Stop It!

If Alex were a pull toy and had a catch phrase, it would definitely be "Stop it."  The kid is always telling me to "Stop it," sometimes when I do something so simple as just to look over at him and smile.  There are a couple things he especially hates, though, number one being when we call him "Big Round Blond Head."  I can barely remember how that one started, although I vaguely recall some early morning in which Andy had climbed into my bed and then Alex had also come in and started bobbing around the room.  There was something perfectly cartoonish about his tow-headed skull bouncing in the early morning sunlight, and I said to Andy, "Look at that big, round blond head go."  Andy thought it was hilarious and started calling Alex Big Round Blond Head pretty much nonstop.  As did I, since the novelty of being directly related to someone with such light hair still hasn't worn off.

And so we call Alex "Big Round Blond Head" occasionally, and he gets supremely offended and yells "Stop it!"  This makes Andy laugh even harder, as Andy really gets a kick out of making fun of both Alex and his daddy.  We're a little meaner with Daddy.  I will preface this with saying Chris has a perfectly fine, normal butt.  Yet for some reason, Andy and I were sitting around talking smack one day and I came up with a string of words to describe Daddy's doopa.  Now, Andy will randomly ask:

"Mommy, can you tell me about Daddy's butt?"

"Well.  It's poopy.  It's droopy.  It's lumpy, it's bumpy.  It's jiggly, it's wiggly.  It's smelly, it's jelly."

And then we just laugh and laugh.

Sure, good-natured Chris doesn't mind being called stinky, but Alex absolutely hates it.  Flash back to this conversation last week.

Chris, to Alex:  Hi, Stinky!

Alex, enraged:  STOP IT!

Chris, innocently:  Stop what?

Alex, explanatory:  Stop it 'Hi Stinky.'

Which is a perfectly phrased command, if you ask me.

Alex just wants to be heard and respected.  He's taken all of our shit for long enough, and now he's asserting himself.  He demands the same level of attention that Andy receives and expects to be treated as a four year old, not a two year old. I can relate. Sometimes, when Chris gets things only meant for 36 year olds, I'll pipe up and demand my fair share even though I'm two years younger.

Sometimes, when I think Alex is not listening, he'll surprise me by jumping in.  Like a couple weeks ago, when the four of us were sitting a table in the hot dog place and Andy was having a lovely conversation with the little boy next to us.  Andy recommended the chicken tenders to the kid, saying they were like chicken nuggets but not really. Alex, who had been concentrating on filling up on ketchup, had yet to even look up when out of nowhere, he casually called out, "Grilled cheese."  Ain't nobody talking to Andy without weighing in with Alex.

But oh, while the equality is all fine and good, and everybody deserves a seat on the gosh darned bus, there's nothing more ridiculous than two children who each insist on pressing the button to close the garage door, two children who want to wear one single shirt, two children who want to be first into the bathtub, two children who want sole use of one iPad, and so forth.  The hardest is two children who want to help cook.  Talk about hazardous and annoying.  Making one pot of spaghetti is suddenly an hour long process.  Each child has to salt the water.  Each child needs to stir something. With many of my meals, there are not enough steps to equally divide up.  I'm not making Thanksgiving dinner here, I'm just trying to carbo-load for the big race tomorrow (i.e., the ten minute drive to preschool).  There's not really anything for you two demanding lunatics to do.  JUST GO GET SOME SCREEN TIME, OKAY?

Oh, but you know I love it.  All of it, from the up and down and up and down of the garage door, to my husband's wiggly, jiggly butt, to Andy's maniacal laughter, to the tip of my baby's Big Round Blond Head.  Stop it?  No thanks, Alex.  I certainly will not.