So Junior turned 4 last weekend.
In a blaze of Grandparent-spoiling, cupcake hogging, Superhero party glory.
Now I don’t want to jump the gun on my assumptions – we are only a week in to this whole “being 4” situation. But can I just say that week number one has been a freaking whopper.
It appears to me, in my snap judgement brain, that 4 should be known as “The Age of the Questionable Decision.”
We have had more diving off of things than I can remember him desiring to do in his whole life combined, (back yard play set, couches, stairs, footstools, beds, TOILETS…) you name it, he wants to climb it and dive off. As of this week, quite suddenly.
WHY GOD – WHY THE DIVING?
WHY!?
I had congratulated myself on a job well done with his superhero party – attendees of all ages seemed to have a great time, and Jr was surrounded with all kinds of awesome gifts to explore while we cleaned up the aftermath. All was well, right?
Except then I got a call from my life-long friend letting me know that her husband had Jr in his sights as he was riding AWAY FROM THE HOUSE and off around the corner at full pre-schooler-strength speed on his trike, with no knowledge of the parents and at least one set of grandparents all inside the house assuming he was with someone else.
(I still can’t talk about it without shaking my head… how could that happen? HOW!? I keep having flashbacks and randomly grabbing him into hugs that I am sure are stunting his growth or something.)
Guess who learned to unhook the back gate? Yep.
Guess whose daddy put a lock on said gate an hour later? Yep.
BTW – Jr stated for the record that he was “going to Texas to see his cousin.” On a trike. I mean adorable, yes… but scary as shit and only one of at least 4 times I have been hysterical thus far into his very short time as a 4-year-old. Again, Keri nails the mom thing. I should write a manual, I am sure.
But we are not alone in the Age Of the Questionable Decision.
OH NO NO NO, my friends.
There’s Jr’s little friend down the street, whose father recently shared the story of his offspring running FULL THROTTLE across the park, through the cul-de-sac, and over to a neighbor’s trash can before LICKING IT, for no reason at all. Running through the street to lick a trash can like it was a giant ice cream cone = Questionable Decision.
Or one of Jr’s preschool chums who tapped me on the shoulder when I was picking him up from school this week and pointed to what was left of a bent curtain rod, held up over a window with some tape, and said proudly “ I CLIMBED THE CURTAINS TODAY!! TWICE!” Evidently after his time out from round one, he decided to give it another go. (God bless Jr’s teacher. I bet she buys her wine by the case.) Curtains as climbing wall = Questionable Decision.
I have found myself, in the small time that we have spent beginning to wade out into the deeper waters of 4 years old, leaving the wading pool of toddlerhood behind us, looking deep into Jr’s eyes, trying with no success to do some sort of Mommy Vulcan Mind Meld in an attempt to crack the nut that is 4-year-old decision-making logic.
No dice…. The kid is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a “Captain Ca’Merica” costume, laughing his head off as he careens off the porch toward the concrete.
Sigh.
Does Crazy 8s make suits out of bubble wrap?
Can you lo-jack your kid?
Do band-aids come in mega bulk?
Give me strength. (And eyes in the back of my head.)
Reluctantly Suburban 