Because, I obviously don’t write about them nearly enough. Also, I’ve got nothing else. It’s all parenting, all the time around here. (Well, except for when Bob and I watch Hawaii Five-O. It’s not about the kids then. It’s about Bob getting all fanboy about the muscle cars they drive. It’s such total product placement but he doesn’t care. For the record, that show is ridiculous.) ANYWAY, I digress…
Henry had an appointment for a teeth cleaning yesterday. When he wrapped up the exam, the dentist recommended to Bob and I that we take Henry to have a consultation with an orthodontist. It appears that he has some crowding issues from the newly hatched adult teeth in his mouth. I did a double-take because, WHAT? He’s not even eight years old! He’s only seven! He was just a toddler, like, yesterday. Why, he’s practically a baby! Surely, you aren’t advocating putting braces on an INFANT! Then, I realized that – holy goodness – Henry is almost eight years old. I am definitely not the type of parent that laments the passage of time, however, I’m feeling it lately with this eldest son of my mine.
I think we’re pretty much at that Glory Days phase with Henry; that lovely age where kids are old enough to exhibit reason, can get their own snacks, work the “On Demand” feature of the remote control and occupy their own time without the need for constant supervision. There isn’t a weekend that goes by without Bob and I remarking to each other about how awesome Henry is. (In fact, we should probably tone the compliments down a notch for the sake of everyone’s self-esteem.) But, really, he is a complete delight. He’s thoughtful, smart, caring towards his siblings, helpful when needed and fun to talk with.
I’m assuming this behavior is completely unsustainable. This golden age of youth is the pre-cursor to tween-dom and I know I should soak up this charming behavior while it lasts. Because someday soon, he’s going to start wanting to watch the regular Disney channel. And, I think that signals the beginning of the end.
This past Saturday, not too long after the above picture was snapped, we lit those two candles, sang our best birthday wishes to Millie and helped her extinguish the flames. As I removed the candles from the cake, Henry asked if he could lick the frosting off of them. I said, “of course” and handed both to him. He proceeded to pass one of the candles to Charlie (see above mention of being a good guy).
Before I could even rustle up the dessert plates, it dawned on me that Charlie was chewing on something. Since frosting normally isn’t consumed with such effort, I became quite puzzled. And, since my mind attributes a certain (albeit small) amount of common sense to a four-year-old, it certainly didn’t dawn on me that he was chewing on the candle. However, that is indeed EXACTLY what he was doing. Charlie had eaten the entire birthday candle, frosting remnants and all. I disbelievingly swiped my finger through his mouth (you know, like what you do to babies) and sure enough, chewed up bits of white wax emerged. It was mostly gone at that point and our guest quickly started googling the toxicity of tiny celebratory candles.
I would have loved to have been privy to Charlie’s internal dialogue when Henry handed him that candle. Just to know how he ended up looking at that wax, seeing the charred remains of the wick, feeling the stiff, textured surface and still concluding that consuming the entire thing was the right approach. We have high hopes for Charlie. Curing cancer is not one of them.
Millie’s favorite song is Katy Perry’s, Roar. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about this. I know it’s her favorite because she absolutely freaks out when it comes on. She throws her hands above her head and stomps her feet and just dances like nobody’s watching (which is how all those inspirational posters tell me it should be done). She also puts her hands to her mouth and, although she can’t technically talk yet, she yells “ROAR!” at all the right times. It is super, super cute. Although, I should probably lie when I write in her baby book and attribute her first word to something like, “DaDa,” as opposed to a Katy Perry lyric . That also assumes that I will ever write anything in her baby book. Since she’s two, I should probably get on that.
In summary, orthodontia. It sounds really, really expensive. It is, isn’t it?