Straddling the "big boy" line

The boys are at that age where they insist they are big boys -- about everything.

They want to do just about everything themselves, even when they really can't do it themselves. But of course we have to let them try.

Sometimes, they amaze us with their ability to do/think/accomplish things. Other times, we're reminded that they are still tiny little boys who were just babies a half a second ago.

And still other times, they expertly straddle the "big boy" line.

Last night, for example, I woke up from a dead sleep because Dean was in his bed, crying. He sounded so much like a baby, at first I thought it was Clair. I stumbled into his room, and asked what was wrong.

"I have to go peeeee-peeee," he wailed.

I escorted him into the bathroom, turned on the light, hoisted him up onto the toilet and stood back to wait. He looked up at me, disapprovingly, face swollen from sleep.

"Mommy," he said. "I need privacy."

So I waited patiently outside the bathroom door for him to finish peeing. It was 3:45 a.m.

When he was done, I walked him back into his room, and was greeted by a groggy Cary, saying he now had to go pee-pee, too.

I walked him in to the bathroom, hoisted him up, waited for him to finish, helped him pull up his pajamas, walked him back into the bedroom and attempted to tuck him in.

"No Mommy!" he said, way too loudly for 3:45 in the morning. "I don't need help!"

He pulled the comforter up around him and curled up on his pillow.

As I walked back to my room, all I could think was, "If you are such big boys, who need privacy but don't need my help, then WHY AM I AWAKE AT 3:45 IN THE MORNING HELPING YOU TO PEE???"

(Note: I also need to point out that this exact scene played out earlier in the night - around 10 p.m. - except Lester was the one who got shooed out of the bathroom by Dean for privacy's sake. And he had to physically carry Cary, like a baby, into the bathroom to allow him to pee. Ugh! These 3-year-olds! Babies/big boys? Who can tell?)

Emerging independence

In the mornings, the boys hang out upstairs with us while we get ready for work. They usually do a fairly good job of destroying the upstairs, but there's not much we can do, as we have to get ready and the boys are too young to play downstairs by themselves while we get dressed.

Or are they?

This morning, Cary decided that he was going to go downstairs, by himself. I was unaware that he had ventured to the first floor because Dean was still around distracting me by handing me stray bobby pins he found lying around, and pulling on Lester's phone chargers.
Then I heard the melodic sounds of "Old MacDonald" coming from downstairs.
"Where's Cary?" I yelled to Lester, who was in the next room.
"Downstairs," he said, nonchalantly.

My first reaction was to go get him, but then I thought about it. The baby gates are up. We've pretty much made sure the first floor is kid-friendly. What's the harm? He wanted to play with his toys, and we were taking too long getting ready, so he took matters into his own hands.
I decided to let him be.

A few minutes later, I noticed that it was awfully quiet down there. No B-I-N-G-O. No annoying Cookie Monster "C-is-for cookie," toy going off incessantly. Just quiet.

I leaned over the banister and yelled: "CARE-EEE?"

"Hmmm?" he said.

"What are you doing?"

To which, my 18-month-old child actually replied, "Reee!"

I stepped down a few steps, in order to peek between the stairway slats. And sure enough, there he was, sitting on the playmat, books strewn all around, "reading" his "Beep Beep" book.

And when he was finished, he simply crawled back up the steps and began taking things from Dean, causing the normal weekday morning commotion.

As much as people always say, "It's so great you have twins; they can entertain one another!" I have to say that -- surprisingly -- I liked it so much better this morning when at least one of my boys discovered he could entertain himself. By himself.