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Growing. Incessantly.

Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of Sam and it’s almost like I don’t recognize him.

In my mind, he looks like this.

A little boy with a bowling ball for a head. There were times we’d worry that he would actually never develop a neck.

But I must have blinked or something, because now he looks like this.

His face thinned out and his features turning sharper. He looks so old. I’ve learned from his sister, though, that even though he looks to me like he is so grown up at four, he’ll keep growing and before long I’ll be looking back wistfully at the little four year old I once knew… who is now a teenage boy.

Um, now that I think about it, a teenage boy does not seem that appealing. I’d like to keep my sweet four year old, if that’s cool. Remind me again where the pause button is?

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Tough Transitions

A picture of Sam’s picture on his cubby at school. It cracked me up.

After a couple months off hanging out with his dad and sister, Sam is back at preschool. He’s been bumped up to the pre-k room (I am in deep denial about what “k” stands for), which is fantastic, but as usual with Sam, he’s having a slightly rough time with the transition. He does great in the mornings, but he’s struggling with nap time. He’s not been sleeping, and he says nap time is too long. When not sleeping, I’m sure an hour and a half IS a long time to lay quietly on a cot. (but seriously kid, SLEEP. Sleeping is a wonderful thing. Maybe grown ups should have nap time instead of kids).

Earlier this week, his class had a teddy bear picnic and I went over to join them for lunch. When I picked Sam up, his “how I did today” color was orange, which is dangerously close to red, which means trouble. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he kept thinking of when I was there at the picnic and it made him sad and he wanted to call his mommy.

Is that not pathetic and sad and sweet? The kid is killing me.

Drop off was awful today – he was crying and so sad, and when I hugged him before I left, he grabbed onto my belt and wouldn’t let go. As soon as I pried that hand off, he grabbed it with the other one. And so on. His teacher was great and I could hear her comforting him after I left the room (why yes I was eavesdropping), but man it broke my heart.

We’ve been down this road before. I know he was fine after I left, and I know that once he gets comfortable in his new room, nap time will be fine. And really, drop off has been great every day but today.

But today was painful, and it’s the painful ones that stick with ya.

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I think we should shoot her.

That’s my husband’s favorite response to my almost-constant question, “What are we going to do with her??” Andy finds that more often than not in life, there’s a Ferris Bueller quote that fits any situation.

Anyway, it’s not just “her” (aka Kate) I am exasperated with, it’s also “her” brother (aka Sam).

Most often, it’s both of them.

My kids are four years apart, and for a long time, they didn’t fight. Basically, Sam happily did whatever Kate told him to, and they co-existed peacefully. Now, though, at the ripe old age of four, he’s developed preferences and opinions.

And Kate does not like it one bit.

Driving each other crazy seems to be each of their goals in life, and in the meantime they are making Andy and me insane. The moments when they’re nice to each other? They are so nice. They’re sweet and funny and adorable. However, those moments are increasingly growing fewer and farther between.

I’m reading a book called “Siblings without Rivalry,” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, which, like their book “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk,” is full of great suggestions on ways to facilitate communication and prevent jealousy. The problem is, I can’t remember what the hell I’m supposed to do.

Evidently I should read it again.

Until then, though, I turn to you – any suggestions on what to do with our kids when they are at each other’s throats?

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