He started to have real full-blown tantrums, to a decibel and drama that leads Oliver to cover his ears and simply say, "oh my GOSH, Charlie." I am saying something a lot less nice in my head. He dragged chalk through mud today and then started to eat it.
He refused to sit in his carseat. He refused to let go of the 50 pound mirror attached to his changing table/dresser. He tried to feed plastic figurines to his 7-month-old cousin. He stood on the tops of the backs of couches, on the tops of tables, and in fabric bins of toys. He hid the remote, which I'm really wanting now that he's finally done screaming himself to sleep for the fourth night in a row (tonight was one hour, and I went in to find him drenched in sweat and tears. I was too.) At one point this evening, I noticed there were no more diapers in his room just as I had gotten him on the changing table. I set him loose while I got more, and Oliver stubbed his toe. He's asking me several times over and over to look at his owie, but I am holding a naked, wailing and arching Charlie trying to get him back on the changing table again. Oliver grabs my ankle mid-step. I recover without tripping as the boys continue to scream and I sing curses in my head.
Speaking of Oliver, he's not hearing well this week. No doubt due to his double ear infection, almost every thing I say is met with between two and five "what?"s. Increasing the volume of my voice nearly turned into yelled answers by the end of the day: "I-SAID-IT-IS-TIME-FOR-DIN-NER!!!!"
Then Oliver said something, as he was walking to the bookshelf to pick out his bedtime stories. Charlie was still wailing, and I wanted so badly to just be alone, with a book, with a laptop, with a TV, with anything that didn't cry or ask questions or poke or cling. Oliver stopped to turn and look at me and said, "I'm listening to your words. And to your heart."
And just like that, my four-year-old turns into my wisest counsel and sets me straight. I'm the one who needs to be listening.
No comments:
Post a Comment