We have become a cliché: We can’t keep straight which child we’re addressing. One night I shouted for Alex for five minutes, telling him to get in the tub, before Alex said quietly from the depths of the fiberglass and water, “Mommy, I’m in the tub,” and I realized all this time, I’d been calling the wrong son.
And last night at dinner, I nailed Christian at it, too: “Nickel-juli-alex!” he roared. “Stop tormenting your sister!”
It’s always nice to know you’re not alone. We’ve taken all manner of flak about how laid-back we are about head bumps and boo boos. I point people to Julianna’s medical history in order to explain that we are never, never going to freak out about the normal bumps, bruises and idiosyncrasies of childhood. When a child comes wailing and overreacting, I give boo-boo kisses and send them on their way. Christian says, “Are you bleeding?”
I thought we were the only ones who said this, but last night at DQ, a little girl flew by me and launched herself into her daddy’s arms, and that was the first thing out of his mouth, too.
I’ll try to give you something with more depth tomorrow, I promise. Maybe I need to make a new policy that when Christian is on vacation, I go on “vacation” too.
For Volume 1, click here
For Volume 2, click here