My Not-So-Lucky Socks
And other random things.
I was trying to get everybody clothed and out the door for piano lessons yesterday when I realized we were experiencing a sock dearth. I managed to get the kids’ feet clothed but had absolutely nothing to put on my own. Then I remembered these bad boys. Someone gave them to me as part of a shower gift when Tank Boy came home. I never wore them because it just felt a little silly since he was already 9 months old. So in a drawer they have been sitting for almost two years now.
Desperate times call for desperate measures (and the doing of laundry, apparently). As I put them on I thought to myself, “Wouldn’t it be something I we get a referral today, while I’m wearing these socks? Maybe they will be my lucky socks!”
It wasn’t to be.
In addition to not getting a referral, they were a smidge too tight around my upper ankle/lower calf region, thereby causing some foot swelling. I didn’t discover this until evening, when I was changing for a dinner at church, took off the socks, and could barely get my feet into my shoes of choice. Hmmmm . . . I’ve never had this happen before, this sock-induced edema. Needless to say, my spontaneous plans to wear them every day until we get a referral were abandoned. I’m sure my family is not too upset by this.
So I went to the dinner last night, the one that necessitated sock removal, with Tank Boy and Midge in tow. Midge should have been at martial arts class with the rest of the clan, but recently she has been really disruptive in her class. McH is her instructor, which probably doesn’t help. I think, as her fourth birthday is rapidly approaching, she is experiencing some kind of mid-childhood crisis. In addition to disrupting her class, she has of late been trying out Tank Boy’s Top 10 Least Endearing Behaviors for herself. This was initially quite frustrating, but then I remembered when L~ was this age.
For weeks she would cry and tell us she didn’t want to have her birthday. She did not want to turn four. Sure, she was open to the idea of a day that included cake, ice cream, and some presents; but no additional people were to be at our house for said birthday-like accoutrements. She did not want a birthday. Just a day. With cake and presents. Finally one day she spilled the beans: she did not want to turn four because then she wouldn’t be cute any more. Once her birthday came and went she was back to her normal self, relieved that she didn’t turn old and wrinkly over night. I’m hoping the same thing happens once Midge has her birthday, and all of the baby-like behaviors will just disappear.
In the meantime, no martial arts for her last night, so off to church the three of us went. Midge went into the nursery but Tank Boy wanted no part of that. By the by, he’s doing great in the nursery on Sundays now. Oh, he still puts on a show when I drop him off — screaming and throwing himself on the floor — but once I’m gone he’s done and he plays happily. At least, that’s what they tell me.
So, yesterday, with no familiar faces in there, I didn’t press the nursery issue. It was being staffed by a set of 12-year-old twins and, later, a 15-year-old. Instead, he sat through two and a half hours of dinner and a program and was a veritable angel. Amazing! After two and a half hours I was starting to feel not-so-angelic myself. But the program was great, so it was worth it.
Now, granted, I did have to remind him fairly regularly about the kids’ room that I could take him to at any moment, but the fact that that worked is miraculous in and of itself. He whispered, at least most of the time, he stayed on my lap, he quietly played peek-a-boo and asked me who the other women were at our table. He didn’t squirm. He didn’t yell. He didn’t pull the table cloth off the table. He wasn’t demanding. He didn’t climb on anything. He was, in other words, not himself. He did surreptitiously spit a mouthful of green beans into my water, but I’m generally a pretty well-hydrated gal anyway, so no worries.
People actually came up to us afterwards just to say how well behaved he was!!! My son! So on the way home I made a great big deal of what a super duper good boy he was. When we got home I made a great big deal of bragging about him to his dad.
“I a super duper good boy!!!” he told McH.
I told McH I was thinking about making him a cape with SDGB emblazoned on the back, but, we all know what Edna, that paragon of wisdom from The Incredibles says, “No capes!”
Since then I’ve really been trying to make sure he gets to bask in the glory of his super duper good boyness and, for today anyway, it seems to be helping his attitude. And yes, two year olds definitely have attitudes.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.