me: You know Science Club doesn't start for Kindergartners until January.
Luke: I know. I can wait. I guess I should keep going to school for now.

Sometimes, the parenting work load around here is heavy. Other times, all I have to do is sit back and listen while this kid parents himself.

Wheeling and Dealing

The other day, Weston was taking a bath and as usual, McMoose was supervising. At one point, I walked in there for a minute and McMoose left to go do something else.

Weston: Guess what, Mama!
Me: What, West?
W: Dada said I could have three amount of money because I poured three amount of water on mine head, ok?
Me: Really? Dada offered you money to wash your hair?
W: Yeah! Ok?
Me: Ok, I guess.

I walked outside the bathroom and found McMoose.

McMoose: What kind of deal did you two just make?
Me: We didn't. He was telling me about the deal that you made with him.
McMoose: What deal?
Me: That you're giving him money for each cup of water he pours over his head.
McMoose: What?! We didn't make that deal! Did you tell him that was ok?
Me: Well...yeah...but...he said you already agreed to it!

Yep. We got played by a three-year-old.

Weston in the Morning

You know how some people need a few minutes--or hours--in the morning before they're able to put together a coherent thought? Weston is not one of those people. Weston goes from Completely Asleep to 100 miles a minute in the blink of an eye. Since we've been around him for the past three years' worth of mornings, our family is pretty used to this phenomenon, but this morning, we agreed to drive Other Boy to school and he's one of those ease-into-the-day types. They were sitting together on the stairs, Other Boy flipping quietly through a picture book and Weston being his usual self...

Weston: Other Boy, I go to preschool now and I'm a preschooler! Do you see that pig in that book? That's a piglet and he's tricky 'cuz he plays tricks on the wolf. Casper's mean friend is tricky too and do you know that Casper movie? And Casper has a mean friend and the friend, um, um, um, is mean? And that mean friend is Casper's dada. He's tall. And Casper doesn't have a mommy because the mommy is not in the movie and the mommy is at a restaurant. Do you know Casper?

Other Boy: Weston! You're making me start over in this book. Stop talking.

Weston: Ok! [Stays silent for approximately eight seconds] There's that tricky pig again! This is Luke's book from school, from the library at school. There are books at my school and we read The Kissing Hand and, and, and, um...and there's a book about a fish and the fish has a spot, do you know that fish? With the spot?

It was at this point that Other Boy attempted to kick Weston down the stairs. I gotta give credit where credit is due: I'm not sure I could have held out for as long as he did!

The Great Escape: Berry Version

At some point last week, when all hell was busy breaking loose, Weston came traipsing up the stairs holding a pint of blueberries.

Me: Dude! What are you even doing?
Weston: I'm going to take these blueberries to school to share them for a snack.
Me: I already put a box of blueberries in your school bag. This box is for us to eat at home. Go put it back in the fridge, please.
Weston: Oh, ok!

About two minutes later, I walked downstairs to find him sitting at the bottom of the stairs, inspecting a blueberry and blowing at it before quickly popping it into his mouth.

Me: Now what are you doing?
Weston: Good thing you just sweeped the floor, right?
Me: Why is that a good thing?
Weston, holding up the nearly empty container of blueberries: Because I falled down and the blueberries go-ed everywhere. But don't worry, I eated them all up.

Now, had I been feeling completely rational at that moment in time, I would have realized that there was something fishy about this story. When he had come upstairs, that pint of blueberries was almost full and now, at the bottom of the stairs, there were about 10 berries left in there. Which means that about 40 berries had gone AWOL. Granted, Weston is a prolific eater, but even for him, it would have been quite a feat to locate and consume that many berries in under two minutes. But Another Baby needed a new diaper and Elsa needed a stern talking to because she was barking at the neighbor's children and we needed to leave the house so I could get Weston to school on time, so I didn't take the time to really think too deeply about the berries. I just did a quick survey of the floor, saw no blueberries immediately visible and assumed that all was as presented.

Ha. Hahaha. Hahahahahahahahaha. I put the whole incident out of my mind until a couple of days later when McMoose saw some evidence of the blueberry catastrophe.

McMoose: Why are there grapes all over the stairs?
Me: There...aren't.
McM: There are.
Me: No. We haven't had grapes in weeks. How are there going to be grapes on the stairs?
McM: They may be blueberries.
Me: .....Oh. Yeah. There was an incident. But Weston said he had gotten them all!
McM: Mm-hmm.

After this conversation, I (quite logically, I thought) assumed that McMoose had taken care of the last remaining stair-berries and again, I put the whole thing out of my mind. Until this morning, when I grabbed a bag of books that were on the stairs and found a dozen blueberries sitting quite happily underneath. I've now come to the conclusion that for the rest of our tenure at this house, we'll be finding blueberries on those stairs.
 

Weston says...

After inspecting Another Baby closely:
"I want to eat him up, I love him so!" (This is almost a direct quote from the book, Where the Wild Things Are.)

A couple of minutes later: "He is so, so small, I shall make a tiny playground for him." (This one is from the book, The Very Small.)

Upon seeing a parent at preschool whose child Luke had a playdate with about 10 months ago: "We went to her house and Luke was there, playing. They had trains and dress up wings and a fairy game. Remember?" (We were in this person's house for about 10 minutes to pick Luke up.)

When I let Another Baby play with a baby toy that has been put away for almost two years now: "Hey! That used to make a sound, like a fishy music sound. Just wiggle the tail. Oh, it doesn't work anymore. But it used to!" (I had forgotten all about the sound until he reminded me.)

How does he remember this stuff??

Upside Down

Last week, when Luke got home from school, he started asking to do school-y things. Reading. Writing. Science experiments. Craft projects. Today, he got home, settled himself with a pile of books, and proceeded to read until dinner time. Meanwhile, I want him to go outside--or stay inside--and PLAY! I want him to run and climb and jump. I want him to build with Legos and play games. He needs to play...but he doesn't want to play. (Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?) Why not?

And then I look at the work he's been doing at school. Coloring sheets. Matching pictures with their starting sounds (Dog to the letter D, Umbrella to the letter U.) Practicing handwriting one letter at a time. Worksheets that ask him to draw lines between pictures of rhyming words (sheep and jeep, hat and cat.) Of course he wants to come home and read and write and do science experiments and craft projects.

I tell myself that it's only the sixth week of school. Really, they're very good at differentiating curriculum--this is probably the best he's going to get anywhere outside of our home. When he's practicing writing one letter at a time, at least it's in cursive. He's excited about and interested in the work he's doing at school and as far as we can tell, he really does enjoy being there. He's learning everything in a foreign language. He's learning how to cope with the social atmosphere of school--and that's throwing him for quite a loop. He is learning things and he certainly is being challenged.

And yet. Our evenings go so much more smoothly when I give in to his requests to do academic things instead of forcing him outside and I find myself bargaining with him. Play outside for 30 minutes and then, you can come read about the Solar System. Play a game with your brother and then we can do a science experiment. Absurd.