When N was three, a typical conversation in the car went something like this:
N: Look mom! A stop sign! S-T-O-P. That spells stop. A stop sign is an octagon. Why are stop signs octagons and yield signs are triangles? Why do some roads have stop signs, and other roads have yield signs? Why do some roads have stop signs, and other signs have red lights? Why don't they have go signs?Who made the roads? Did God make the roads?
B is now three, and a typical conversation in the car goes something like this:
B: Mom! Watch where you're going! You're going to hit another trash can! (I plead the fifth). O, I'm going to smack you.
Children, obviously, are all different, and we shouldn't compare them. I am totally, 100% ok with that. But I have also been thinking about how our family's circumstances have impacted each of our children. With N, it was the three of us for three years. I didn't even work part time for most of that time. She didn't watch TV until she was two. She had my undivided attention pretty much all day, and Jimmy's pretty much all evening. Since she's been three, however, we've had B, we've had O, I started working part time, and Jimmy started his own business.
Things are different now, and while I would like to give B and O the same undivided attention I gave N, it just isn't always there to give. I know the benefits of siblings (hopefully) outweigh what may be lacking in parental attention, and I am incredibly glad they have each other. At times, though, I think back to how N was reciting poetry and performing George Thorogood songs at 3 (no, it was not I Drink Alone--we've taught her never to do that), and while I don't think either of these things are necessary (ok, and maybe not even healthy) for pre-schoolers, I do sometimes wonder if I am teaching B, at this same age, as much as I can or should be. I'm not comparing them. I'm comparing what I am doing for each of them, and sometimes I ask myself "What am I really teaching them?" After all, isn't that my job?
I thought of this recently when I was playing Candy Land with B. At three, N loved Candy Land. A game typically went something like this:
N: Oh, good, two reds. One. Two. Oh, I'm getting closer to the lollipops. Your turn, mommy.
Candy Land with B goes something like this:
B: Move over gingerbread man. There's a train coming.
Me: Ok, B, pick a card.
B: No, mom. This is a train track.
Me:B, please don't throw the cards on the floor.
B: Can I have a snack?
Part of me knows this is an issue of personality and gender differences, and is not a result of anything I did or didn't do. Not to mention, who cares if he won't sit and play Candy Land. Another part of me, though--the mommy guilt part--wonders if I am teaching him everything I should be. I picture him being kicked out of preschool for throwing toys and not following directions. Of course, for that to happen, he would actually need to get out of diapers--something else I haven't yet been able to teach him--and be allowed into a pre-school.
At least he learns a lot from his siblings. N, for example, has taught him that, if he smacks her, she will throw a shoe at his head. Cause and effect, right? O has taught him that little brothers grow and become strong and will tackle you repeatedly at a very young age, to make up for all the times you tackled them before they could even roll over. Human growth and development, yes?
I am thinking about all of us this as we're driving the other day. I try to get him to sing along with the CD that's playing. "I don't like that song, mom". Ok, so much for that. I picture one of his future teachers looking at me with pity at a parent-teacher conference and saying, "If only he had learned "The Wheels on the Bus..."
"Hey, B! Let's say Humpty Dumpty!" I wonder if I have taught him Humpty Dumpty. I know it's in a book we read. I know N knew it at this age.
"Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall. Humpty Dumpty Had a great Fall. All the kings horses......"
He says the whole thing. By himself. Yay! At least I have taught him Humpty Dumpty. Maybe I am doing ok.
"Mom?" he says
"Yes, B?" I am waiting for him to tell me something else I have taught him, or to ask about another nursery rhyme.
"Elmo taught me that. Elmo says Humpty Dumpty, too."
Oh.
I want to cry. Mommy guilt kicks in and I think that I have failed him somehow.
And then I think, I hate Elmo.
I am changing B's diaper that night (for the 6, 247th time, not that I'm counting) and he looks at me and says "Mom, I really love you. And I love Daddy, and I love N and O, too".
"You are such a nice boy," I tell him.
"That's why we're here, mom. God put us here to love each other".
I am amazed that he has actually picked something up in Church, especially considering that he is usually busy scratching his bum (our dog Bella taught him that) or offering pretend beer to those around us (Jimmy taught him that. At least he was sharing). Wow. He's actually been listening.
He is staring at me, and apparently reading my mind.
"You taught me that, mom. You said that God put us here to love each other."
Oh.
Of course I did.
That's my job.
Elmo's got nothin on me.
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