Growing up #3

“Sew me up and send me to a monastery!” is what I was tempted to cry after an evening trying to watch soccer (semi-finals!) with my two rambunctious (and high on sugar) brothers causing havoc. I swear, I was close to agreeing with sterilisation.




Of course, after spending a morning with the 5 year old, I may have changed my mind. Or at very least seen there is good to outweigh the bad.


We went to the toy store, an excursion he had been positively wetting his pants with excitement about, only to hear from his big sister that, no, we were not going to buy that made-in-china Power Rangers copy toy, but rather a small game of snakes and ladders. The fortitude and forbearance was astounding, as he sadly nodded his head and said ok. Like any soft-hearted girl, I crumbled and bought him a fighting sword. I mean, I’m only human. This allowed me almost an hour of guilt-free, whine-free shopping. Which included fashion advice from a careful little mind who tried to be honest and inflict the least insult.


I asked him his opinion of the green stripey pyjama pants I had tried on and he answered that while he "personally liked the pants," he couldn’t actually see anyone ‘cool’ ever wearing them. Verdict: nice, but not cool. I tried on a Spongebob Squarepants t-shirt, and his opinion was that he liked it but that was “obvious, man. It has cartoons on it”. I suppose I should have known. My last attempt was a pair of bright pink colourful pyjama pants, which apparently made me look like an upside ice-cream (I had nothing but my bra on top and clearly the colours fitted). Well! I went with the pair of pants he chose. My personal will is nothing in the face of 5-year old honesty.


On the way home he patiently listened while I bored him to death teaching him road signs, and facts about whales, and (because we have been watching a contract law series) the basic principles of contract law. I thought it was a futile attempt until he quickly showed his understanding by explaining the Star Wars treaties and how they worked. Damn, he would have had a thing or two to tell Professor Du Plessis.


If all of this wasn’t enough to at least make me curious about having my own little clone, we got home and flopped down on the couch. A loving little hand clasped mine, tired but happy little eyes looked up at mine and he said “thanks for the day, sister”.


I’ll have twenty, please.

Calvin and Hobbes - Calvin off Ritalin :)