Third Best Friend

How many best friends can one boy have?

Well, if you are my Ben, you attract a lot of best friends.  One of his strongest abilities is his ease in making friends.  He loves everyone and it seems everyone loves him as well.

I remember his kindergarten teacher last year telling me that she finally had to set up a rotation system during "circle time" so that enough kids got the chance to sit by him.  Too many arguments were erupting at story time.

This year, yet again, we have a brand new location, brand new school, brand new teacher, brand new friends, same old problem: too many kids want to be his best friend.

This was humorously pointed out at his birthday party last weekend.

I know it is not always done to open presents during the birthday party, but Ben insisted this be part of the "schedule" of his party, so the shirtless and soggy boys (shirtless and soggy from the fairly intense water fight they had) all crowded as close to Ben as possible, each shoving their presents in his face, encouraging him to "Open mine first, Ben!  You're going to LOVE it!"

The gifts were all perfect; just what a 7-year old boy dreams of: transformers, legos, light sabers, and spy gear.  He was quite pleased with the loot.

What really got to Matt and me though was one of the cards.  It read

"Dear Ben,
Happy Birthday
Your third friend
Jake"

When we saw that card, Matt and I just laughed.  I asked Jake what "third friend" meant and he clearly explained that although Mitchell is his "first best friend" and Luke is his "second best friend," he proudly boasted possessing the title of "third best friend!"

At this point, the other boys chimed in with their placings:

"Yeah!  I'm his 5th best friend!"

"I'm his 4th!"

"No you're not, I am!"

Clearly, they have all sorted this out before and most of them have no problem with their standings.  Each are pretty happy just to be in there somewhere.

The Fun is in the Wrapping!

My big boy just got a whole year older! It's true! He aged a year overnight! He went to bed only six years old, and woke up a 7-year-old! Pretty sure that is the way my kids picture getting older. It's a fun notion.

I just have to say, that although Ben loves his birthday - the attention, the gifts, the cake and ice cream, just "feeling special," I think Mitchell might love his birthday just as much!

All throughout the week leading up to the big day, Mitchell was busy busy. Finding treasures and wrapping them up. It was sweet that he was picking out treasures from his collection, but the ways he wrapped them was so cute! He used cardboard and colored paper; paper plates and napkins; electrical tape and about an entire roll of scotch tape.

When gift opening time came, these gifts had to come first. He just couldn't wait to deliver them to Ben. We had to go all over the house, retrieving the gifts from their hiding places he stashed them in. He had so many hidden that we even missed one. I just found it on my shoe shelf in my closet.

I am so thankful my boys have brothers. I pray nothing ever comes or stays between them.

Treasure Hunt

Mitchell is such a mystery to me.  One day, he is quiet and moody, answering my probing questions with one word answers and funny "looks."  The next day, he is skipping in excitement and bursting to tell me stories of what happened at school and his plans for building a spaceship "that really flies!"  One day, a hug annoys him and a kiss?  yuk!  No way!  The next day, he just can't get enough ticking and wrestling and hugging.  One day, he prefers to find his own entertainment and doesn't seem to notice me.  Other days, he just can't seem to let me walk from one room to the next without following me.

He is constantly surprising me, and yesterday was a classic example.  It was classic "Mitchell."

I had to make a phone call.  I wanted privacy while I did so.  I explained to Mitchell that he was to stay where he was, playing quietly and alone for just a few minutes.  He nodded in agreement.

When I finished my phone about 10 minutes later, he was standing right inside the door, hopping in place, big grin on his face.  He definitely had been up to something and was literally hopping up and down waiting for me to discover it.  I smiled and asked him what was up and he said, "Mom?  Do you notice any shopping bags hidden around the house?"

I looked around and yes, indeed, I did notice a few plastic shopping bags poking out of drawers and stashed under chairs.  "This is a treasure hunt and I hid special treasures in the shopping bags and you get to find them!  C'mon!"

Each time I found a new bag, I opened it up and inside was something on which he had "written" a message, which he would read out loud to me:

The bag under the kitchen table said "You are invited to a birthday party!"

The bag behind the couch said "I love you, Mom."

The bag in the bathroom said "It's pizza day!"

Behind the chair in his treasure room was a note saying "You're the best mom ever!"

Under Dad's desk in his office, the note said "I'll give you flowers in just a second!"

One under the couch read "I love your guts!"

On the stairs, the note said "You're the prettiest mom in the world!"

In my coat closet, tied around the mop, was a bag with a note saying "I'll meet you at the movie theater!"

Sticking out of my rain boot - "Meet me later.  I'll be at the flower store.  Get whatever you want!"

In a potted plant, he hid a note saying "Let's go to the crystal store.  There's jewelry there!"

And it all was intended to lead me in a treasure hunt to the grand prize (which was the first thing I noticed but was instructed that I did NOT see that yet and had to wait to see it until the end) which was hidden under a kitchen towel on the floor behind the table.  He bounced over to the spot, whipped the towel off, revealing an apple, a glass of water, and a pile of cereal on a paper towel.  "Now we get to have a special snack together!  Don't you just love this?"

As we sat on the floor, eating and drinking our special little snack together, just the two of us, I asked him what made him think to do such an adventurous and special thing for and with me.

"Oh, you know... I just thought you were special and you'd like it of course!"

I picked him up and squeezed him.  I must have squeezed a bit too hard and too long though because, true Mitchell style, he groaned, "Ok... That's enough hugging..."  and he ran off to find some other adventure.

War Paint

As I was getting dinner ready this evening, the boys began to trickle down from their upstairs activities.  First came Ben, then Mitchell, then... well... that was it.  Jack never trickled.

After a while, my curiosity got the better of me (plus it was time for dinner), so I went up to investigate.  I found him in my bathroom.  alone. Never a good sign.

Guesses?

I found him with two tubes of mascara, globby wand in each hand, brushing his hair and painting his face like war paint.  He grinned at me and said, "Look mom!  It's pretty like you!"

We let him wear it for dinner.  Nothing like giggling boys to make dinner stretch on even longer, but it was worth it.  He is a stinker... but hilarious.

Busted

My boys are on to me.

I can't get away with anything anymore!

When I go up to get Jack up from nap time, he gives a sniff and says, "I need some cashews too!"

When I am downstairs working on dinner (and snacking on thin mints...), then go up to get the boys for dinner, Mitchell will say, "Hey! I smell cookies! Are we having cookies for dinner?"

If I have a beer before dinner while Ben and I are doing homework, he will look up and say, "You kinda smell like daddy, mom..."

I'm going to have to step up my stealth game here if I am going to be able to eat cookies whenever I want or eat cashews without sharing...

Skippin'

Mitchell is not usually one to show emotion. It takes quite a bit to make him cry. He isn't overtly loving or quick to kiss or hug. He plays it cool... aloof... He's way too cool for his age...

But there is one thing that always gives Mitchell away: when he is happy and content, he skips.

When I drop him off for school in the morning, he doesn't want to give me a kiss goodbye or even give me a hug. He rarely even gives a second glance back at me. If I wasn't watching, I'd think he didn't care if I was ever coming back. But I watch him walk up the walk to the gate, see his friends waiting inside, and he stops walking and starts skipping. I know he is comfortable, secure, and excited.

When I watch him playing in the yard and he is really doing his thing, he skips from one place to another. He skips from the hose to the rope swing, then skips over to the slide to pour his bucket of water down it.

He even skips around the park after school with his friends. While they are walking or running, he is skipping.

I know he is having a tough day when he doesn't skip at all.

A tough kid for me to read at the best of times, I fully appreciate Mitchell's skip as a clue to how he is feeling. I love that skip...

The Troubles Of A Two-Year-Old

My boys have a pretty amazing lives. Unless I am seriously missing something, they are not lacking in many areas of life. Although we allow them to be boys - adventurous, messy, a little crazy, sometimes loud, and even almost dangerous at times, we provide everything they need and love and care for them with all we've got. Their lives are secure.

Despite this security, unconditional love, and comfort in life, they still have their own brand of troubles. Ben hates confrontation. He hates it when someone - anyone - is unhappy or upset. He is a secret perfectionist: doesn't, at first glance, seem terribly competitive, but is very tough on himself in reality.

Mitchell hates sharing food. If I take a bite of an apple, he won't come near it. If I take a pretzel out of his bag, he will pass on snack time. He loves physical attention and hugs and snuggles, but prefers not to be kissed. Even knowing this, I kiss him when I just can't help it. After every kiss, he wipes it off. He hates the idea of slobber, even when it is the driest kiss I can manage.

Jack, being the hilarious age he is, has the funniest troubles in life. Boogers. Jack cannot abide "boogies" Every morning, when I get him out of bed, he at some point rubs his nose, feels the crusties inside, and panics. "Mom! I have boogies! Get my boogies!" Try as I may, I cannot convince my youngest child to pick his own nose. This leaves me literally picking Jack's nose for him not just every morning, but multiple times throughout the day.

He also can't stand his socks being "crooked." I am not sure what this actually means, but often, I just don't quite put his sock on correctly, and his whole world falls apart. Until I tug and pull and twist and shift that sock sufficiently, life is unbearable.

One more thing he hates (and this is my favorite) is when his shirt gets shifted up at all. If we are playing or wrestling or... doing anything really and his shirt happens to come up above his belly button... oh man... STOP EVERYTHING! "Oh no!!! My belly is stickin' out!" He just hates his belly to show...

I may feel I have trouble in life, but at least I can pick my own nose, have no sock issues and my shirt isn't constantly ridin' up. Perspective...