And….scene.

I am proud to announce that I am now mother to a seven-year-old and a three-year-old.

Feels weird. The youngest is no longer a toddling disaster waiting to happen, though he is about as fully Three as a young human can be. If you don’t know what a scathing epithet “Three” can be, please search the interwebs and ask your friends. Three is so adorably horrible it…ah, what the heck. I have all year to tell you. And an archive full of 2009’s Three-based rants to tide you over.

In addition to morphing of young Mr. Needs Attention All the Time into Mr. Needs Attention Most of the Time, 2013 has brought to our home a full-fledged seven-year-old person with all manner of ideas and stories to tell. And mischief to orchestrate. He’s delightful. When he’s not surly. Or ignoring simply requests. Or antagonizing his brother and parents.So I might be able to spend five minutes a day actually focused on this young man, now that his brother is less hazard than attitude problem.

But several moms this week have told me that nine is really he beginning of puberty and its signature mood swings, detestable behaviors, and frequent parenting moments.

So I have two years to enjoy the delightful creature whom I’ve basically ignored for two years while his brother has been tearing around like a Tasmanian devil. I have to make the most of every single moment, for after those two years, the creature formerly called Peanut will become hormonally-altered, and I will be shut out forever.

(Have I mentioned I’m a huge fan of hyperbole? Probably not, and since it’s potentially not obvious from my hysterical rantings, I’ll mention it here. Hyperbole is the best thing ever!)

And I have two years to guide the little tea kettle of irrational lunges toward independence before he blossoms into a lovely, individual creature who will privilege his peers’ opinions over mine and relish his long hours at school without me. As we now know, most five-year-olds fall in with the wrong crowd and ignore their parents for the rest of their young lives.

A crossroads. One is in the middle of his best four childhood years. And the other is in the middle of his toughest childhood years. In 730 days they will transition into the initial phases of teenager and the initial phases of elementary schooler.

730 days. That’s all I have. After that it’s…well, it’s…it’s another 1460 days before things get really dicey, with a teen and a tween. And then only 1095 more days until one is driving and both are shaving. And then only 730 days before one leaves for college.

Sob!

My baby is going to college in 4,198 days! I have to go make sure we have enough soap and shampoo and extra-long twin sheets to get him there!

Hang on. How many leap years between now and 2024? I have to go do some research. I’ll get back to you soon with how long I actually have before I start sobbing and taking on new hobbies and…wait. The other one will still be here. I won’t be alone and depressed and needing seven new hobbies until at least 2028.

Just when I was thinking four years was a crummy spread because one is always in a challenging phase and so consuming my maternal energy I miss the other’s delightful age…

No problem. 2028.

I can hold off panicking until then.

Phew.

Now I have time to panic about getting through Three.

And Seven.

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8 thoughts on “And….scene.

  1. Ha, ha hyperbole! That is hilarious….I too am a fan. I’m the biggest fan in the history of the entire world!!! Very nice post. Threes ARE terrible. My youngest turns 4 in two weeks and I finally feel like there is a light at the end of the tunnel:)

    • I remember that lovely sense that it might get better. Of course, two weeks before Peanut turned Four I was nine months pregnant, and his behavior turned seriously south about a month after that.

      Hyperbole is my best friend.
      Hyperbole is the best thing since sliced bread.
      Hyperbole will play me in the movie interpretation of my life.

  2. best line ever: If you don’t know what a scathing epithet “Three” can be, please search the interwebs and ask your friends.

    Also, I am desperately wishing we were neighbors because of posts like this. I simply adore you.

    • The best thing about me as friend and neighbor is I can out-neurotic, out-catastrophize, and out-spazz anyone. Unless you need reasonable, because I do that, too. But not on a blog. That would be silly. Blogs don’t need reasonable. They need three year olds.

  3. Start stock piling poptarts, ramen noodles, and mountain dew. INFLATION WILL KILL YA. And those extra-long twin sheets need powdered detergent…. not for washing, silly. To use on the walls with blacklight (yes, get one of those too now) while studying, ahem. And swedish fish will be like a buck a piece, by then… everyone needs snacks for lectures. nom nom. Prioritize food items that can survive an atomic bomb.

    I thought I could out-neurotic anyone. Then I met you. I don’t feel so alone and panicky.
    Shower shoes.
    Dry erase markers.
    Watergun.

    • Shower shoes and swedish fish at the top of the list now. Because inflation.

      Also a mini fridge.

      They need daylight light bulbs for studying, thank you very much. Bright, bright, daylight simulating light. All the time.

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