The World's Most Annoying Boy!

There are days that Andy wakes up with his dial already set to eleven.  We call these days "everyday."  He will burst into my room, start jumping on the bed, pull the string to the blinds to helpfully illustrate that it's morning time, and immediately start demanding his milk and very specific episodes of TV shows.  He will roll his toy train into my room and stand on it in order to either climb into my bed for the sole purpose of jumping directly on my kidney, turn on the light, or execute a complicated half cartwheel into the unforgiving air.  He may start assembling or disassembling various shelving and storage units. Sometimes he wakes up with a song in his heart, which will erupt from his mouth so that I hear "Baa Baa Black Sheep" on endless loop for my first five minutes of the day.  Which is slightly better than his version of "Blurred Lines."

Alex isn't much better these days.  He will snuggle with me for the duration of his morning milk, and then it's go time.  Alex will either hand me his completed bottle or very deliberately set it down on my nightstand (which I find adorable even in my early morning cranky state), and then try his damndest to catapult himself off the side of the bed in search of adventure, which generally entails digesting half a box of Q-tips or throwing all of my socks into the trash can.

This morning was no different, of course, except for the fact that Andy was somehow even louder and more demanding than usual.  Finally, we left for the park, where Andy disdainfully noted the lack of children.  We played half-heartedly together for a bit until a minivan pulled up, its driver struggling to maneuver into the parking spot next to mine, which I was half parked in.  (I am really bad at parking.  I am an excellent driver, but a terrible parker.  It must be the thrill of finally arriving at a destination that clouds my good judgement when it comes to staying between two widely spaced lines and not being an inconsiderate jackass.)

"That's my friend!" Andy yelled when he saw the minivan.  We, of course, did not know these people, but that did not stop Andy from running to greet them, showing them his three pennies, and then suggesting a race with the little girl, who was already looking warily at him.

I watched as Andy basically harassed the mother and child, telling the girl's mother that he liked monster trucks and fruit snacks and big, long carrots but sometimes the little carrots, too.  He suggested different games for the little girl to join him in (sliding together, swinging together, sitting on the rocking bumblebee together, pretending to be planes, etc).  The little girl grew increasingly disinterested in Andy's advances.  Luckily, she got a small reprieve from him when the groundskeeper rolled up in his golf cart to collect the trash, as Andy was quick to greet him and ask him four million questions involving the golf cart, the garbage, why did the groundskeeper have a golf cart, where was his real car, why did he take the garbage, where did he take the garbage, and how did he feel about the growing situation over in Syria?

"Come on, Andy," I urged, trying to get him away from the man at several different points, even though Andy had already declared the man to be his friend.  Of course, as I was doing this, Alex had toddled up to the mother of the little girl and was in turns demanding that she pick him up and rooting through her purse that she'd placed on the bench.

"My children have a distinct lack of boundaries," I explained, handing her her cell phone after finally wrestling it out of Alex's sticky hands.

The groundskeeper left and Andy was back on the little girl, chasing her around the swings.  "Mommy," the girl finally moaned, having had enough.  "I don't want to play with this boy!  Go away, little boy!"

This is certainly not the first time I've heard these words directed to my kid.  Go away, little boy.

Andy wasn't about to be deterred, though, and even started following them off to the porta john a minute later.  I had to grab his arm and physically hold him back while he cried out, "I want to go with my friend!  Where are they going?  What are they doing?  I hope she doesn't drop her pants in the potty like me!"  Then when they finally came out and headed over the merry go round, Andy yelled, "Wait for me!" and then ran after them and hopped onto the spinning merry go round, full speed.  It should be noted that it was at this precise time that the little girl declared she wanted to get OFF the merry go round, and away from the little boy.

And at this point, I just wanted to scream to Andy, "WILL YOU LEAVE THEM THE HELL ALONE ALREADY????"

It was time to go home.  I managed to get both kids in the car, where Andy started demanding answers and treats.  He did not accept my explanation that sometimes other kids want to play alone.  He did not accept my statement that it wasn't always a good idea to follow a strange man around a park.  He did not accept that we could not stop for Happy Meals on the way home.  He had questions about the little girl, the mother, the man, the park, the garbage, the pine cones from the trees, why I didn't have any fruit snacks in the car, and where an airplane in the sky was headed.

Andy, getting arrested for being
annoying.

And I had to bite back, really swallow, my urge to yell, "OH MY GOD WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP!?"

Here's where the struggle comes in.  What do you do with a well-meaning, very social little boy with an active mind?  Do you suppress his urge to be friends with everyone and ask an infinite number of questions?  Or do you allow him to pester other children and parents and strangers to the point where little girls come to loathe him and even a friendly mother becomes irritated?  And is it okay that sometimes I want to scream at him to just STOP and TAKE A BREAK?  That sometimes it's all just too much, and the whole universe is craving just sixty seconds of quiet time from him?  Do I nurture his loud, friendly, inquisitive, and inherently annoying nature or do I sit him down and say, "Andy.  Listen.  Enough is enough."

I've made it clear I love both my kids more than life itself.  But man oh man.  At least we still have nap time.  It's T minus one hour until they wake up, simultaneously, ready to run like animals, hound well-behaved children, and extract a series of answers from strangers. Serenity, now!