What the Kids Are Up To

James-
It's January 10th, and I'm not sure that James has actually yet worn anything other than pajamas in 2020. I am reasonably certain that he hasn't worn the same pajamas for the entire new year, but I did have to stop and think about that.

I wouldn't mind the pajama thing so much except that he's so unreasonable about the interruptions between pajama time. When he has to change into church clothes on Sunday morning--this would be our weekly guarantee to get him out of jammies, but this last Sunday I called in sick for the first time in 9 years--he puts off the change until the last possible second and then lovingly lays out his pajamas on the floor, face up, and free from wrinkles.

His Sunday shirt and pants, meanwhile, are often on backwards. Or inside out. Or both.

As soon as we get back into the house he's in his pajamas again. And this is also true for trips to the grocery store on a Tuesday afternoon, or stepping outside for piano lessons. He's back in pajamas as soon as we're back in the door. Even if he knows that we're just heading out again 30 minutes later, he wants to be jammied for those 30 minutes. If a well-meaning parent tosses his dirty pajamas in a laundry basket (perhaps hoping that we can keep him in jeans and a sweater for more than the bare minimum amount of time) he just goes upstairs and finds another set of pajamas.

And though our sweet oldest child is endlessly patient and uncomplaining with his younger siblings and most of the inconveniences of his life, I do catch a glimpse of teenage righteous anger on the rare occasions when all of his pjs are dirty and in the laundry. "Dad," he'll sass "when are you EVER going to get around to doing the laundry."

"It's already done, it just needs folding."
"Okay, I'm going to go get some in the basement."
"Stay out of the basement. Whenever you dig through it it all ends up on the basement floor."
"But DAAADD!!!!"

Owen--
Owen had, over the course of about 24 hours, a bad allergic reaction to flaxseed, the start of the cold, and pinkeye. He's been much braver about the eyedrops for the pinkeye than James, though. James squints and wiggles and involuntarily puts his hands up. He whimpers and complains and somebody has to hold him still.

Owen lies ramrod straight on the floor with eyes wide open, unblinking. Part of him must enjoy being a daredevil. He's cycling through all of the colors of the rainbow with his M&M reward.

I foolishly taught both of them how to do the 1st down game (I think we called it 'calisthenics') that we used to play in the living room growing up. The idea was that one brother had a football and four tries to move it from the doorway to the closet. Everyone else tried to tackle them. Perhaps for younger siblings there was a blocker allowed? That's the way that we've been playing it with Owen, anyhow.

Owen takes a lot of punishment. For one thing, he doesn't have the sense to go down easily when he's all wrapped up and not going any further, so he ensures that it's a violent affair whenever he's tackled. He also has no patience for setting up his "runs" or avoiding contact. He wants to smash into you as hard as he can and keep pushing. And finally, James is so long and gangly that he usually tackles Owen using a horse collar or some other method that involves hooking and looping down rather than wrapping up.

Like I said, the knowledge of some games should just remain hidden.

Felix-
We had a discussion over break about whether or not Felix is a good kid. The question was--is he usually a good kid, or is he just usually not a bad kid? What Felix wants out of life isn't typically hard to give him. He likes to motor toy cars along window ledges and tote his George around behind whatever his brothers are doing. He likes to kick in the bathtub and look through books.

But, increasingly, he also is developing a taste for some naughtier activities. And there is no convincing him that ripping up library books isn't a good idea. Or, for example, turning on space heaters. ("I want to touch the hot.") Or flicking light switches up and down to make a strobe light. ("I turn light on and off.") Or throwing/dumping enormously full bins of LEGOs onto a freshly cleaned floor. "(I dump.")

It's helpful that he narrates everything that he does. This has saved us from disaster several times, including when I overheard from the other room "I cut my hair."

He's still amiable and well-behaved the vast majority of the time. (Currently he's pretending that two of the wise men from our nativity scene are rockets and that they are flying through the living room.) But if he gets a bad idea, there's no talking him out of it. ("I NEED'a play in the bathroom!")