Saturday, November 15, 2014

Wesley, or How to Feel Better About Your Own Children


Yes, yes, that is Wesley on top of the counter, with his roller blades, getting candy out of the candy basket.  And, yes, I stopped to take the picture.  In fact, since he got up there on his own, I let him get down on his own. 



Wesley was mad that I didn’t buy him a new costume (which means he hasn’t saved the marbles to buy one), so he drew a costume on himself.  Since he wears shorts no matter the weather, he has more skin to show. 



He is perfectly fine hanging off branches.  Wearing shorts.



Swinging upside down on the beach over wet rocks.  We will never, ever get his IQ tested.  We’re going to push sports instead.



He made an obstacle course which centered on turning over the slide and jumping from the top, over and over.  Usually, he starts on the window sill, jumps to the top of the bookcase, scrambles to the slide-on-its-side, over the to bar, and then swings from the pull-up bar.  Since he had a friend over, he may have played the gentleman and cut the obstacle course down to one stupid stunt. 



Kyla has a plaque from a neighbor hanging over her bed that reads “Do Not Disturb the Queen.”  So Wesley insisted on a “Do Not Disturb the King” sign for his door.  This is his sign.  In one of his sweeter moments, he asked Piper if she wanted a “Do Not Disturb the Princess” sign.  She declined, not so politely, because he doesn’t know how to spell so well.  It’s no wonder he calls Piper the “mean sister” and Kyla the “nice one”.  He’s not entirely wrong.


Another Wesley story.  He’s my only kid who actually eats bananas straight from the fruit bowl.  One morning, I was out of eggs when I was making pancakes, so I put in a banana instead.  Wesley was on his second pancake before Kyla sat down. She exclaimed, “These are so good, Mama!  Are they banana pancakes?”  Wesley throws down his fork, screaming, “I hate banana pancakes!  These are so yucky! I won’t eat them!” and runs off to his room. But it was a pretty good morning, because he usually throws that tantrum as soon as I announce what’s for breakfast (unless it’s cereal).  He’s definitely a kid affected by hunger and he looses even the little smattering of brain cells he had.



I’ve had a surprisingly number of people comment how handsome Wesley is.  I don’t actually see it most of the time.  I think it’s because I see him yelling, screaming, pouting, crying, kicking, and generally being unpleasant.  (A friend who takes Wesley often said this weekend when she visited us at the cabin, “I’ve never seen this side of Wesley before” during a particularly uncooperative walk on the beach.  I replied, “This is the Wesley I live with.”)  But the boy does eventually fall asleep.  Not usually in his own bed, but by 8pm, I’m not picky. And then  he’s kinda of heart-stopping. 

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