Quite the Mother

Wyatt has been showing his “Mother Hen” side for a while now. I guess I cannot say that “Mother Hen” is the best description of what he has become. He is a bit more like “The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.” You know the part about giving them some broth, Without any bread, and Whipping them all soundly, and sending them to bed.

At daycare Wyatt is the self-proclaimed disciplinarian of all the other kids, regardless of age. He has been spotted hitting a little boy for trying to scale the kiddy fence and screaming “Baa Boy!” at the top of his lungs because a little girl was sitting in his chair. I have no idea where he could have gotten this (Read: He absolutely got it from me. I was a BOSS when I was little i.e. pushing kids out of line to get to the front and giving my dolly “shots” with large sewing needles.) So naturally I started to worry. And feel guilty; like I do so well. Are we too hard on him? Too negative? To authoritative? I started to ponder the idea of replacing the word “No” with more communicative phrases like “Mommy doesn’t like it when you play in the toilet, it makes her sad,” and reserving the word “No” only for times when he was in danger of catching himself on fire. But alas, my little boy does something to put my heart at ease; something that shows his nurturing side. While we were having some family time in the living room the other night Wyatt dissapeared to his room. He emerged with his black cabbage patch doll, “R.J.”, circa 1986 (no, not a hand me down from his mom, but his father!) In the other arm he carried a package of diaper wipes. Without a word to either of us, he proceeded to care for RJ in a very motherly way.... He wiped his butt. “Shu wee,” he mused as his wiped him all clean and then made a return trip to his bedroom to fetch him a clean diaper. His kids might not be huggers, but at least they won't have dingle berries!

Rise and Shine

Let me just start out by saying that I got peed on this morning.

Wyatt woke up in a funk- disheveled hair (of course), crusty eyes, and tears. It was my morning to get him ready and take him to the sitters. Let’s just say that I am out of practice in morning rituals. Wyatt is the ‘wake up slowly, take off all my clothes, grab a cup (or bottle if some poor sucker falls for his trickery), and relax while watching Mickey Mouse naked’ type. I, on the other hand, am more of the ‘get up, throw on some clothes, eat and do my make-up in the car simultaneously’ type. Our styles make for an interesting morning as you will see...


He was pretty much screaming from the second Brett walked out the front door. He wanted to watch Mickey Mouse on my bed, but we had about 3 minutes to get out of the house before I would be late for work. Ding Ding, round 1. I had to literally fight to get his shirt on. Then he threw such a whaling fit that he got a spanking :( Followed by more screaming, kicking of the legs, and hitting of the mommy in the face. Followed by another spanking :( Followed by the piece de resistance ... the peeing on the mommy. Now, normally any official would say that in this Mother/Son Mixed Martial Arts match Wyatt would have won. Until……. The stream of pee goes from mommy to his own face (he was laying down- to help you visualize). And this was the first morning pee, so you can imagine the gravity of the situation. Wyatt kicked up the screaming two notches. I took off the shirt I had worked so hard to get on and put him in the shower. I was considering ear plugs at this point. As I turned to get a towel… BOOM! Down he goes, face first, in the shower. My ears are bleeding now. I got him out of the shower (he wasn’t hurt) and wrapped him in a towel. I cannot tell you how I got him in his clothes. Some super woman must have intervened, and though I was deaf at this point, we were one step closer to getting out the door. Then something magical happened. Wyatt saw his jacket. Someone flipped the switch. He stopped crying. “Jacket, Jacket, Dat one!” As he slipped into the jacket he became my little angel again and the screaming ceased. Truce.

Outside he waited for me at the porch. “Hand” he said reaching for mine. We walked hand in hand to the car. The ride was mostly silent. I was rehashing the hellacious events in my mind; feeling guilty like only a mother can.

“Momma” he says.
“Yes baby?”
“I la you” he says.

God, I love this child. As I wipe a tear from my eye, I look down and catch a glance of myself. I am still wearing my pee pants- to work.



(Side note, this picture is not from this morning- see no jacket here. Don't worry Mom I did not take this picture myself while putting on my make-up and driving!)