After spending the long holiday weekend with my son, I have diagnosed him as "spirited." Which my brother-in-law has pointed out is an euphemism for "pain in the butt." And no, he didn't say "butt."
I should have known something was up when on two different occasions, our condo neighbors would see Jack and I head to the elevator and would take a step back to allow him to push the elevator call button (yes, I admit, he does holler a little when someone else pushes it). Or maybe it was at the birthday party we attended this past weekend, where while the other children were playing, my son alternated between spraying the garden hose and trying to escape through the back gate.
Being a word person, I am comforted by defining my situation with a term. It doesn't let me off of the hook, but it does give me something to research, work on and ponder.
And don't get me wrong - Jack is still my sweet boy. He will say "I love ewe, Mommy" unprompted, throwing his skinny little chicken arms around my neck, and he just requested the "rainbow song" at bedtime tonight.
Jack, here's the deal, buddy: I promise you can keep your willfulness and your stubbornness. Your headstrong personality will serve you well in your adulthood. Frankly, Mommy wishes she had half of your chutzpah. But it's my job right now to set boundaries for you. Simply put, I'm here to ensure you act like a human being in public. Add that to my "to do" list!
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