Big brother wisdom

Anson and Maddox skipped naps today.

Despite a very full day of activities, they were jacked, and when they should have been taking naps, they each (separately) trashed their bedrooms instead.

So, they went to bed early.

Before 7 pm.

Anson had a hair trigger all evening long, bursting into tears at the slightest of slights. But as we read stories, he snuggled his head against my shoulder, patted my stomach, and said, “Hey Mama, even if the baby is a girl, I’m going to love her and play nice with her and never make her cry, okay?”

Even if the baby is a girl, huh?

Anson is very eager for a baby brother, and I’d love to see him get that. But I’d also love to see Maddox get a little sister. I mean, no matter what, one of them is going to be disappointed.

I responded by saying, “I know you will, Anson. You are an excellent big brother.”

He looked at me with sage wisdom in his sweet face, gave me a closed-mouth smile, and simply nodded, knowingly.

Sometimes when you’re really good at something, it’s okay to just know it.

Honesty

Last night, Anson picked out the book “Who Did It?” for bedtime story reads.

It’s not a kids’ whodunnit, but rather, a repositioning of some text from scripture. With each page the author asks who is responsible for a different miracle of nature, and there’s an entire page dedicated to the mysteries of the sea.

At the end of each page, the author asks the reader some form of “Did you do that?” or “Could you do that?” or “Was that you?”

So at the end of each page, Anson says “No… not me!”

Until the mysteries of the sea page. When I asked “Could you do that?” at the end of the page, he responded,

“Well, maybe if I had my swim suit on, and I wasn’t afraid to go under water…”

 

Anson’s invisible string

The kids have a book about the “Invisible String” and in it, a mother tells her twins about the invisible string that connects all of us with love.

Anson likes to bring up the invisible string when he’s going to miss me. This morning, he went to the store with Daddy and Maddox, and told me that he would tug on his invisible string when he was missing me during what amounted to 45 minutes away from the house.

Tonight, he was doing his “stall” routine as a part of bedtime. This includes such classic maneuvers as not being able to decide which book he’d like to read, having difficulty choosing his pajamas, and needing more water in his shark cup. Another classic, which Anson deployed tonight after I have tucked him in and sung him a song and smooched him goodnight, is saying “Mommy… I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, buddy?”

“I’m lonely when I’m not with you guys.”

I reminded Anson about the invisible string. Anson said, “But Mommy, tonight my string is tired.”

Strong play, Anson.

“Anson, I can’t believe I haven’t told you this one thing about the invisible string,” I seized my opportunity. “Mommies have special invisible strings that never get tired. It’s like a super string.”

This made Anson chuckle.

“Mommy’s heart is always connected to yours, even when your string is tired,” I repeated.

This seemed to solve the problem, at least for tonight.

And it also did make me think about what loving your child is like. I do think Mom-Love is something super strong – and without having experienced for the first 28 years of my life, I didn’t really believe friends of mine or even really understand my mother’s fierceness (although I greatly appreciated it). Mom-Love doesn’t get tired, even though Mommies inevitably do. Mom-Love is what gets us out of bed with smiles on our faces when the kids want pancakes at 6 am, and what makes us stay up all night rocking our littles when they’re sick. Mom-Love is likely behind more feats of strength and miracles than can be recorded.

Mom-Love = super love

I think women get super powers the minute they become Moms. I’m glad I was able to tell Anson about my super powers tonight.

Anson is funny. That’s all.

Last night, we had a slumber party from 4am-6am in Mommy and Daddy’s bed. Maddox was up, then she came to our bed, then she woke up Anson and he joined us. Then Anson and Maddox fought over position in the bed, handholding rights, etc. After about a half an hour of this, I finally mumbled in exasperation, “You’re both going to go to your own beds in a minute if you can’t settle down.” Anson retorted, “I’m going to my bed right now.”

At lunch, the waitress asked Anson if he wanted any dipping sauce for his chicken strips and french fries. Anson contemplated this, then pointed one finger at her and said “Ranch.”

At dinner, Anson shared with us that Jesus is the biggest human in the whole wide world, and that God was a big dark rain cloud.

At bedtime, I found one of Zeb’s tools on the floor in Anson’s room. I asked Anson, “What is this doing in here?” to which Anson responded, “I have no idea.”

 

Anson’s pajamas

Anson needs new pajamas, pretty bad.

This is partly because Anson has grown like, six inches since the last time we purchased pjs for him.

But it’s also because the pjs he does have are getting pretty ragamuffin.

Tonight, he put on a particular favorite pair of dino jammies. I pointed out the hole in the knee.

“Yea, I cut that hole with some scissors, Mama.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to be able to touch my skin if I had any itchies.”

Logic. Reason. Genius.

But still, time to go shopping.

Thwarting bad guys

Tonight, while getting ready for bed in the trailer, Anson started some make believe.

Apparently there were bad guys in the trailer. Anson wanted us to remain hidden in the bathroom, but occasionally would pop his head out the door and hiss as if to warn them off.

Despite the occasional hissing we were able to get through toothbrushing, undetected. Then Anson informed me, “Mom, if there were real bad guys in here, I would just give up.”

Wha???

He was quick to continue.

“But it would only be for pretend, to trick them. Then I would put the bad guys in my tummy.”

And that would be that, I suppose.

The best day ever

Anson has been counting down to today all week?

“Mommy, what day is this day?”

“Tuesday.”

“And after this day I get to go to the fair and go camping?”

Then, we found out we would get to see cousin Carson today, and it amplified the anticipation tenfold.

“Mommy, after this day do I get to go to the fair and go camping with cousin Carson?”

Well, cousin Carson wasn’t camping with us, but the rest of it was true.

And then, today came.

And the fair didn’t happen, and cousin Carson wasn’t feeling 100%, but we still headed to the mountains for camping.

Anson was so excited that he couldn’t nap.

He insisted that we pull over when we got onto the dirt road so he could ride in the Blazer with mommy.

He road four wheelers and reveled in the thrills of the makeshift tree swing and oscillated between shorts and jeans as the sun intermittently came out from behind the clouds, and he got dirty and ate licorice and hotdogs and crashed hard at dusk.

“Daddy, I’m tired,” he moaned, before flopping into his father’s lap by the fire.

So I took him to the trailer, where Maddox was already sawing logs.

And as he changed into his pjs he announced, “mom, today was the best day ever!”

I asked what his favorite part of today was, and he responded, “All of it.”

Things did not go Anson’s way today. He didn’t get to go to the fair, his visit from cousin Carson was far from the vibrant affair he usually looks forward to, and I am pretty sure a bee stung him on the head when he was putting on his four wheeler helmet.

But he was so joy filled and happy. His day was full of adventures embraced.

I’d like to feel that way at the end of the day. I think I might start making it a point to.

Learning to go to sleep on his own

Tonight at bedtime, I told Anson how much I appreciated him staying in his own bedroom the night before. He responded by saying, “Yea but I need you guys to sleep with me.”

*sigh*

“No, buddy, you need to learn to go to sleep on your own.”

“Well, I already know how to do that.”

Implied: I just don’t want to.

Someone invisible

Most nights, Anson doesn’t fall right to sleep. We read stories, and sing songs, and do back scratches, and then he talks to himself and alligator-rolls his sheets off the bed and sometimes even sets up obstacle courses with his books for his monster trucks. Some nights, he’ll sneak from his own bed into ours, and we’ll discover him, sprawled on our unmade bed, looking gigantic.

And then there are nights like tonight, where he sneaks down the hallway and into the living room to give us extra smooches and hugs. Tonight, Zeb heard him tiptoeing down the hall and, before he even made it into our eye line, simply called out, “Anson?”

The tiptoeing immediately stopped. I peered around the corner from our living room into the hallway and discovered Anson, in an exaggerated frozen position, eyes wide. It was as if he thought remaining motionless might also render him invisible.

After receiving our requisite extra smooches and hugs, we sent Anson back to his bed. A few minutes later I heard him singing, rather loudly, to himself, so I went back to investigate.

“Hey buddy.”

Anson sat up ramrod straight.

“Uh, Mommy? I have something to tell you.”

I’ve never heard Anson use this phrase before, and for whatever reason it really unsettled me. Perhaps it was the immediate flash-forward to the future I had, where adolescent Anson has confessions of misadventures to share. Yikes.

I sat down on the nightstand by his bed, ready to hear whatever he needed to disclose.

“I wish… I wish there was somebody invisible that could hang out in my room with me.”

What was I so worried about?

“Like you guys.”

Morning snuggle convos

This morning, Anson was in our room before 6 am for snuggles.

Snuggles with Anson are not soft, comforting nuzzles before quickly re-entering Snooze Town. Anson’s a kneader; he shoves his little hooves under your calves and then alternately pushes and retracts his feet, sometimes scratching your legs in the process with his need-to-be-clipped-yesterday toenails. He’s a hand-holder, but he doesn’t just find your hand and gently hold it. No, he holds your hand normally, then adjusts his grip and the angle on your arm and finally alternates to holding a thumb or trying his other hand. And Anson has a legit alligator death roll that starts with his face uncomfortably close to yours, moves into the roll (taking the covers along with it) and ends with his butt in your gut.

All this to say: usually when Anson’s up, you’re up.

This morning, I tried to prolong a little half-hearted snooze by softly conversing with Anson. We talked briefly about what we would like to do today before Anson said drowsily, “I bet the baby is sad that she doesn’t have a warm hand to hold right now.”

(All of a sudden, Bebe Bptschze is a girl)

“Yea, the baby is in mommy’s tummy so the only hand in there to hold is their own hand.”

“But it’s okay. She’s never alone,” Anson says brightly.

Also true.

Does everybody’s kid think this way?