It seems both perfect and ironic that Jack started his theater class today. At breakfast, he became disappointed about something, immediately adopted his pout pose (hunched shoulders, pouty lips) and then “fainted.” When Oliver and I picked him up from theater, he was elated, having volunteered to play a Wild Thing and then rumpus’d with 100% enthusiasm. In addition, two of his “girlfriends” from school were there, older gals (school employees) on whom he has major crushes. We went on a cookie date to celebrate such a successful first day of theater, he dropped his cookie three times, spilled his milk, poached some of Oliver’s cookie, and bumped his leg twice. He managed to remain thrilled so I assumed, dumbly, that we were set for the afternoon. No, we got home, he bumped himself again, saw that Oliver had drawn (in pencil!) on three sheets of scratch paper that apparently were of the utmost importance to Jack, despite the fact that we found them in an old paper bag. He immediately threw himself on the floor, wailing and gnashing his teeth.
Say what? He just walked into the etagere, is crying again as a result, and Oliver is sitting in a box at my feet drinking some water. He has had his moments today; major tears over my cleaning out the dustbuster. Granted, O woke up at 5:13am and that’s just not fun for anyone, but you have to know that I could not make this stuff up even if I wanted to. And to think that I thought I avoided drama by having boys. HAH! Was I on crack to think that?
I say, dear lads o’ mine, an early bedtime is in your near future, wine and lobster in mine.