Of Little Boys Growing Up and Learning Chores

I promised myself that I’d write about Alex in my next blog. That’s harder than it sounds, because Alex is so normal. I don’t want to tell the same old tired stories in which my kid is the smartest, funniest, or cutest child in the world. You don’t want to read that stuff, do you?

 

I feel guilty for how little Alex actually figures in my blog. It’s hard to imagine, too, because he’s such a big presence in my life. Singing “Superman” at the top of his lungs. Banging on drums as loudly as he possibly can. Bursting out in giggles over the memory of a funny home video he saw on TV. Saying “I falled down” and “She taked my toy.” (BTW, have I mentioned this little gem: “Mommy, I want she to lick me!” ?)

 

Because he’s crazy about Superman, we bought the DVD of Superman Returns for his birthday—not so much for him, but as a family movie. But he actually watched it once. It took three days, and we had him hide his eyes at certain points. But about a week later, he started kicking his doll around and saying, “Lex Luthor is hurting Superman.”

 

I’m trying not to overreact, but…okay, I’m worried. What the heck were we thinking? He doesn’t have any business watching this! Maybe he’s just processing his world. Maybe it will pass. I mean, most of the time he’s an extremely sensitive child who thinks about others’ feelings. But he’s also a little boy who’s used to playing rough. I have to get on his case for kicking and hitting sometimes. And the violence of that play freaks me out.

 

Obviously, Superman Returns is off the playlist. He can watch his You Tube videos of the rescue scenes. That’s what he should be remembering of Superman. In the meantime, somebody reassure me that I haven’t scarred my child for life.

 

And then there’s the chores. Last week my uncle related a story about a kid who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do anything for himself. He wondered what that kid’s mother taught him, or did she do all the work herself? After that conversation, I redoubled my efforts to teach Alex his first chores. They’re really quite basic: toilet, wash hands, brush teeth, get dressed, make bed. (Virtually all of them with help from Mommy or Daddy.) We started several weeks ago, and he went along gamely enough for a while, but lately he’s figured out it’s work, not play, and every morning it’s a battle of passive resistance, such that we aren’t getting to eat breakfast with Christian before he goes to work.

 

So yesterday I complained about it to my parents. My mom got this horrified tone of voice going. Instantly I felt that I was expecting far too much out of a three-year-old. Yet I had to laugh at the contrast between Mom and her brother-in-law.

 

But then she said something along the lines of, “Well, parenting is something you have to figure out as you go. And every child is different.”

 

Ah, well. So it goes.

 

I’ll try to blog tomorrow, perhaps on writing for a change, but I make no promises as we are preparing to leave for vacation.