It’s Wednesday, right? Just checking because I’m starting to wonder if I’m losing it. Remember the Thomas birthday party I took Sam to last Saturday, a whole five days ago? Well, he is STILL asking to go back, with his most recent request only an hour ago. And the only reason he hasn’t asked more recently than that is because he is asleep. How can he still remember that? (I can barely remember it myself, but that’s another topic for another day.) Between the Thomas party and the ongoing obsession with orange popsicles, he sure does have a one track mind. Get it, track? As in train tracks? Never-mind, I digress.
Anyway, bad pun aside, I’m glad that he had such a great time as did I, but I still have to chuckle to myself. He spent most of his party time split between being completely mesmerized by a toy train video and playing with trains by himself. He was hyper-focused on his fun, too focused to even stop for pizza and cake. I think he was secretly thrilled when it was lunch time. You see, when the other less-train-obsessed little boys went to go eat, he had ALL of the coolest trains at his disposal with no pressure to share them with anyone else. (Harvey, George, Butch — you know who you are.) Do I love anything enough that I would give up pizza and cake for it? I can’t think of anything right off the top of my head. OK, let’s be serious — I will never come up with anything, especially if the pizza has extra sauce and the cake is chocolate and dense, almost fudge-like. Mmmmnn…
OK, to recap, Sam can remember this party from five days ago so vividly that it’s like he never left. (And by golly he wishes he never did.) That’s pretty neat actually. But why, why can he not remember to say “please” when I correct/remind/nag him at least twenty times a day, every day, seven days a week into infinity and beyond? Gosh, I sound like such a curmudgeon, don’t I? I may as well throw my hands up in the air and mutter under my breath, “Kids these days…” I have thought about doing that but haven’t quite succumbed yet. I know it’s coming though.
I can hear the voice of my father playing in my head, ground into my memory by repetition, commenting, “You only hear what you want to hear.” I must really be an adult now because I know he’s right AND I agree with him. Now if I can only get through to Sam. But if it took me almost 41 years for that pearl of wisdom to sink in, I guess I should give him at least until his third birthday, don’t you think? Hopefully by then he will have forgotten about the Thomas birthday party, only because he’ll be preoccupied with hosting his own. Don’t worry — we’ll serve lots of pizza and cake to distract his buddies from the best trains. He can blow out the candles and eat leftovers once everyone has gone home, when the coast is clear. I doubt that anyone would be uncouth enough to try to come back to the party after it is over, especially five days later.
LibbY