Best Buddies

Patrick and Keith~Summer '11

Yesterday I sat quietly by the pool (before the bee attacked my baby...another story) listening to a story unfold.  Two kids (non HR residents.... another story) were befriending my boys and a game was evolving.  They were picking teams and everyone wanted to be on Patrick's team.  Patrick wanted Keith.  Perfect.  No parental intervention, Keith hadn't even asked to be on Patrick's team yet, but Patrick chose Keith. 

Around my house this summer I'm hearing a lot about "best buddies."  My boys can play for hours and hours with little or no arguing.  It feels a little miraculous and I hesitate to speak of it.  During the school year Keith waits (practically at the door) all day for Patrick to get home.  Now that its summer he has his brother all day long and he is happy. 

They still manage to fight over silly things, including the Lego magazine, yogurt, swords and their sister (She's MY best buddy not yours!  Mom asked me to play with Lauren!).  It could be worse.  Some nights they stay up all night reading in Patrick's room.  Some days they create improbable Star Wars scenarios that carry on for hours.  Some mornings they make sure they are dressed alike.  Everyday they are brothers.

Buddies

Something is terribly wrong with my blog and I just don't have the energy to fix it (I did have the energy to make apple cinnamon bread last night, blog nesting just isn't it the cards).  But I'm blogging anyway because I fear that once the baby gets here some of these thoughts will be lost forever. 

Sometimes watching my boys is like watching a movie that I wrote on the back of my heart, a secret screen play that I never imagined watching.  Sure, they have their fights and scuffles (ask Kevin about the great "Pottery Barn chair stand-off") but they are so devoted to one another, so protective of each other and just really good buddies. 

Patrick was responding to a writing prompt at school: "My favorite person is......"  Who is his favorite person?  I thought it would be me (the person who according to other writing prompts cooks and takes out the trash), but no, it's Keith. 

Keith was responding a prompt at school: "A friend is....."  What is a friend?  "My brother."

I know I'm all gooey and emotional and pregnant but that is the sweetest thing.  When they are 16 and 13 and punching each other in the jaw, I will remember them when they were 6 and 3 and could sit side by side for hours on end playing Legos.  Now I'm crying..... I'm a mess.

Christmas Disease

I didn't get a chance to blog about my bright Christmas balls because I was working on Christmas cards last night.

This is about a quarter of the project.  I put the boys to bed early thinking about my list: ironing, teacher's gifts, wrapping, ball blog...... Every year I forget that Christmas cards are a season long project.  Excuse my letter folding (and writing for that matter, I wasn't feeling very inspired and almost went sans letter (even before my sister went without a Christmas letter (yeah, we're creeepily the same like that))).  Triple Parenthesis SCORE!  Point is the Christmas letter project ate up my night.  And this will likely make the ball post anti-climatic.

Anyway, the children were nestled all snug in their beds with visions of a guilty conscious in their heads.  You see I found a picture of Keith on Patrick's door when I was putting the boys to bed.  This particular picture had a huge red "X" through Keith's face. As in "No Keiths Allowed in Patrick's Room."  I didn't say anything about it, I just took it off his door and stuck it to the art wall.  On my way out of their rooms I noticed that the (dry erase) "X" had been replaced with two smiley faces.

About an hour after I thought the boys were asleep, Patrick came into the apartment with two questions.  #1 What day is Christmas? He was flustered that it is on Friday (movie night), I talked him down.  #2 He wrote a letter to Keith and slipped it under Keith's door and he is pretty sure that it is actually in Keith's room now and the letter said I'm sorry for arguing with you and I'm sorry for putting an X on your face, I love you.

How's that for Christmas spirit?

Forced Grace and Hurt Feelings

Patrick (our little angel) got in trouble more than once this weekend. And his parents got a crystal clear glimpse of Patrick-the-Teenager (ugh).

Kevin and I have an unspoken agreement: patience and laughter before beat-downs and screaming. Sunday morning Patrick put us through our paces. We woke up kinda late for church. Early enough to rush out the door in complete chaos but late enough to suck my will to rush. We had enough time for one of us to make it to church and Kevin won the coin toss. Since I am a bit high-maintenance (hair, make-up, wardrobe, etc) it was fair.

Patrick woke up grumpy and complaining. Momma don't play that game! It is 67 degrees in January, praise the Lord and pass the Cheetos baby! grumble grumble this, that and the other thing. I finally told him if all he was going to do was complain, he needed to get his little self to church with Dad. Kevin thought that was an EXCELLENT idea (reason number 4298 why I love my husband). Patrick thought it was a HORRIBLE idea and complained for the 8 minutes that it took to get ready for church. I had already made him get dressed in decent clothes (jeans and a rugby shirt), which was part of the grumbling.

I was ready to call the Super Secret Agency (the one that specializes in naughty kids) to come pick him up as he whined and moaned and cried. Kevin did yank him out of the car for a non-corporal punishment attitude adjustment. I went back inside to start packing up any semblance of fun in his room.

As soon as they got home Patrick announced in his usual cheery voice, "I didn't have any fun with Daddy in big church." I excused myself and asked Kevin if I could relieve Patrick of his beloved Star Wars Legos as punishment. No dice. Patrick apologized and we proceeded on with our day.

My darling son (oh mini-me) got in trouble again today (more than once). I got after him (skipped right over patience blah blah to screaming) and hurt his feelings, or so he says. I told him that I would hurt his feelings every time he acted bad, 100% guarantee. Keith and I did comfort him. Except when you are 21 months old, pats are more like hits and 2 seconds with the new stuffed lamb should make it all better. There is no price for the brotherhood.