My 5-year-old son just barreled full speed past me across the floor toward the stairs. I cringe; he bangs his head on the banister. I have told told him countless times not to run in his socks. I have begged him to take off his socks in this house of hard wood floors. I have reminded him over and over about the last slippery-sock mishap. Needless to say, it ended with many tears but, thankfully, no blood. This time. It makes me wonder, where do these acts of complete disregard for safety come from? I have a theory. It’s those valentine heart candies. You know the ones that are the perfect little decorations for toddlers to glue onto crafts in pre-school. But at 3-years-old, it is nearly impossible to ignore those candies even though they’ve been handled by every other 3-year-old in the school, glued, moved, shifted, glued some more and then colored on with markers by your little one. It doesn’t matter that the teacher reminded your son over and over that that craft is not for eating, it’s for hanging on the fridge or placing on the mantel. It is irrelevant that that craft fell on the dirty playground and was stepped on in the car. That craft is suddenly a tongue magnet. Something meant to be licked, something irresistible, it is candy, after all. And you, the recipient of said craft, cannot not put it out for the world to see what your little angel made for you. Until you catch your angel licking that craft again and again. I caught my son in the act at least 20 times before I finally caved in and hid it in my closet. He, of course, discovered my hiding place and proceeded to stand on a stool balanced on 3 pillows to get to it to then do what? Lick it again! After reminding him that those candies were covered in glue and marker and rubbed by dirty hands and who knows what else at school, I had to make that thing disappear. I didn’t even miss it, but he did. He asked about that thing for weeks. I feigned ignorance, pretended not to know what craft he was talking about or directed his attention to some nearby shiny object to change the subject. It worked after a while. We don’t discuss the heart shaped, candy and glue covered craft anymore. And now that my son is 5, I really have to wonder if the bonehead things he does today are a direct result of his glue licking 2 years ago. Is it possible? I know those glues and markers made for kids are supposed to be non-toxic, but do we really know? How can we be guaranteed that these things don’t affect mental capabilities as our kids grow? I guess we have to hope for the best. I guess I have to realize that kids do crazy things and embrace those things, as long as they are not eminently dangerous. And didn’t Pearl S. Buck say, ‘the young don’t know enough to be prudent, and therefore they attempt the impossible-and achieve it, generation after generation. It’s a beautiful sentiment, not necessarily referring to the crazy things my kid does, but I guess I could smile-and cringe only to myself-as my son for attempts to slide a record distance across the floor, or jump from his skateboard to the mini-trampoline and back or run at full speed across grandma’s deck and jump into the pool. I’m going to draw the line at licking my valentine gift because I’m quite certain that is not what Pearl S. Buck had in mind. No licking, and that’s final.
Armpit Confessions-What Makes Me Sweat-Fibbing to a 5-year-old
Perhaps my biggest fib, the one that will no doubt haunt me in the years to come, is that I have eyes in the back of my head. I know, my mother used to say it to me, countless mothers have used it, but my son may be the most literal soul on the planet. The first time I used it, I was turned toward the stove and my son was jumping on the couch. His eyes grew as wide as plates and he said to me, ‘you have back eyes?’
“Yes, I do,” I replied and thought that was the end of it. Oh no. He was amazed at my super-hero like abilities. He proceeded to ask what other eyes I had. Did I have side eyes? Top eyes? X-ray eyes? All of which I decided I did have, because most moms do have a sort of psychic eye into the havoc their children are causing behind their backs. I thought I was justified. This was 3 years ago, and to this day, my son will still ask me if I have my back eyes on when he wants to jump from couch to chair or swing his light saber at the dog or, dread, pick his nose.
I’m already sweating the day that I have to admit that I don’t really have my super-hero back eyes. They have come in handy so many times, more times than I can count. I admit, I do overuse my back eyes at times, like when my son asks me to look at his painting after every single brush stroke. Thankfully, so far he hasn’t quizzed me on his color palate or his design. He just believes me when I say that it’s awesome.
There are time when using my back eyes actually feels like I’m performing a public service. For example, consider the hundreds of times he asks me to ‘look’ while I’m driving because he’s created yet another ball out of Bendeross. I say, ‘very nice’. He says, ‘do you have you back eyes on?’ I reply with a very upbeat, ‘of course’, and he just says, ‘okay’. It also works when he’s playing with his seat buckle, something I can hear but can’t see. When I tell him not to do it, he just asks, well, you get the idea. Works like a charm.
The problem is that lately, I’ve been having a re-occurring dream that I do actually grow eyes in the back of my head. They would come in handy, sure, but they would be very unattractive. Imagine my hair hanging in them all the time. And if I couldn’t reach them to apply mascara, yikes!
For now, I’m sticking to my story, and I’m keeping my back eyes. This is a fib that I don’t really want to live without. I’ll take my chances that my son will forgive me when he discovers the truth. By then, he won’t think I’m cool or fun or interesting anymore anyway, right?