Davyn is a shameless flirt. Just yesterday he winked at my mom in a random moment, cracking me up completely. Aidan, on the other hand, truly tries to avoid attention outside his small zone of comfort. To the point of completely ignoring any adult who addresses him in public. Sometimes this is embarrassing because I want to raise polite children. Then again, I don’t want to squeeze responses out of them that they’re not ready to give. Comfort zones do deserve some consideration.
At any rate, those anti-social worries are over. Or at least preempted. By worries about his newfound public tongue. Oh my. Three times in one day this week I was startled (and mildly embarrassed) by my new boy.
First it was at SuperCuts. Waiting our turn, he warms up on the older boy awaiting his own. “You here for a haircut?” The poor kid looks from A to me with a half-hearted smile and slight nod. But A is obviously undaunted. Because the haircut chair (is there a real word for that thing?) becomes his stage. Of nonstop jabber. “That’s my little brother over there. He’s three.” Pause. Half-hearted smile again, but from Miss I-Hate-Working-at-Super-Cuts-and-Pretending-I-Like-Kids. “And his favorite color is orange.” Still no response, but he’s not about to give up.
“And London’s favorite color is orange” (both of my children assume that everyone in the world obviously must know their cousin London) “she’s 4” (if not her age). "And I'm 5. And..." This is when I interceded. Because I could tell he was just winding up, and at a decibel that insured full disclosure to an entire room of strangers. I’ve taught one too many primary classes where family secrets were proudly broadcast by tiny tongues.
But another stop took care of that fear (if memory loss & smelly feet can be considered family secrets). To the Kohl’s checker: “It’s Lily’s birthday today, but my mom lost the dress she bought for her a long time ago. That’s why we had to buy these new clothes. And my mom wanted new shoes because the ones she’s wearing are kinda stinky.”
Nice. And now I’m grateful that my own sister is the boy’s primary teacher. She already knows all my dark & dirties.
Then there was the parking lot. Where a minivan neighbor had a flat. A man was kneeling beside the removed tire with a toolbox. Forgetting the magnetic quality of such a scene for my two, I hopped into the car and then realized they had not followed. One glance out the passenger window revealed two boys squatting down beside this stranger. I got out of the car just in time to hear Aidan confidently confer, “I think your tire musta run over something sharp in the road.” As though he had been brought in for consultation. And the man gave no response. So I rushed the boys into the car apologetically.
One of my favorite Jim stories: At 2 or 3-years-old he was traveling with his grandparents from Luna to Mesa, jabbering non-stop from minute to minute. And as the minutes became hours, one of them turned to say, "Can you ever stop talking?" To which he replied, "You don't know what this tongue can do."
Jim's tongue sat smugly still for the rest of that trip, but I can't help but think those same words as I see Aidan's wag in public. My boy is gaining confidence. At the cost of a red-cheeked mom, sure, but that's a price I'll gladly pay.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008 at 03:39PM 
Zero complaints from these four barbarians. 
(after licking off a layer of frosting, of course)
