After my last post about J and how much he is like his Mother, I feel like I should also share how little Apple is like me.   Not only does she look just like her Dad, in miniature form with Strawberry hair but, she must, must have his temperment.  I am only guessing because, although he is not like this today, I can see him being a little like this when he was younger.

Little Miss Apple is not a cuddler.  She will only cuddle if you walk around with her until your back aches and your knees hurt.  As soon as you sit, she screams and wiggles herself free.  And whines and cries in hopes that you will again pick her up.  Sometimes she wins, sometimes she loses.

If you sit on the floor to play with her, your chances are pretty good that she will be happy, but if you (and realize, the ‘you’ in these sentences is actually me) step foot into the kitchen to make a cup of tea or lunch or dinner it is like the end of the world.  I have made many a dinner with a little girl sitting on my foot, arms wrapped around my leg and screaming and crying.  And when Hubby gets home, he wonders why I have a headache the size of Canada.

And Hubby, well yes, the sun rises and shines on Daddy right now, so except for the morning when he leaves for work, any other time he leaves or goes to another room is like the end of the world all over again.  I mean, she does this if I leave her with my Mom or Hubby too, but this is so rare that she is just confused about what on earth is going on.

Should I carry this one step further, I will include that she feels compelled to open every door, drawer, and cabinet that suits her fancy.  Sometimes she takes stuff out, sometimes she doesn’t.  But, knowing that she is opening these things up drives me crazy.  Usually she opens the door, puts her hand inside and just stares at me.  Waiting.  Waiting for me to notice and tell her no.  She is an instigator this one.  On top of all of that she is already throwing herself on the floor in mini screaming fits.  So far, they are only at home and usually happen when I have removed her from said drawers and door for the eleventy millionth time.  I dread the day this happens in public.  My only saving grace is that I am tall and strong and so far have no problems picking up my kids and marching out to the car with them.

As Apple is only 14 months old, I still hold out hope that I can find a way to work with her temperment and perhaps change it up a little bit.

One of my greatest fears is coming to fruition.  My Son, sweet J, is just like me in all the ways I wish I wasn’t back when I was a kid. Now if that makes sense then I should just stop here.  But, since this is where I am going to write my fears for my child down in the hopes that he will overcome them, then here we go.

When I was a little girl, and well into my adult years, I was a very sensitive child.  I cried at the drop of a hat.  I felt for every friend, foe, animal, plant that was in pain.  I carried the burden of everybody else on my shoulders and it carried me.  I had friends, but friends hurt me.  I chose quite often to step aside rather than fight back.  I sat quietly in class and did my own thing rather than join in and not be wanted.  I was chosen last for every sporting team that was called out.

I overcame many of these things through time and a motto. “I may not have many friends, but the friends I have, I have for a reason.”.  This still holds true today.  I have a handful of close friends that I get together with or chat on the phone with but, I don’t have so many friends that I am constantly surrounded by, this is just my nature.

When I was in Kindergarten (there was only one when I was a kid, not two like J has today) I remember the hurt when my closest friends didn’t play with on a given day.  Or if one of them was sick and I felt like I had nobody to play with.  Or on the days when I did make a new friend, how the others would shun me and wonder why I left the group.  When truth was and still is, I love to be friends with everyone.  I never understood how we couldn’t all hang out together or one day play with one person and another day play with someone else, clicks started early and I learned how to deal with them early.  All the way through until High School, I had to deal with those same issues.

Now, J’s turn.  He is all those things and more, he is a boy.  A big boy.  His soft and loving heart gets broken at least once a week by a friend or another child at school.  The first round of sobs was about missing his best buddy who is not in his class this year.  Then there were the sobs about the bully in the class.

Then last night, the sobs were about one of his close friends ‘joining the bully’s team’.  Apparently there are two teams of boys in the class, made up by the boys.  There is T’s team (the bully) and J’s team (the rest of the kids who don’t want to be bullied).  I think his friend joined up that day to play with the cars because that was what T’s team was doing, but J will not play with T as he does not want to bullied any more. But, poor sweet J, sobbed and sobbed before bed.  Wondering why his friend didn’t want to play with him anymore.   We talked about it, even though all my mothering instincts made me want to fix it myself (not that I could, but I wanted to), and we prayed about it.  And this morning J was on a mission.  He was going to play with his friend, if only for the fifteen minutes of outside play for the day.

We arrived at school at the same time as his friend and the two of them walked together through the gate, over to the sand and started playing.  I stood behind the trees and watched from a distance.  It was like everything was right in the world of J again.  After school we talked about it some more and J was OK.  He said that they had a great time and that he wasn’t sad anymore.

I only hope that he can continue to get over these things quickly and doesn’t carry the same burdens I carried as a child, this is my wish.