I am not quite sure what it is about my kids, but it seems
as though once they reach the anniversary of their birth, a mystical switch is
flipped within each one of them and they magically morph into a new being. Everyone is familiar with the phrase “The
Terrible Twos”. In our home, “Two” is a
cake-walk. It’s “Three” that you better
batten down the hatches and become an emotional doomsday prepper. “Four” was wonderful year in which my eldest
was still vulnerable in so many aspects, but gaining confidence in such
strides. We were beyond the initial
uber-cautiousness of new situations that “Three” presented (entering preschool,
attending birthday parties for people outside of the family, trying out new
classes and playgroups). He now had a
solid core of friends whom he interacted with on an almost-daily basis. He developed his nurturing skills now that his
kid-brother was able-bodied enough to keep up with him. He worked on his assertiveness—at time, to a
fault—and learned that he can have opinions, share them, not always agree on
them, but survive even if that were the case.
He thrived on knowledge and often surprised us with the factoids he
picked up along the way (ie.: seriously
schooling his parents on the inner workings of railways and locomotives) or
repeated phrases that mimicked the elders in his life, oftentimes making us do
a double-take and wonder who this 40-year-old was inhabiting our 4-year-old’s
body.
And so, like clockwork, the switch was flipped again and on
March 3, 2014 a new little Caiden emerged from his bedroom. It has only been two weeks, but if it were at
all possible, I would bottle up “Five” in a heartbeat. Although over the course of the past year
Caiden has grown by leaps and bounds, he seems to have acquired a sense of
maturity and empathy that went beyond his normal realm of personality overnight. Through the experience of having a younger
brother, he has learned the importance of sharing, yet now he demonstrates an
uncanny need to share. When
preparing him for the fun events to take place at his birthday party, one thing
that stood out to me was that “The Child Who Does Not Consider a Birthday ‘A
Birthday’ Unless There Are Balloons” was no longer looking forward to taking
home his balloon bouquet because he didn’t think that it was fair that there
were not enough for each of his friends to take one home with them. Later that day we spent the afternoon roaming
the aisles of the local toy store looking for the perfect new wooden train
engine to add to his collection. Despite
the fact that he was so proud and pleased to now possess “James”, the minute he
returned home Ryan showed an interest in it and Caiden didn’t argue for a
millisecond--simply handing the new toy
over and moving on to the next activity.
(Ryan has since slept with this train every night).
 |
| (The birthday boy posing with a different train. He got a bunch. Shocking, I know.) |
Another area in which
this sweet boy has really impressed me is his increasing love of numbers and
logic (a trait obviously inherited
from his father’s side). I swear that on
March 2nd this boy could only count up to 39 correctly, yet on the evening of
March 3 he demanded everyone’s’ attention at the dinner table and wanted to
count up to the “biggest number in the whole wide world: 100”—and he did. That was a moment in which tears sprung to my
eyes, not because I was inevitably celebrating his personal victory, but
because I realized, in truth, how quickly so much can change in a matter of
24-hours. When you look at your child’s
face each and every day you rarely get to see the transformations that are
occurring right before your eyes (just think about how different your kid
looked in pictures from a year, even a month ago). That night, over a plate full of spaghetti, I
was literally able to see my little boy change just a bit and it was so
mesmerizing and bittersweet simultaneously.
Caiden’s love of numbers has spread to other areas such as reading a
digital clock and genuinely following the dates on the calendar. The teacher in me often extends these moments
in conversations such as “Your birthday was 4 days ago on March 3rd. Let’s add 4 more days to 3 and figure out
what today’s date is.” He will mentally
do the math (seriously kid, it’s really OK to use your fingers at this stage)
and then double-check on our kitchen calendar.
The satisfactory smile on his face when he sees that he got the answer
correct is priceless (and then he proceeds to tell me that I screwed up when I
say, “Yes! Today is March 7th”—Because “it is really March 7th, 2014.” Thanks, Capt. Correction.) The mom in me, however, thinks “Holy
Cow! That’s my boy! You’re a genius! And a smartass, but I love you all the same!”
I have commonly described Caiden as the “quiet observer”. He was the last of his friends to crawl, to
walk, to talk—you get the idea. A perfectionist
by nature, no matter the task, from infancy on he would sit and watch others,
take an inventory of how and why they
were doing what they were doing. You
could almost see the gears constantly turning within his mind as he sat on the
sidelines amongst his peers. And when
the time was right for him, he would tackle his milestone
with flying colors. He was not a child who would take two, wobbly, unsure steps—he
would coast across the room. When it
came to climbing up a step, he literally stared at the basement stairs for the
longest time and then one day conquered the entire flight in one confident
effort. Unlike his kid brother, Caiden
was not a “trial and error” kind of child.
“Error” makes him very uncomfortable.
That is, until he turned 5. POOF!
Switch flipped. All of a sudden he is becoming more
fearless. At his birthday party at our
local gym he was the first to jump into the pool. A boy who formerly would be bashful if caught
singing a song to himself is now making up new songs, singing it loud &
proud, and letting me videotape him
performing. It truly feels surreal
some days and I catch myself turning to Dan and going, “Are you seeing/hearing
this? Who is this magnificently
humorous, carefree being?”
The last transformation that has emerged recently is my 5-year-old’s
independence and increasing maturity. He
has abandoned his overly-cautious shyness and traded it in for a more sociable
set of traits. He’s memorized important
numbers and loves to use the telephone to call family members. He doesn’t hesitate to order his own meal at
a restaurant and even includes details like the necessary flatware he would
like served with his lunch. The other
day he asked to pay for items at the store and even carried on a cute little
banter with the cashier. (I’m almost
surprised that he didn’t walk away with her phone number.) The maturity has
extended beyond social situations though.
Caiden has expressed a genuine interest in wanting to take on new jobs
and responsibilities around our home. Rubbing
the sleep from my own eyes the other morning, I went to wake him up for preschool
and found that he had already made his bed.
He asks to vacuum daily, fights over the duster with Ryan, assists with
the laundry, clears his dishes 90% of the time without prompting, and enjoys
sorting out our recyclables. Today he
told me, “Momma, I love to help you out.
It makes me feel real good to have a nice and clean home.” (Now if only he asked to do windows or was
old enough to handle the ironing…) I know that this phase of life will
inevitably fade over time—most likely sooner than later-- but I pray that I can
nurture it enough for its duration in order to set a solid foundation for him;
providing him with a set of life skills that will make him a great roommate,
spouse, and parent down the road.
 |
| (You thought I was kidding about the duster fights?) |
 |
| (So thorough!) |
As I draw this blogpost to close, two things strike me. The first is that today is St. Patrick’s Day
and as I reflect upon this 5-year-old little Irishman, it is beyond obvious
that luck and good fortune has certainly rained down upon me and I am beyond
blessed to be this boy’s mother. The
second is that it is truly bittersweet how fast time flies by and quietly, yet
drastically, changes things. It makes me
think ahead to the stack of Kindergarten information sitting in front of me on
our dining room table waiting to be filled out and submitted—a task that we are
so eager to do because it is beyond apparent that this child is ready and
excited to move on to. Yet part of me
hesitates each time I take out the pen because it confirms that in a matter of
a few short months my firstborn will be in full-day public schooling. Wasn’t he just making me crave Sour Patch
Kids and kicking me in the ribs from within? How can half a decade pass by so quickly? Just as my children seemed to be wired with
that magic switch within, allowing them to transform overnight on their
birthdays, I selfishly wish that some days—days like these— that they were also
programmed with a special button. Just. So.
That. I. Could.
Press. PAUSE.
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