Tonight Hayden and Austin were watching Roger Federer play Stan Wawrinka in the Indian Wells tennis tournament final. Roger had match point and Hayden was besides himself. "Come on Roger!" He shouted. Austin, standing right there with him, shouted "Come on Rafa!" And giggled like hell. "What?!" Hayden shrieked while his eyes didn't leave the tv. Austin giggled some more. A few minutes later and second match point, again Hayden shouted for roger and again Austin shouted for Rafa.
It was hilarious and perhaps what Hayden deserves for brainwashing gone awry! Austin has become, "a big boy," to use his oft repeated description. He makes poo poo jokes and teases his dad and his mommy. "Mommy, do you see my red socks?" A direct reference to my stated hatred for the Boston baseball team.
We were at friends' last night and a child there who was the same age was impossible to understand. In other words I am bragging about how smart and verbal Austin is. He is ahead of the curve.
Alas, let me also be the first to say that he is not perfect. In fact I have discovered the secret toddler ritual that should but does not make the headlines: the terrible threes!
Upon inquiry with several parents I have learned that this is indeed a thing, and it is worse than the terrible twos.
Austin takes us on an emotional roller coaster 117 times a day. Yesterday, for example, Hayden walked down in the middle of our carefully choreographed-on-eggshells breakfast routine and suggested it was preposterous that Austin was scooping coffee into the french press. "Quiet" I hissed. "Just let him do it." "No he is making a mess." He proceeded to take the coffee away.
Mistake.
Big mistake.
Austin's feelings were hurt beyond repair and for the next 6 minutes (which felt like years).
Aust, do you want to make the coffee?
NO!
C’mon
NO
Austin, I need your help.
NO
Aust, how do you feel?
MAD
Come on, let’s eat breakfast.
NO
Such is the delicate balance of things these days.
Five minutes later, he was chowing down on his oatmeal and Grandma’s granola, talking about super heroes with not a care in the world and no recall of the trauma of moments before.
"Mommy how does Spiderman climb on walls?"
"Does he have a web?"
"How do his feet stick to the wall?"
I try to answer these questions by recalling as best I can my passing interest in Spiderman from thirty years ago, while recovering from the coffee drama.
He is my best boy.
