In the span of a few days, I have marveled aloud about how wonderful it is that Shea is 5. He is so much more independent, will play happily by himself, decides what he would like to do, eat, watch and likes it, can motor around in the pool (with the floaty vest) and not need elbow to elbow supervision. Suddenly he doesn't seem as needy. He's 5!
And, then, I turn my head.
Today, somehow he found a can of blue paint. House paint. From the addition.
WTF? He pried off the lid and managed to paint all over the back deck, front porch and siding before I saw what was up and had a mini coronary. Sure enough, blue paint ALL OVER THE PLACE!
I wish this was a unique situation. But, a pattern has developed recently.
First I noticed the book destruction. Now, to an avid reader, book destruction is right up there with facism and crazy cults that tell you what to do. How could my child destroy books? But, he does and quite efficiently. I find the tell tale signs, little pieces of pages, covers, front pages all over the floor. It isn't that he doesn't like them but almost that he loves them to pieces... a lot of pieces.
"Hm." my addled mommy brain muses as I pick up the mess. Yet again.
What is this? It's like he is a puppy and when he is bored and there is no one around to tell him "NO!" he will eat the couch. It isn't out of malice. It is out of boredom and youthful exuberance.
So, if that is true, how can I blame him that much. Isn't it my fault that I wasn't watching? Isn't it my fault that I haven't kept him super busy 100% of the day? Isn't it? Huh?
Sigh. That is what I say to myself, when I am hollering and then as if on cue, feeling bad about hollering.
Hey! But at least he didn't paint the inside the house with any blue paint. Maybe because we had already yelled at him about doing anything to the inside walls.
Maybe we are getting somewhere.