Making havoc while the son shines
I began to notice a pattern to our activities this weekend.
Take yesterday morning. We went to a piano sale. As we tried to speak seriously with the salesperson in a concentrated effort to convince him that we would ever in a hundred years be able to afford one of his pianos, Aaron pounded merrily on whatever Steinway he could get his hands on. The salespeople gave him a big smile. Then they scowled at us. We pulled him off of his piano and he threw a fit. He got sympathetic looks. We got mutters. We hightailed it out of there. In the time we were there, I'd barely gotten to play a couple of scales on the pianos we were interested in. He played an entire unfinished symphony.
Second example: We went to a puppet show with my parents yesterday. It was a cool use of mixed media, combining blacklight, puppetry, and dancing, but it was all done in platypus gibberish, which is like regular gibberish, except everyone just says, "Rrroooo-aaauuuughh!" over and over and over again for a drawn-out, all-platypus gibberish production of Richard the Third. Aaron fell asleep fifteen minutes of the way into it. The rest of the adults sat through an hour of Rrrroooo-aaauuugghh while Aaron drifted off into peaceful slumber.
Third example: We went for a walk in the park today. Aaron was very excited to go the long way around the trail to get to the playground. After five minutes, he was up on my shoulders, ready to ride the rest of the way. Then he fell asleep.
I think my son is playing us for suckers.
Don't get me wrong: we had a great weekend. It was really nice to see my parents, and we had all kinds of family fun that went beyond pipe-cleaner projects and included seeing the loons on the lake and watching an Earth day parade. But make no doubt about it, Aaron made us work for it, and he got off scott-free. I worry that he may be training to be an organized criminal mastermind, or worse, a middle-manager.
Of course, what really drove it home was church this morning. Aaron and the other kids marched up to the front of the congregation to sing a special song. As the rest of the kids sang, Aaron stood silently, occasionally glancing at his compatriots with a look that said, "What's with the singing, dude." And because these were kids, there were hand motions, which Aaron regarded with little more than amusement. In the meantime, Jenna and I are sitting in the fifth row, hands over our heads, crossing our chests, pointing and waving, and mouthing along the words, all in a vain effor to get him to participate. Finally, as the song neared the end, where the chorus repeated faster and faster, and the hand motions got fast and furious. Aaron got this look of realization on his face, and slowly moved his hands over his head. Everyone there noticed. There was a small smattering of applause before the song ended. He stood there, still not singing, but having mastered this one hand motion and really driving it home, with his biggest, widest smile lighting up the room. The song ended, and he held his pose for a moment longer before deciding he was done with his hand stretching duty and he made his way back to his parents.
Of course, there he had us again. He sat down, ready to listen to the rest of the service, sitting as still and well-behaved as an angel who is attending a church service for some reason. The people around us told him he did a great job, and he smiled politely back at them.
On either side of him, Jenna and I were in tears.
Take yesterday morning. We went to a piano sale. As we tried to speak seriously with the salesperson in a concentrated effort to convince him that we would ever in a hundred years be able to afford one of his pianos, Aaron pounded merrily on whatever Steinway he could get his hands on. The salespeople gave him a big smile. Then they scowled at us. We pulled him off of his piano and he threw a fit. He got sympathetic looks. We got mutters. We hightailed it out of there. In the time we were there, I'd barely gotten to play a couple of scales on the pianos we were interested in. He played an entire unfinished symphony.
Second example: We went to a puppet show with my parents yesterday. It was a cool use of mixed media, combining blacklight, puppetry, and dancing, but it was all done in platypus gibberish, which is like regular gibberish, except everyone just says, "Rrroooo-aaauuuughh!" over and over and over again for a drawn-out, all-platypus gibberish production of Richard the Third. Aaron fell asleep fifteen minutes of the way into it. The rest of the adults sat through an hour of Rrrroooo-aaauuugghh while Aaron drifted off into peaceful slumber.
Third example: We went for a walk in the park today. Aaron was very excited to go the long way around the trail to get to the playground. After five minutes, he was up on my shoulders, ready to ride the rest of the way. Then he fell asleep.
I think my son is playing us for suckers.
Don't get me wrong: we had a great weekend. It was really nice to see my parents, and we had all kinds of family fun that went beyond pipe-cleaner projects and included seeing the loons on the lake and watching an Earth day parade. But make no doubt about it, Aaron made us work for it, and he got off scott-free. I worry that he may be training to be an organized criminal mastermind, or worse, a middle-manager.
Of course, what really drove it home was church this morning. Aaron and the other kids marched up to the front of the congregation to sing a special song. As the rest of the kids sang, Aaron stood silently, occasionally glancing at his compatriots with a look that said, "What's with the singing, dude." And because these were kids, there were hand motions, which Aaron regarded with little more than amusement. In the meantime, Jenna and I are sitting in the fifth row, hands over our heads, crossing our chests, pointing and waving, and mouthing along the words, all in a vain effor to get him to participate. Finally, as the song neared the end, where the chorus repeated faster and faster, and the hand motions got fast and furious. Aaron got this look of realization on his face, and slowly moved his hands over his head. Everyone there noticed. There was a small smattering of applause before the song ended. He stood there, still not singing, but having mastered this one hand motion and really driving it home, with his biggest, widest smile lighting up the room. The song ended, and he held his pose for a moment longer before deciding he was done with his hand stretching duty and he made his way back to his parents.
Of course, there he had us again. He sat down, ready to listen to the rest of the service, sitting as still and well-behaved as an angel who is attending a church service for some reason. The people around us told him he did a great job, and he smiled politely back at them.
On either side of him, Jenna and I were in tears.
Comments
Plus, he seems to have had a good time. At least he isn't a three month old with a cold. That (as you can probably recall) is rough. I can now say that from experience.
Give him a hug for us.