On Tuesday morning, Tom came out dressed for his third day of preschool in only his Spiderman briefs and his backpack. So I asked him: are you ready for school?
To which he replied:
No. I forgot my gun.
He has lately taken to tantrum-throwing. He was, as recently as last week, a very charming and easy-going child, but things can take a quick turn around here. Too bad my reflexes aren't what they used to be. (Plus I twisted my knee in step class. And yes, I know step class is for old people. I am old people. I recently bought eye cream, because I am 37 now, and for some reason 37 is way, way older than 36, and in my mind 37-year-olds need eye cream. Did anyone know eye cream was so expensive? Do they charge so much because they figure old people have lots of discretionary income?)
Anyhow, after he got over a real doozy of a fit this afternoon, I put my arm around him and asked:
Me: Hey, remember that kid who didn't throw tantrums?
Tom: I didn't throw anything. Well, I threw my night light yesterday. Now the bulb doesn't work.
Me: No, that's just what you say. Throw. But you don't have to actually throw anything for it to be a fit. It's just an idiom.
Tom: Pauses while he looks at me like I'm nuts.
Me: No really, do you remember him? I would ask that kid to pick up the Lincoln Logs and he wouldn't throw himself headlong onto the tile while screaming for justice and kicking the wall?
Tom: Sheepishly grins. Yeah.
Me: What happened to him? Can he come back?
I give him the strict-eye, and the serious-nod, plus a quick tight-grin, and then continue:
Do you know who that kid is, Tom? He's YOU!
He ruminates on this for a moment. Finally, he asks:
Does that kid have a go-cart?
Tom: Does that kid wear my pants?
Well, I thought, someone ought. Cuz you don't.