No, not a gory doctoring post.

I was thinking about the differences between my two kids.  Though I wouldn’t have believed it before becoming a parent, I’m beginning to think more that personality is determined at birth.  Really, the Boy has always had that same look in his eye, the same fervent curiousity about the world around him and the same restlessness since he was born.  The Girl hasn’t had as long to show herself, but so far she’s just sweet, happy, and there’s something really beautiful about her that just shines. (Someone, please remind me of this post when they are teenagers and slam their bedroom doors in my face and shout, “You’re ruining my life!! I hate you!!”)

To that end, this morning at the breakfast table I commented to Eric that the difference between the kids is that the Boy has more of an inner fire and the Girl has more of an inner light. I’m hoping this doesn’t come across as too cheesy. (I have an inner traffic light that is perpetually set to blinking red, if that helps)

The Boy was having none of this.

“I DON’T have a fire inside me!!” he kept insisting. “I don’t WANT fire inside me!”

“Well, what do you want inside you?”

“Just blood!!”

okay then.

My sister was in town for the holidays, and it was generally great fun.  One thing I learned about her–she is an awful storyteller.  She started to tell the boy a story, and I ungraciously interrupted to suggest that she tell “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”. Her telling of this was so terrible that he couldn’t take it anymore and started to tell his own story.

“Roary the Lion” by the Boy. (with some liberties taken in the paraphrasing)

Roary was walking down the street, and then a car camed and zoomed over him. And then he died! And then he went to the three bears house, and ate all their porridge, and ate everything in their house, and ate all the bears. And then he went back to the zoo. And then the bears came out and went back home, and they saw that the porridge was gone, and they cried. So they  made cookies instead and sat in front of the fireplace and watched the fire and the christmas tree, and they were happy! The end.

On the way home from a fabulous dinner tonight with some new friends, Eric asked me, “What complicated toy are we going to get the Boy this Christmas?” To which I replied, “Huh?” He says, “You know, like the kitchen we got last year that took 4 beers and all of ‘Knocked Up’ and ‘Superbad’ to put together”

From the back seat, we hear, “What’s knocked up? Knocked up?? What’s that?!” As we dissolve into laughter, the crescendo only rises, “What IS that?! Knocked up?!”

Lately, the Boy has been crawling into our bed around 3 AM every night, saying, “My room is too scary.”  Groggily, we feel him stumble over us and plop into bed, only to whine a few minutes later, “I don’t have a pillow!”

Last night, he had trouble falling asleep so he went into our bed and read until he fell asleep.  I went up to bed and he was sprawled out next to his animal encylopedia, fast asleep.  I awkwardly picked him up to transport him to his own bed, and he started to protest, “no! no!” I thought he wanted to stay in our bed, but the next sentence was, “I have to finish my building!”

I’ve always wondered what he dreams about.  Considering how much time he spends pretending to be Bob the Builder when he is awake, I shouldn’t be terribly surprised. Perhaps he IS Bob the Builder.

The Boy has a world in which many inanimate objects converse with each other, and sometimes with himself.  Yesterday I got him to eat because I told him that the peas needed to talk to the pasta in his tummy, and the pasta was lonely in there all by itself.  After he scarfed down the peas, he then re-enacted the conversation that they would have.

“Hey Pasta! How you doing in there!” “Good, Peas!”

And today, I learned that the sun converses with the clouds:

“Clouds, I am tired and want to go to sleep.” “Ok, Sun, good night!”

So that’s how they agree on sunset every night.

The snugglers