Halfway up the Stairs
I listen to the voices floating down from upstairs as three Irish Boys go through their morning prep routines. They take turns calling out to each other frustrations and successes. Missing shorts, dirty shirts, uncapped toothpastes, and cool hair dos are shared back and forth along with little jokes and remembrances of the past week’s friends antics. Scattered between the two elders is the sharp little voice of the Baby, his own frustration at not being heard, not being included, always being left behind evident in his shrill persistence in his self expression.
He is so ready for the social-ness of school. The excitement of going, seeing and doing is calling to his bored little heart. His view of the world just opening up and all the potentials just outside of his reach.
Yup, being three and a half sucks. You are no longer a baby (except for when mom wants snuggles and slobbery kisses * scrunches nose*) and the world is now full of responsibilities and rules, other’s no longer fetch you drinks, toys, or shiny things that you point and grunt at, and you are now to walk everywhere you go on your own two feet rather than being carried in regal fashion. Worse, is that you get left behind a lot. Too young to go to school with the big kids, stay up late watching movies or riding bikes out front. Caught in the middle limbo of in-betweens, the world seems to be ever denied.I have to admit, I think three and a half is sucky too. I see his struggles and feel the challenges of rising to meet them in creative and new fashions, balancing his needs with my sanity, craft time with Mommy-Time, and facilitating independence with companionship. I will also admit my own self awareness that I am at the end of my “mother of smalls” stage of my life. Like being 6 months away from Management Promotion (eleven years in the mail room), my own ancy-ness has my patience a little shorter than I feel is fair to the Baby of the Family.
Preschool calls to us both like Willy Wonka’s Golden Gates. Our last hurdle, though, is the mighty white throne. The Potty looms like Zeus’ empty seat, daunting and intimidating, but so alluring all at the same time. The climb will be exhausting, our heros so tempted to give up at each set back, the climb seeming so endless. It won’t be like a flight of stairs, little resting points and landings at the halfway mark. No, this will be one steady, hard climb.
Imagine the success though. Sitting on that mighty throne with the lush acres of Preschool opening wide in front of you it will all seem worth the tears, screams and white knuckles.
We can do this.
He is so ready for the social-ness of school. The excitement of going, seeing and doing is calling to his bored little heart. His view of the world just opening up and all the potentials just outside of his reach.
Yup, being three and a half sucks. You are no longer a baby (except for when mom wants snuggles and slobbery kisses * scrunches nose*) and the world is now full of responsibilities and rules, other’s no longer fetch you drinks, toys, or shiny things that you point and grunt at, and you are now to walk everywhere you go on your own two feet rather than being carried in regal fashion. Worse, is that you get left behind a lot. Too young to go to school with the big kids, stay up late watching movies or riding bikes out front. Caught in the middle limbo of in-betweens, the world seems to be ever denied.I have to admit, I think three and a half is sucky too. I see his struggles and feel the challenges of rising to meet them in creative and new fashions, balancing his needs with my sanity, craft time with Mommy-Time, and facilitating independence with companionship. I will also admit my own self awareness that I am at the end of my “mother of smalls” stage of my life. Like being 6 months away from Management Promotion (eleven years in the mail room), my own ancy-ness has my patience a little shorter than I feel is fair to the Baby of the Family.
Preschool calls to us both like Willy Wonka’s Golden Gates. Our last hurdle, though, is the mighty white throne. The Potty looms like Zeus’ empty seat, daunting and intimidating, but so alluring all at the same time. The climb will be exhausting, our heros so tempted to give up at each set back, the climb seeming so endless. It won’t be like a flight of stairs, little resting points and landings at the halfway mark. No, this will be one steady, hard climb.
Imagine the success though. Sitting on that mighty throne with the lush acres of Preschool opening wide in front of you it will all seem worth the tears, screams and white knuckles.
We can do this.