Our long weekend was really nice, although Kyle may have acted possessed a handful of times.
(Aside: I'm starting to figure out that managing Kyle's tantrums has much more to do with my response to them than anything else. If I can muster patience and a little sense of calm, he is so much easier to handle. But, yeah, I'm not always patient or calm. Sometimes I spit fire. No one hates that more than me.)
Anyway, he handled the fireworks like a champ, and he enjoyed the hell out of a grape popsicle at our town's Fourth of July celebration, so I labeled the day a success.
He's all, why the hell do they shoot these things off past my bedtime? I need a snuggle and my blanket.
***
Something I noticed this past weekend while around lots of other kids is that Kyle really isn't talking much. He has some words, sure, and he understands just about everything that's said to him. (Mike told him to come give me a kiss after a recent time-out, and he walked into the kitchen, asked to be picked up, and kissed me. FORGIVEN!)
But, he doesn't say "no" or "dog" or "car" or lots of other words kids his age say.
I think this is a case of him being just a little behind, like he was with walking. He identifies about 50 different things in his "I Spy" books by pointing, so the wheels are turning. And he says the most random things: like "outside" and "flower" and "boom" (when he falls down) and "thank you." But, not "no." Or even "mama" that regularly.
Yeah, he's quirky.
The thing is, I'm not worried.
Months ago I was asking his pediatrician about something -- probably his chronic ear infections -- and I said, "Are you worried?" And she looked me straight in the eyes and said, "We don't worry. We solve problems."
She gave me such a gift with that one conversation.
I've spent so much of my life worrying about more things than I could list, and although I'm not a fool to think I won't worry like it's my job over things to come, I don't do Kyle (or myself) any good by worrying.
I shortchange him genuine quality time with his mother. I give him memories of my brow furrowed. I convey to him that there's something wrong with his life because I'm trying to change it when, other than normal bumps along the way, our path is pretty golden.
Whenever Mike or I ask him for a kiss, he happily obliges, but he always insists on kissing the other afterward. I like to think he already knows we're okay apart, but we're so much better together.
We're a team, the three of us.
I'm not worried. Oh, we're so good.