From Angel to Spirited in 3 short years...
Carrying both of them, wrapped in towels and fresh from the bath, I suddenly caught the full double-impact of these laughing, mischievious brothers. "Blah!" shouted one, right in the face of the other, who shouted back louder still, "BLAAH!" Then they giggled until they hiccupped and I laughed too, inspite of all my moaning about how much hard work they are.
They smell strangely of Lynx shower gel, left here by visitors. I can guess that one of them was brave enough to prise the lid open with their teeth, there's no telling which, and the other egged him on and held out his hands to have it rubbed in. I was all of three steps away fetching a warm towel, and the bath was drained of water, but still they manage to do what they know they shouldn't.
I devoured chunks of the Baby Whisperer's toddler book while they napped today and emerged armed and ready for the afternoon's onslaught. It seems the original Angel Baby has developed a Spirited streak. Re-reading the descriptions of the different natures or 'types' of children made me smile in acute recognition of the boisterous Spirited boyishness, and I realised how lucky we are to have such strong characters for sons, such confident souls with such energy and apetite for life.
As I write this Baby Brother is in bed, having crawled into my lap and whimpered "Sleep. Milk." "Are you tired?" I asked, and he nodded and said "Ah-haa." He took a little plastic puppy to bed with him, woof-woofing as he went. Big Brother is playing perfectly around my feet, suddenly enthralled by a couple of board books with chunky wheels. He's tracing the lines and swirls on the rug as if they were roads, and silently making the vehicles loop-the-loop and leap from chair to chair. As he does this I realise how much he appreciates time to play alone and how very little of it he gets. He's constantly interrupted by a small interfering one, so is it any wonder he defends his territory so rigorously?
This afternoon was good. I issued two stickers for helpful behaviour, and managed to practice the wisdom I learned from the baby whisperer. It made the world of difference and I actually enjoyed the time we spent together more than I feel like I have for a long time, even though it was interspersed with the usual bursts of trouble and strife. They hit each other on the head with wooden spoons and one threw a bowl of cornflakes all over the floor, but they also rolled on the floor in affectionate wrestling, and we all laughed repeatedly. I've taken a step back and realise that they're still so small and in so much need of gentle guidance. That they respond well to gently enforced boundaries, and that I can be a calm and collected Mama, and teach by example what it means to handle your emotions and reign in your impulses. I'm lucky to have the opportunity to teach these boys how to be. Lucky to be their Mama, lucky to have a husband who so staunchly and affectionately defends my being here and thus having no income, even where that means he spends not a penny of his hard-earned on himself and still sees red whenever he checks the bank balance. We're lucky to live in the place that we do in the space that we do.
"Sorry," I said instinctively for some accidental misdemeanour. "Sorry is not enough," shot back the tall blonde-haired boy of a thousand dramatic expressions, quick as a shot. I smirked but was suitably chastised.
