Smells Like Toddler Spirit

Our very vocal, social, and earnestly sweet little Sam sometimes struggles with being understood. His words - though loud and vibrant - are difficult to decipher and result in an adorable, albeit frustrating cocktail of conversation. We get about 80% of his words and guess at the rest based upon the pretty predictable pattern that is the world of a preschooler. Time spent with him is like being in a foreign country where I kind of get the gist of what's going on, but the details are fuzzy and imprecise and the language is clearly not working in my favor, but hey, it's fun and new and pour me a glass of wine and I'm just gonna roll with it and act like I know what's going on. Shhh, it's my secret to surviving motherhood.

Sam seems content with his interactions with the world 99% of the time, but then, there's the rest of the time. The times when he wilts into a ball of mucus-y ooze with a wail that could call the Yeti down from the North Country. Oh. My. God. The horror. The screams and tantrums. The flailing, kicking and fetal positioning. But enough about my PMS. This kid really knows how to turn the drama flame up high (I have NO IDEA where he gets it) and demonstrate what a two and half year old who can't find the words to describe his emotions, wants, demands, should look like.

And people, it's not pretty.

Sam has the benefit of a highly skilled interpreter in his brother, who sometimes tells us what Sam wants, "He wants that bran muffin that he shoved under the couch this morning" and other times Max just rolls his eyes, shrugs his shoulders, and mumbles, "Red", referring to his sobbing baby brother as the quick-to-cry, scared-of-his-own-shadow 1960's-era fire truck character from the harbinger of all culture in our home, Pixar's CARS.

And although I KNOW I'm not supposed to EVER compare my two children, because they are both individuals, different spirits, different learning styles, yadahh yaddah yadahh, I am baffled with this sensitive and mysterious lad. Max pretty much came out of the womb ordering a cheese pizza with aged Italian pepperoni with no mushrooms, unless you have fresh morels and then I'll take them, but no tomato chunks and a fine shred on the fresh mozzarella, please.

Sam, he just lays on the floor clutching the Domino's ad and wailing. But is he crying about the pizza ad or the $3 off car wash coupon on the back? I NEVER KNOW!!!!

We've tried lots of tricks, techniques, approaches and well, a lot of wine, too. I know this stage will pass, that he will master language very soon and there will be a day in the very near future when I will be thinking (because I'll never have the chance to actually TALK), that "Ugh, will this little guy EVER stop talking about catalytic converters and fuel gauges and tire treads?"

Until then, we just continue with lots of talking, reading, playing and loving our little guy. Last week, I took the boys over to see their cousins, including the cutest little 3 month old baby boy that you have ever seen. And while saying our goodbyes, Sam knelt down and kissed his baby cousin, wiggled his pudgie fingers in a tiny wave and said, "Bye bye Babee Ashah. Come ovah foh dink suhtime, ok?"

Mama's never been so proud.