Monkey

So focused on "using his muscles" to bring my tea at the Mothers Day tea party.

We call Finn our "monkey" for a reason. He acts like one, he sometimes sounds like one, let's face it - he's part monkey. He is also at a very trying age where he's old enough to want to be independent, dress himself, go to the bathroom himself, get his own food, etc. and not take a nap NEVER NO NOT EVER, even though he usually needs one. Being three and three-quarters and planning complex construction jobs the whole entire time he's awake is tough work.

So I guess it was to be expected today when, three months shy of turning four, he threw his first major in-store tantrum, the kind where you have to pick up and leave immediately while everyone else in the store is totally staring and thinking one of the following:  a) "oh, that poor mother" or b) "listen to that brat!" or c) "aw, look at his pretty little sister following behind while he's trying to bite his mother." Really quite the opposite of fun. Granted, I could have just purchased the very small, $16.99 chuggington or perhaps the $14.99 book on trucks that we already own and avoided the situation entirely, but it's the principle, friends. So out of Barnes and Noble we strode, screaming and biting, Tess following diligently behind, eyes wide.

I'm looking forward to "4" not because I have any delusions of him turning a corner instantly - oh heck, I DO have those delusions. But in the meantime we're trying to enjoy the monkey every day because when he's cute and fun, he's really cute and fun. And at the end of a long no-nap day when he falls asleep at 7:15, there's wine and a comfortable bed and 11 hours during which we recuperate.