Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Cute Stories: One, Two, Three

In order to appreciate Story One, you need to know that Geister never gets out of bed in the mornings by himself. He’s rather attached to his bed that way—once he’s in it he won’t get out unless I go and get him. He’ll shout and bellow for me in the morning, “Moooommmy!!!” but he won’t move until I go get him. I don’t know why, it’s just a thing he does but we love it. It reassures me that he’s not suddenly going to get up in the middle of the night and decide to go to the club.
Secondly, he still has trouble with clothes—getting shirts on and off is particularly difficult. So I guess if he did want to go clubbing, he wouldn’t be able to get dressed for it anyway.
Oh, and, he stills wears overnight diapers.

To appreciate Story Three, you have to believe me when I say that there were no deliberately leading questions whatsoever.


One morning this past week, when I still hadn’t heard from Geister by 8:30 am, I went to check on him. My heart stopped—for a fraction of a fraction of a second—when I saw that he wasn’t in his bed. Where was he? Then I saw him, crouched and hiding beside his dresser, fully dressed!
“I’m dressed Mommy,” he said, and didn’t move.
“I can see that!” I gushed. I crouched down myself in order to be face to face. “Did you put underwear on, too?”
“Yes, I did. I wanted to surprise you Mommy.”
I basked in this moment, this glorious, warm, happy moment. To surprise me. I loved him; and then I saw a wet spot on his pants.
“Sweetie, are your pants wet?” I asked warily.
“Yes, they are. And I pooped in my underwear too. Mommy, I had to go to the bathroom but I couldn’t get up because then you would see me and it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.”
So then I loved him even more.

That night I went to get him ready for bed, but I couldn’t find his pajamas anywhere (we usually keep them on the floor, or sometimes if we’re being neat, on the bed). I opened his top drawer to get clean pajamas, and there they were—the pajamas he had worn last night, neatly folded and tucked inside.


Same day. Geister and Boo were playing while I was organizing breakfast. Then I heard him say “Ow” in a nice whiny voice. “What happened?” I asked, in my own tired-of-dealing-with-petty-skirmishes voice.
“I hit myself with the tractor and it hurt. Oww!! I was trying to do something to make Boo laugh but I hurt myself.”
He was just trying to make Boo laugh.

I love him for that, too.


Next day. Geister, Boo and I had just returned from a morning playdate and I was getting Geister out of the car. He saw my ring and asked what it was. So I told him that his daddy gave it to me when he asked if I would marry him. “I want to be married,” Geister said.
“Oh you can’t get married. You’re too young.”
“But I want to.”
“It’s illegal. You have to be much older.”
“Because you do. Besides, I don’t want you to get married yet. You need to live your life first and find the perfect woman.”
“But I already found the perfect woman. You.”

I almost cried. So there it was, the moment which I sense many mothers of young sons experience: the (pseudo) marriage proposal. But it rocks!!!! It really does.

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