He will continue to thrive and we’ll all learn to accept this milestone with grace and eagerness and remember to savor as many moments as possible; time simply slips thorough our fingers. It’s that passage of time that I was having the hardest time accepting, not the idea that my wonderful son is starting a new stage of his life adventure. Today I feel more at peace with his growth and the role I play. I still want to stop the clock, but I’m making peace with the reality that I can’t. However quickly that clock ticks and chimes, I want to help him become the very best person he can be, and to fulfill every ounce of potential he has.

What I found especially interesting is that my profile has changed over time. Although I realize this was an online mini thing and not as comprehensive as the tests I’ve taken during all those team building exercises employers like to make people endure in the name of forced fun, still…

The last time I participated in a Myers Briggs team building exercise, it was 2005. The little letters that were supposed to tell everyone everything they need to know about me were INTP. The T stands for “Thinking”

When I took the test last night, my “T” is now an “F” which stands for “Feeling”.

I started banging my head, wondering out loud, what has happened in the last four years that would change me from being a rational, logical thinking kind of person into an emotional, babbling touchy feely person? And then it hit me. MOTHERHOOD, which has eradicated all hope of me ever being a rational, logical woman EVER again. Period.

Consider this…

PREVIOUSLY: The INTP has no understanding or value for decisions made on the basis of personal subjectivity or feelings. They strive constantly to achieve logical conclusions to problems, and don’t understand the importance or relevance of applying subjective emotional considerations to decisions. For this reason, INTPs are usually not in-tune with how people are feeling, and are not naturally well-equipped to meet the emotional needs of others.

CURRENTLY: Generally thoughtful and considerate, INFPs are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they have a very deep well of caring and are genuinely interested in understanding people. This sincerity is sensed by others, making the INFP a valued friend and confidante. An INFP can be quite warm with people he or she knows well.

I found myself grateful yesterday to know we still have a 5-year-old at home. A little person who makes our house feel alive. With the last of my four stepchildren claiming adulthood, I’m thankful we’re still hands-on parenting someone much too young to desire a complete shearing of apron strings. However, I think I’ve underestimated the time we have left between now and his bitter sweet desire for independence.

While my husband and I attended our daughter’s graduation, Aaron spent the day with a good friend and her three boys, who happen to be triplets. Yes, you read that correctly. My friend had four 5-year-old boys at her house from 6:30 yesterday morning until 8:00 last night. I think she should be knighted or sainted or declared an angel. Seriously, anyone who welcomes your child into their home at that hour, while also knowing the following hours are going to be rather chaotic, is a hero in my book.

I’ve never left Aaron anywhere for that amount of time and I was a little nervous that he’d fall apart if he grew too tired. I’ve mentioned before how I’m a complete freak about where Aaron spends time and with whom. I’ve never hired a babysitter but I did consider hiring a private detective to check out his preschool teacher. Just to be safe, you know. Anyway, I didn’t have any queasiness about Aaron spending the day with our friend. We adore her and her family, but I was nervous about Aaron’s ability to hold it together for such a long day. You know….without me.

After the graduation ceremony, I texted my friend to ask how things were going. She immediately replied, “All is well. We ate pancakes, rode bikes and scooters, hiked a nature trail and played soccer…all before lunch. We’re headed to the pool shortly…”

I’m sure none of you are surprised to know that when I arrived to pick up Aaron last night, he took one look at me and said, “Mommy, can you please leave and come back later?”

I have a feeling he’s going to be ready to shear those apron strings much sooner than I am.

It’s day two in my commitment to post every day for the month of August as part of NaBloPoMo, and I’m really excited that my friend  Jan over at the Sushi Bar has also joined. She’s promising more of her wonderful recipes, new photos and as always, Jan knows how to tell a tale. Stop by the Sushi Bar. If it isn’t already, it’ll soon become one of your favorite clicks.

Last Week…

Aaron: (looking at our wedding rings) Are you going to wear those rings forever?

Me: Yes, forever!

Aaron: Even when you’re dead?

Me: Yes. Forever is forever.

Aaron: I don’t think you should wear them when you’re dead. You should just give them to me before you die and I’ll keep them safe for you.

===================================================

Last Night…

Aaron: Daddy, when you’re dead can I have all your clothes?

And ya’ll thought he looked so sweet and innocent, didn’t you. If you don’t hear from me, please tell the investigators to look for a child wearing oversized clothes and a diamond ring.

Straight from the pool— a nice, big, wet hug just for you.

You’re very welcome!

While attempting to be a better mother, to give my husband a little break from all his childcare responsibilities and spend more one-on-one time with my son over the last week, I was just a little dismayed when my adorable 5-year-old looked at me and said, “Mommy, I like being with Daddy better.  My daddy lets me do anything I want and you don’t have a toolbox.”

I’m so over the mommy guilt.

I’m not a fan of insects, regardless of whether or not they sting, crawl, creep bite or not, I like to keep a respectful distance. Spiders are not welcome in my home and when they dare crawl a wall or dangle above my head, I’ve been known to scream. Yes, I admit it. I’m a screamer.

My insistence that insects are not our friends may have something to do with my child’s own irrational fear of anything creepy or crawly. And you know what? His irrational fear was OK with me. I was completely assured Aaron would not bring me pockets full of beetles or ask me to watch his worm friend while he searched for grubs.

We’ve had this little understanding for years, so you can imagine my surprise when all of a sudden Aaron changed the rules. I blame it on peer pressure of course. One of Aaron’s best buddies is fascinated with insects. He knows their names, what they eat and all sorts of interesting tidbits about insect habitats. He’s an adorable 5-year-old bug encyclopedia, and he’s convinced my son that bug hunting is more fun than bike riding.

Now, when they bring me pockets full of beetles and want to use kitchen containers to build homes for their new multiple-leg friends, I’m supposed to look with awe or interest. There’s no screaming allowed and they even expect me to touch the damn things and at least feign fascination. I don’t like it when rules change unexpectedly and without my permission. This mom is bug phobic and I kind of liked it that way, but like most things related to parenting I supposed I’m going to have to put on my big girl panties, suck it up and put away the bug spray.

Maybe the fact that I spent a good part of Mother’s Day trying really hard not to flinch or scream every time the boys proudly brought a new capture for me to inspect was karmic pay back for my own childhood. I thought it was admirable fun to provide my mom with scream-worthy moments. Like when I caught a frog, put it inside a brown paper bag, carefully carried it to my mom and told her there was a present inside. She took the brown sac from my hands, gently pulled the top open to peer inside just as that frog decided to jump.

Sorry Mom, but I still laugh out loud when I remember the expression on your face, the scream that rocked tree tops, and the fact that you jumped higher than any frog could dream.

Hope you all had a fun Mother’s Day!

Wishing you a wonderful weekend!

Stop by on Monday when several bloggers including yours truly will be writing for The Beautiful Like Me Project. For the next post WickedStepMom has asked people to contemplate,  What features/qualities would we like today’s children to see as beautiful? It’s a good thing I have the weekend to think about it because as usual, I have no idea what I”ll write.

If you’d like to join in and post for the Beautiful Like Me Project, click here.

With all my good intentions and thoughtful dialogue, there are some conversations that take a rapid twist before I realize I’ve approached the forked road. Last night I was helping him dry off after a bath and it seemed like a good time to broach the subject again. I casually started with the standard, your body belongs to you and nobody should touch the private parts of your body unless it’s to help you stay clean or healthy…

But mommy, sometimes I like to touch my penis. It helps it grow. Wanna see?

Boys!!!

For some good tips about teaching touching safety rules, click here.

If you want your shoes neatly aligned, he’s your guy.  He’ll gladly sort  your closet, your cupboards, pantry or bookshelves.

A Peek Into Our Week

• His father’s side of the closet is now color coordinated with stripped and solid shirts hanging in separate sections because Aaron needed something to do while I was taking a shower. Tackling his dad’s shirts was how he decided to entertain himself.

• Aaron and I had daily arguments about whether or not the reference books in my office should be standing with their spines facing front, or if they look neater flat and stacked.
• If I turn my back for a minute, he rearranges the silverware drawers, daily.
• I left him in the living room for a whole 3.62 minutes and when I returned, the coffee table was turned around.
• I went to get a clean dishtowel and discovered they had all been neatly folded, sorted, color coded and moved to a different drawer.
• While putting away his laundry, I pulled open his underwear drawer and found it was now full of socks and where I normally keep his pajamas is now full of underwear.
• He had a meltdown Thursday night because I wouldn’t let him take all the dishes out of the kitchen cupboards. He wanted to conduct an inventory and then to rearrange the plates and bowls according to a different scheme than the one I currently employ.

I’ve never seen anyone, especially a child, who thinks “cleaning day” is more fun than Christmas, but Aaron does, and the slightest hint that maybe we’ll move a piece of furniture throws him into a fit of happy skipping and anticipation.

You probably think this sounds like a wonderful attribute, and I’m sure it is. But it drives me a little batty when all the knick knacks, family photographs and books that I spent an embarrassing amount of time placing  just so (because I’m not obsessive) in the two enormous bookcases on either side of our fireplace are now in different spots. While I was on the phone with a client and trying to act professional while simultaneously performing mommy duty, Aaron dutifully took advantage of what he knew was a weakened state of authority and moved EVERY SINGLE object on those shelves. Later while I was on the phone with a friend, he decided his first interior decorating escapade wasn’t quite right, and he moved everything again.

While bemoaning to my friend about how Aaron’s need for clean has turned into an insistence on reorganizing my world, she made a brilliant suggestion, why don’t you teach him how to alphabetize and then he can work in your office filing those stacks of paper that drive you crazy. Ah hah!  Project slave labor shall commence shortly.

I used to worry he was mimicking my sometimes OCD tendencies and wonder where he learned such behavior and if this need for clean is some sort of karmic slap (it’s not like I have to color coordinate the bathroom towels or anything), but this morning everything became startlingly clear, and as usual it’s all his father’s fault. While Aaron was repeatedly harassing Kim to get out of bed and join us in the family room so he could begin egg hunting, my husband couldn’t  join the festivities until he’d taken care of a small matter. That’s right, even on Easter morning with the promise of a a child’s chocolate giggles, my dear better half had to make the bed before he could leave the room.

I suppose I really shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when after hunting for Easter eggs and marveling over his basket full of loot, Aaron quickly went about the task of organizing his treasure. He raided the Tupperware drawer…one container for candy, one for the new play dough, one for empty plastic eggs, etc. Then he carefully disposed of all the grass lining (because, Mommy it’s really messy) and finally, he spent 7.4 minutes vacuuming his Easter basket.

Hey, it’s a tough economy. I may hire him out. How much do you think I could charge per hour for the cleaning services of an adorable 5-year-old with an organizational fixation?

I hope you all had a fantastic weekend, branded with your own style of organized chaos.