Age-Appropriate Behavior

I love the holidays, but after (and sometimes even before) they’re over, my family is in dire need of some heavy-duty holiday detox. That’s not to say we drink too much Bacardi-spiked eggnog (none at all would be more accurate). But with three kids under the age of five hyped up on all the yuletide-festive, big-man-in-red-anticipating craziness that is Thanksgiving on, we tend to get a little burnt out.

And this year was no exception.

But now that the holidays are passed and our family has taken a collective cleansing breathe, we seem to be on the path to recovery. But wagons are easy to fall off.

And this morning was no exception.

The boys decided to start up a rotating visitation of the refrigerator. On the average of every two minutes, the fridge door would swing open, things would get taken out (and not put back, of course), and various food stuffs would find their way to random corners through-out my house in assorted stages of eaten. I decided it was time to employ the dreaded fridge-lock. The one that actually prevents my kids from accessing said fridge. The one that causes said kids to hang from the handles of said fridge and scream for all they’re worth until I remove said fridge lock.

And today was no exception.

This time it was Dylan who decided to hang from the doors screaming, “I want something from in the fridge!” Halfway through the 6-8 minute kneading session required to produce my favorite whole wheat bread, I was more than halfway through my pathetic and rapidly evaporating store of post-holiday patience. “Stop acting like a three-year-old!” I screamed at him in my head. (At least I had enough patience left to scream in my head first.) It was then that I realized Dylan isn’t three yet. He’s still little and sometimes I probably expect too much from him, from all my kids (especially at a time when they’re coming off their holiday high). I finished kneading the bread, washed my hands, and then procured the desperately desired something (turns out he wanted an apple) from the fridge for my not-quite-three-year-old. And I resolved as usual to remember that my kids are just kids and to treat them that way so I can enjoy them while they still are kids.

Lest this become too sappy for anyone, let me bring things back to reality with a little update: I just found Dyl’s had-to-have but only half-eaten apple hidden under the couch. Ah, kids!