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Lovie and I constantly ask ourselves one simple question. How can three kids who shared the same womb for thirty-six weeks (and one day) turn out to be so different?
A’s a daring, wiry little monkey who’s been known to climb out of his crib, literally disassemble the child-proof handle of his bedroom door, open said door, and (after successfully negotiating the child-proof gate) waltz downstairs in the pitch-black night. Once on the main floor, he’ll nonchalantly tip-toe into the kitchen, startling Lovie and me, while cleverly concealing his mischievous grin with the thumb he’s temporarily parked in his mouth.
C’s the vocal one, continuously muttering to herself, often singing along to songs with nonsensical words she’s made up on the spot. She effortlessly parlays her good looks (which she inherited from Lovie) with her precocious command of the English language to further whatever cause happens to be hers at the moment.
Which brings me to B. He’s the sensitive, inquisitive one, content to simply watch events as they unfold, his mouth slightly agape, his almond-shaped brown eyes wide with wonder. Whether he’s on the playroom floor witnessing A and C fight for control over Elmo, or at the living room window watching the UPS man become Briggs’s slobber-covered bitch, B absorbs it all with the same stoic expression.
If A is not afraid to push the boundaries, and if C is not afraid to express herself, then it’s safe to say that B is not afraid to be his own guy. Not only is he a voyeur of all things mundane, he’s also extremely content to play by himself. This, we’ve discovered, is both good and bad. It’s good because he’s easily entertained. It’s bad because he’s a little young to be playing with himself. (Sorry.) Actually, it’s bad because since B is perfectly content to play by himself, he’s decided that no one else should have access to the toys that entertain him so.
As a result, he’s taken to a mild manifestation of hoarding, cramming whichever toy(s) he currently covets into any one of several secret hiding places. Recently he raided Lovie’s bathroom drawer and pulled out a bunch of pony tail holders. Dismayed that A and C wanted in on the action, he found just the right spot to safeguard his loot.
I bet they'll be safe in here.
Yes, there was urine in there. You can’t see it, though, because it got soaked up by his elastic buddies. Thank goodness he hadn’t laid one down, right?
Of all the toys, it’s the matchbox cars he fancies most. Seriously, we must have fifty such cars, and B could be happily playing with forty-nine of them, but as soon as A or C so much as even looks at the lone remaining vehicle that’s somehow managed to escape B’s grasp, he loses it.
His remedy? Stashing them in other, larger toy vehicles and parading around endlessly with them–a mobile, matchbox car monopoly, if you will.
I know. I'll throw 'em in here.
Am I crazy? Or am I light on Ford Mustang?
In B’s mind, he’s protecting his metal pals from the clutches of A and C. As he makes his rounds, he’s continuously on the lookout for new and improved hiding places, places where the rolling objects of his desire will go undetected until he’s able to swing back by and pick them up again.
They'll never think to look under the ice machine.
Honestly? His preoccupation is starting to make Lovie and me feel like we’re one of his coveted cars. Why you ask?
Because he’s driving us up the wall!
But most of the time, Lovie and I feel like we are B and that B is one of the cars. Because whenever we see our little introvert staring back at us with those big, brown, curious eyes?
All we wanna do is snatch him up and keep him all to ourselves.
Yep! That B is the one who loves me best!! He is my guy!
“playing with himself”
You are going to get so much traffic from Google for that phrase, my friend. And not necessarily the welcomed kind . . .
B sounds like my kind of kid. Don’t let him drive you too bonkers.
Most excellent post, my friend.
All of those kids are amazingly yummy cupcakes! How fun for you (except when you are driven to your last moment of sanity by them.)
B is my kind of guy.
He knows what he likes…
… and he’s a thinker. He’s probably already smarter than all of us.
I’m fascinated by seeing the world through a child’s eyes. And you did this, with this post. So cute!
Tell Lovie the Matchboxes all hidden is a good thing. They are painful when you step on them in the middle of the night. My kind of kid takes care of that problem for you!
Very well done. In the years to come the kids will love reading about themselves and your thoughts.
I get the blame for the antics of my kids, it’s genetic
He is so freakin’ adorable. How could you resist? So are the others. You are truly blessed. My cats also have a fascination with pony tail holders. They stash them in their food bowls. So far none in the litter box…. that’s probably coming though!
At our house, Baby B had a propensity for hoarding items in ziploc bags. I’d find a ziploc bag with ponytail holders, , another with rocks, another with Polly Pockets, another with scraps of paper…unfortunately the ziplocs were kept in the same drawer as the knives. We moved the knives to a safer locale, but kept finding little clear hoards throughout the house.
Lucky for my boy, his sister never showed any interest in his cars. (after 16+ years of collecting, we est. he has approx. 1700 of them – and can tell which one is missing).
Truly though, how can you not fall captive to those big brown eyes.
My boys hide their cars too and when they forget where one is and then find it they get as excited as christmas morning.
It is amazing to me how different my three kids are. They have the same parents and live in the same house, but their personalities are radically diverse. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they are related.
B sounds just like my Calamity Jane. At her ISP meeting for the school district they were concerned about her tendency to carry favored toys around with her. Her dad pointed out that you learn fast to keep things close when you’re a multiple.
It’s has always boggled my mind how different each of the Weasels are from each other when they have been raised, fed and nurtured in the same conditions.
He will be the one with the sizeable nest egg and be able to retire at 45.
I can relate to the matchbox cars thing. I LOVED little cars and in fact, pine for them now.