Wanted: Four Year Olds

I need some kids. Some four year old kids. Five year olds are OK too. I need one for every day of the week so Trombone has someone to play with.

Our best neighbour boy went away for the whole summer. The other best neighbour boy is in daycare all day. The third neighbour boy (yes, they are all boys around here) is
well, he’s
one of those kids who provides you with lots
– um –
to practice your
deep breathing?

(edited to add: You might have seen more snark here, earlier. I took out all the snark because I wouldn’t say it to his mother’s face.)

It’s not his fault. I know that. I just kind of want him to move away.

So it has become obvious that I need more children. NOT OF MY OWN! God, no. Around. For the pretending and the playing and the stupid jokes that make no sense to me and – Trombone, I can’t even fake a laugh. I’m sorry. It’s not funny. If I humour you, you’ll just think it IS funny and then someday you’ll end up on a sit-com and I will stab myself with a Bic pen.

I take my responsibility to foster good humour very seriously.

Fresco doesn’t cut it. He is 2. He is a Very Verbal Two Year Old but he doesn’t get the concepts behind “I’m X character and you are Y.” Also he likes to tease his brother. Also he is pretty bad at taking turns.

“OK now YOU be Woody and I’ll be Buzz.”
“Piu piu piu! LASERS!”
“NO! You’re WOODY! You don’t HAVE lasers!”
“I like lasers!”
“You’re WOODY!”
“No, I’m WOODY!”
“That’s what I said!”

I feel bad for Trombone. He was a cautious kid for so long and has just bloomed in the past few months. He became all about friends, right when preschool ended for the summer and so he is very frustrated with his limitations right now; it’s kind of like if you suddenly sprouted wings and spent all day trying to leap off things to try out your cool wings and your mom just kept saying ..but no flying. No. Flying. Uh uh. Sorry. We haven’t got the space for it.

What the hell do I do with THESE, THEN, MOTHER?

(Is what it sounds like.)

Plus there is all this anger. Four year old anger. “You are not the boss of me, I just figured it out,” anger. “Nice try, MOTHER,” anger. He yells at everything and wants to smash it. He goes into the kitchen and says he is going to war. And then he comes back and says he won.

(He doesn’t actually call me MOTHER but it is in the tone.)

What do you do with them? Give them clay to smash? A room to yell in? Send them to four year old camp? Judo? Any of you know how long this phase is going to last?

(Note: if it lasts till 19, please save your breath. KThx.)

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