Little me(s)

For good and for bad, I learn more about myself from my kids than from anyone else. Some say kids are sponges, but mine are also mirrors. It's a little disconcerting to hear your words come out of a tiny little mouth that hangs several feet below your own. The other day, Brady interrupted me for the bazillionth time in about ten minutes, in that frantic scramble of getting dinner on the table. I told him in what I thought was my most patient voice, "I'm a little busy right now, but I will help you in just a minute." To which he huffily replied, "Well, I'm busy, too!" and stomped off (I'm not sure where his tone or attitude come from...ahem). Yesterday, when I was telling Maryn to clean up before we moved onto another activity, she nonchalantly retorted, "Not right now. I'm busy." She's two. It's hard being two. Finally, we were in the car on the way home from two different preschool pickups, in which I had to run out in the windy frigid temps, lugging one child behind me (moseying in the way only kids can) to pick up the other, and then attempting to buckle them both into the car with frostbitten fingers while they both demanded crayons, toys, lunch, and tried to pick a fight with one another...whew. Before I could even catch my breath, more demands ensued. Maryn started yelling for her milk (which was in arm's reach) and transitioned into crying and screaming when it wasn't handed to her instantly. I asked Brady to help her as I was trying to drive and not endanger our lives, and he calmly retorted, "Not right now. I'm a little busy. Sometimes I just have a lot to do."

Yes, my boy, isn't it the truth?