(Or How I Learned My Son is too Smart for His Own Good)
So, today I attempted the back to school shopping trip. You'll notice I said attempted. Yep. I tried. I was not successful. Well, not entirely, anyway. We found a backpack (with the Jonas Brothers - cue a squee from my nearly 8 year old daughter), and a lunch box (though they don't call them that anymore. They are lunch kits now.) Also Jonas Brothers (yep, cue another squee.) We found an outfit, but I think it'll be too warm to wear it on the first day.
And that was it.
It wasn't that she didn't like anything else. It wasn't that nothing fit, or was the wrong color, or she'd have to step over my dead body in order to get out of the house in it. Nope. Nothing like that.
Now, my son will be three in October. He's been involved with the NJ Early Intervention Program for speech and occupational therapy because he was speech delayed (though I'm thrilled to say that, for a boy who wasn't speaking at all in March, he's not only got a vocabulary of probably 100-150 words, but he's speaking in simple sentences now.) Now, the therapists all conclude that the reason why he didn't really speak much (at all) was because he is very analytical. And he is. He will sit and fiddle with something until he figures out how to make it work, or what makes it work. His patience is endless when it comes to stuff like that, which he gets from his dad because I don't care how things work. I only care if they work.
Why do I mention all this? Nope, I'm not digressing. There really is a point here.
And this is it -
While the Girl and I were flipping through these shirts and looking at those pants, the Boy was very quietly sitting in his stroller, sipping some juice, and pretty much behaving himself.
Which should have been my first clue.
Because he wasn't just sitting there, sipping his juice, contemplating the meaning of life. Oh no. Not my son.
I realize this when, all of the sudden, he's standing up in his stroller, grinning at me and says, "Mama." (Actually, he puts the emphasis on the second "ma" - so it comes out "maMA".
So, I have to sit him back down and buckle him in again. He's very agreeable and I know why. I turn back to the Girl, and he just reaches down and click click - he's a free man again and grinning at me over the sunshade, "maMA."
Now this time, he's a little less agreeable about being sat down again. And buckled in. And by the time I get to the handlebar...
By now the Girl hasn't found anything else she likes, which is fortunate because now I have to take the little Boy Genius home before he falls out of the stroller and breaks his neck, or some busybody comes over to lecture me that it's probably not a good idea to push the stroller with my son surfing in the seat.
So I put him back and he stays long enough for me to get in line at the register. Then, up he pops like a Jack-in-the-Box...
And screams like a banshee when I try to stuff him back. He's kicking and screaming, "No, maMA! No! No seat!"
And I'm growling like Linda Blair in The Exorcist, my eyes all glowing red as I growl, "Get in that seat NOW!"
And the clerk is trying to ring me up whilst I wrestle the boneless wonder (how do toddlers make their bones just go poof???) back into his stroller, which I know is pointless because any second now and--
Anyway, we cut our shopping trip short. The Girl was bummed. She's a girl, she likes to shop. So, I promised her we'd do a girls outing - lunch, the mall - she was happy. I tell her maybe we can go tomorrow. She's happy.
It'll be fun, though. When she's not making me totally crazy, I'm finding she's a real cool kid to hang out with. I'm looking forward to our girls day out...