cosmologically challenged

The place: my bed.

The time: 1:59 a.m.

The situation: I have just spent the prior day in agonizing abdominal pain, for which I did eventually go see a doctor and was pronounced okay. But I'm tired and I'm still hurting. And it's the middle of the night.

The sound: Wailing on the Andy-monitor.

Shawn is dead asleep and obviously not waking up no matter how much I kick him, so I drag my very painful body into Andy's room as he cries, "Mommy! Mommy!"

As I enter his room he's sitting in his bed crying.

Me: What's wrong Andy? [Imagine that in my most exhausted voice.]

Andy: Mommy there's something there!

Me: Where?

Andy: Right there. [He points to his window.]

Me: There's something on your window?

Andy: There's something outside my window.

[I pull back the blinds.]

Andy: There's something big and white in the sky!

Me: [in an even more exhausted voice] That's the moon, Andy.

Andy: Oh.

[Pause]

Andy: But what's that little white thing next to the moon!?!?

Me: That's a star, Andy.

Andy: Oh. Okay. Goodnight Mommy.

priorities

This morning Andy woke up an hour earlier than normal, which is always a real joy. I gathered our morning supplies, which include his chocolate milk, my chocolate milk, my coffee and a bowl of powdered sugar mini-donuts. (Hey, shut up. I feel lousy and it's the crack of dawn.) It was a lot to juggle and he didn't offer to help me carry any of it down to the rumpus room (aka basement). So I put his sippy cup in my bathrobe pocket, balanced the donuts on my forearm and had a cup in each hand, one with scalding hot coffee.

I made it all the way to the last step and the bowl with the mini-powedered sugar donuts tipped and the little donuts flew everywhere.

I muttered, "Oh rats..." but Andy was very concerned.

"Be very careful Mommy!"

I said, "Okay, Andy. I'm just picking up your donuts."

"Just be very careful, Mommy! It's very dangerous when you drop my donuts!"

no surprise

We were in the car coming home the other night and Shawn was light-heartedly teasing Andy about something. But Andy wasn't in the mood and said, "Knock it off, Daddy."

Daddy didn't take the hint very well, and Andy said, "Have respect, Daddy!"

Shawn said, "Okay Andy, I will. And maybe you could show a little more respect than you have lately to Mommy and Daddy too?"

And in a sing-song voice with a smile on his face, he said pleasantly, "I won't."

for sale: andy

Tonight we experienced the full force of Hurricane Andy. The tantrum to end all tantrums. It was a thing to behold.

To condense the long, agonizing experience into a few paragraphs, we'll pick up about halfway through the screaming. (And I do mean screaming.)

Shawn had Andy in the shower, and Andy was shrieking bloody, furious murder. He was so enraged because....well, I don't know why he was so enraged. Everything we did seemed to make him angrier. Shawn couldn't get him to stand still for a soaping, or a shampooing. Andy was irate and wanted attention. Positive or negative, he didn't care. He just wanted a reaction. So we gave him none. Shawn was standing in the shower with a screaming, stamping 3-year-old and managed to remain totally calm. And it made Andy so furious that he began to hit Shawn as hard as he could, right in the bum. And on any other occasion we'd swiftly correct him, but this struck Shawn as so dang funny that he had to turn his back to Andy (thereby further exposing his posterior) and laugh into his hands while the little boy raged and railed and beat.

When he finally realized we were laughing hysterically at him he let out a scream (and I mean a scream), stamped his feet again, threw open the shower curtain and yelled, "I'M LEAVING!"

He stormed, naked and dripping, out of the shower, across the bathroom floor, and flung open the door.

"I'M GOING TO BED!!!"

At this point we almost were in hysterics, but we managed to calmly say, "Okay, Andy. Goodnight."

Then he whirled around, came flying back into the bathroom, slammed the bathroom door and shouted, "NOOOO! I AM NOT GOING TO BED! I'M SCARED! IT'S DARK!"

downer

Andy: Mommy, I want to tell you a story.

Me: Okay.

Andy: When I was a little kid I was playing in the yard and then I ran into the street and two cars smashed me.

silence is ominous

I should have known that it was too quiet.

I was showering and couldn't hear Andy in his room, banging around as he normally does with his toys.

When I got out and listened, the silence continued. And the house smelled funny, like formaldehyde.

I called, "Andy! What are you doing?"

"Nothing Mommy. I'm just cleaning the windows."

I went into my bedroom, and there he was beside the bed, quietly spraying red Chloraseptic Sore Throat Spray all over the glass. And wood. And wall.

The bedroom smells like a dissection lab.