Since I’ve already devoted a blog post to describing my
daughter’s “spirited” temperament, I feel like I owe my son the same
unapproved, unwanted exposure. That way, in a few decades, when they look back
on these posts, they can bond over a sense of shared humiliation.
If Molly is my spicy child, then Suttie is my saccharine. He’s
sweet…sometimes too sweet. He loves hugs and cuddling up next to you…like right
next to you…and you start to sweat because kids are like crumb-covered
furnaces…then he blares a YouTube video featuring the world’s creepiest
50-year-old man performing toy demos or insistently says, “Mommy, watch me play
Sonic…are you watching…I’m about to get the gold rings…Mommy, why aren’t you
watching...” until you can’t take it anymore and bolt from the couch,
screaming, “Geroff me, bro! You’re crowding me out!” Sigh, I’m gonna miss these days…
He also seeks out every opportunity to receive a comforting
embrace. When Molly falls down and I try to console her, she throws up her dimple-knuckled
dukes to ward me off and, through her angry mutterings, I can make out, “Geez,
woman, that was embarrassing enough; don’t make it any worse!” Suttie, on the
other hand, relishes minor mishaps and injuries. When he’s on the business end
of his own ninja turtle nunchucks or falls out of a chair because he was
sitting backwards and balancing on one knee, he runs over within seconds to
tell me about the incident and collect his consolatory hugs and kisses. He’s
done this so much lately that our new rule involves the injury producing at
least a full ounce of blood or my irrepressible laughter to merit any pity.
But he doesn’t expect to merely receive affection; he doles
it out, too. I’m hoping that, one day, this translates into a loving husband
and father rather than a handsy pervert with a penchant for lingering eye
contact.
For example, he says “I love you” at least forty-two times a
day and is destined to scare off numerous girls on the first date. But no
worries, we’re working on a few new sight words right now…like “restraining”
and “order.”
A couple of weekends ago, we took him to see Monsters
University, ‘cause you know, Raisinets, and during the after-movie potty break,
he turns to his dad and says, “Daddy, I need a hug”…..mid-stream at the urinal.
Because nothing says totally appropriate than a grown man and a young boy
hugging in a public restroom while one of them has his pants around his ankles.
Other than his poor timing, my biggest fear regarding
Suttie’s overt warmth and affection is that he’ll give other parents the wrong
idea. When we visit the park or other kid-infested locales, Suttie is quick to
latch onto a fellow patron, usually one of a younger age since he sees his “big
brother” status as a service to all. Thus, he often can be
seen leading toddlers around the playground, through the jungle gym, and past
the swings with a genuine sense of care and purpose. And that’s when I feel
them…the eyes of the other parents as they try to figure out if I’m using my
son as bait to lure their precious babes to the back of my unmarked van. Rest
assured, Mom and Pop Stink Eye, I don’t want your kids…but if you’ve taken a
fancy to one of mine…
Suttie with one of his charges
Anyway, the point is that, when I’m tired of Molly hitting me in
the face or telling me with her eyes that she thinks my shirt is stupid, I can
turn to my first born and know that I’ve got a hug waiting and at least a few
more years that he’s willing to admit that I’m the bomb….even if I still say, “the
bomb.”
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