Monday, June 21, 2010

The Quiet Before the Storm?

There is something strange going on in our home at the moment. It’s a phenomenon that I would have to describe as having somewhat of a calming effect, but not the kind that washes over you after a soothing hour long massage and sticks with you for the rest of the day. No, it’s more of a, Golly, George is telling me that swell story about the rabbits again. “Tell me about the rabbits, Geor...,” BOOM! I am in constant fear of what is going to happen next.

So what could possibly induce such a strange combination of hopeful serenity and overwhelming dread all at the same time? The kids, of course. More specifically, it’s Aaron and his sudden desire to help and be useful and even eat. You heard me…EAT. He even made us stop at McDonalds for chicken nuggets on the way home from the zoo today because he said that he, “needed to eat meat.” I know, I know, chicken nuggets aren’t really meat, but for a kid who once thought that a cow shaped animal cracker was all the protein that he needed in a day, this is huge.

It’s been going on for a few weeks off and on now. We will have a few days of absolute horror where he is so difficult that I keep looking outside to see if a couple of hell hounds have shown up to guard the son of darkness. Then, out of no where, he will barricade himself in the tornado of the family room until every last toy has been picked up and put in its place. I’m talking up to my standards kind of clean here people which, ok, have gone down hill a bit since becoming a mom, but nevertheless, they are still pretty high. He doesn’t even have to be asked which is the spookiest part about it. It’s like, I don’t know, he is growing up or something and all of the begging and pleading to help mommy or holy hell I am going to unleash a world of hurt, is finally sinking in. Weird.

The eating thing has me completely baffled because the last time that he was a good eater I was still pouring his meals out of a jar labeled Gerber. We have fought with him for years to “just try it” with no success. Then yesterday he spied some corn on the cob left on the dinner table and asked if he could eat some. I was like, “Uh, yeah,” but thinking, “Yeah, right.” And then …..he…. ATE IT! He ate the whole freaking thing.

I am guardedly optimistic that he is turning over a new leaf and becoming a little man rather than a fussy preschooler. Maybe it’s the fact that he is five and a half and well on his way to being six years old. I’ve heard that something magical happens at six and your tiny little multiple personality maniac becomes a rational little human child thing. If this is about as likely as having pixies and fairy diddles peacefully gathering daisies every spring in your backyard, please don’t tell me. Holding on to this little shred of hope is just about all I have left.