Maybe we’ve read the Lorax a few too many times and maybe G is starting to take the ‘I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees’ part to heart. Except, instead of speaking for the trees, he’s decided to speak for his little brother. For all of us, really.
It doesn’t matter what utterances the Hen makes these days, his older brother will proffer some translation which, perhaps not surprisingly, usually parallels G’s own needs and wants.
‘He’s saying he wants to go to bed’ G will report at completely random times throughout the day, usually when G doesn’t want his baby brother playing with his toys.
‘He doesn’t want to get up yet’ G will inform me after the Hen’s nap when he’s crying for someone to come and pick him up.
‘I think he wants a snack’ G will suggest when he is feeling a little peckish.
‘I think he’s just a little frus-ter-ated’ or ‘I think he just wants his Mama’ G offers when little brother is crying after something ‘unknown’ happened during an unsupervised moment of play.
Last night, as the Hen was playing with a game of glass beads, G informed him: ‘If you want to play with that game you have to put your pacifier in your mouth…if you put any of those beads in your mouth, I’m taking the game away.’
Is that what I sound like?
But really, G has, for whatever reason, decided he speaks for the whole family too. We now have our own spokesperson who isn’t afraid to lay down the law, or to make the tough calls.
When the artist was living at the University a couple of weeks ago, G assumed the role of surrogate husband. Sleeping on my bed instead of his own, sacrificing his sleep by staying up late and watching ‘mommy’ movies with me. He sat through more than 2 hours of ‘Silent Light’ which, in addition to spectacular cinematography and a glacially-paced story, is entirely in Mennonite language (low German?). There was also ‘Sleepless in Seattle’, which is a fine movie for kids – except for a tiny shouting match between Tom Hanks and his son where he says S-H-I-T and I couldn’t hit the pause button fast enough.
I’m hoping that doesn’t come back to bite me.
The other night, while Jason was teaching class G was lying on my bed when he made a decision. ‘I’ll sleep on your bed and Daddy can sleep on my bed tonight, so he won’t get us sick.’ Rather ‘thoughtful’ of him, except Daddy had already passed along his coughing and snotting sickness. And Daddy had decided G’s bed was not conducive to a good night’s sleep.
I went upstairs to the bathroom yesterday where G was going about his business. He looked up at me and said: ‘Are you here to clean the toilet? Because it’s really dirty and it needs to be cleaned.’
For the record, the toilet bowl, for whatever reason, acquires some hard water, rusty colored stains which need to be scrubbed away once in a while.
The toilet seat etc. is perfectly clean.