It’s the morning and Mad Dog and I have already done the intricate dance of ‘who will rise with the children’. It’s sort of like pulling straws and the short straw must get out of bed and get them breakfast. I lost.
I got the boys dressed and gathered a load of laundry in a basket to take downstairs with us. As we reach the top of the stairs, T.Puzzle insists on holding my hand. He has this demand daily. Normally, I can easily accommodate him and we all head peacefully downstairs to start our day. Well, since I had both hands occupied with a basket of laundry, I had no hand available. T.Puzzle could not believe that his Mommy could be so cruel. He kept crying out, “Mommy! Hand! Hand!” Now mind you, this kid is perfectly capable of walking up and downstairs unassisted. He is almost three years old. He needs to get over himself.
I give him two choices (you know I am a Mommy who believes in choices). First, stay at the top of the stairs and cry or second, be a big boy and walk down the stairs with out a ‘hand’. This sets him off to about a level seven. I ignore him and Full Speed and I leave him where he is. I suppose it doesn’t help that Full Speed keeps shouting, “I have no hands to give you, T.Puzzle. None. None what-so-ever (or something like that).” T.Puzzle continues his dramatic plea for ‘hands’ and throws himself to the floor.
I proceed with the morning routine unphased. I can hear him clearly and I hope that eventually the call of breakfast sausage will shake him from his theatrics.
I hear a door open upstairs. It’s gets quiet. Too quiet. You know that quiet before all hell breaks loose? That’s what it was like.
It lasts a couple of eerie moments and then I hear him stumble back to his perch at the top of the stairs and start all over with his wailing and crying. It is only the completed preparation of his sausage that breaks his spell and he becomes a reasonable human again. He walks quickly down the stairs (may I point out unassisted) and jumps up in his chair. He is chatty and happy and ready for some grub.
Poor Mad Dog comes down shortly thereafter. My intent, although it was a little begrudgingly, was to let Mad Dog get some extra sleep. I realize that T.Puzzle’s outburst made that impossible. This is where it became humorous. Mad Dog’s first person account of what happened in those quiet moments upstairs were something along the lines of crazy cuteness. Mad Dog did not realize why T.Puzzle was causing such a ruckus. So when T.Puzzle let himself in our room and climbed up into bed with Dad, all he knew was that he had been hysterical. Then, in an instant, T.Puzzle is calm and happy proceeds to say things like, “Hi, Daddy. I a’wake. I get up. Hi.” He then tackles/snuggles Mad Dog, has a fantastic time and then leaves. No sooner did his foot hit outside the door he starts screaming again. “Hand, Mommy! Hand! I come downstairs! Hand!” And the tears turn on again in full force.
It’s apparent to me that we have a future actor on our hands. He can turn a mood in the blink of an eye. When the time comes, I just hope he remembers to thank his Mom in his Academy Award acceptance speech.