To each his own.

 I sometimes try to remember each child as a baby.  Or a little toddler.  But it's really hard.  I can envision snippets.  I can remember emotions, and stories.  But I really cannot remember each child as anyone other than who they are today.  Just like your own memories.  You remember them through your head as you are now, not as a little 5 year old or a high school-er.  After all, it was always you.  You've always had the same brain, it's just your physical appearance and size changes somewhat. Well, I do remember having to slide the kitchen chairs across the floor to climb on the counter to reach the cereal bowls...so I guess SOME memories are to scale.  But not many.

From day one, there were two comments that remained consistent from anyone who met Brock for more than a brief moment; "look at those eyes, he is so alert" and, "that boy is busy".  And guess what?  This has not changed a bit.  Brock has been Brock since he joined us in the hospital that November 23rd afternoon. No detail goes unnoticed.  My mom once tried to play a trick on him with food, before he could even speak...likely, by food, I mean some kind of sugary chewy candy...where she pretended to switch it from one hand to another. Or she pretended to eat it while leaving it in her hand.  Or something along those lines.  Something that a child his age should have easily been fooled by, due to the lack of object permanence. He wouldn't believe it.  He knew EXACTLY which hand continued to hold that candy.  And he was not going anywhere without her opening her hand and revealing the prize.  To this day, Brock has constant tabs on the household. Where things go, how much battery is left on the iPad, what kind of cereal selection we currently offer.  If things change on him, unexpectedly, it creates a lot of anxiety, a bit of obsessing, and a miserable day for us all. He is alert.  And in order to keep up on all of these goings ons, he must be busy.  End of story.

Now, as he has aged a bit, I can see where this alert, busy-ness is headed.  To control-freak land.  He gets it from his momma. I feel bad as I watch him at his friend's bounce house birthday party.  It's all too crazy, new, unknown.  He cannot loosen up and have fun. I watch Brock with his internal struggle to let go and just be a wild, silly, fun-loving 4-year-old, yet remain in control of his surroundings and everyone in them at the same time.  If this cannot be accomplished, then there is no point.  It's overload, meltdown, anxiety attack time.  All of this, while his little brother, who has no problem taking advantage of a fun situation, is running about, showing other kids how it's really done. No fear there.  No foe either.

Curtis.  Though he has definitely reached the terrible two stage with "Mine" being his all time favorite word currently (or, as I once read on Pinterest, "the only reason it's called "terrible two's" is because "fucking awful" doesn't begin with a 't'." Pardon my language, what? It's a quote, alright.) It's all kind of hilarious.  At 6:25am, 5 minutes before my alarm is set to sound, with Brock and Curtis sauntering into our room, and invading our bed.  I hear, "My phone!" repeated, over and over and over, as Curtis tries to play with MY phone.  I just laugh. This little baby legitimately thinks that the louder and more insistently and more frequently he yells that something very obviously not his, is MINE, than it will become that way? And all before the sun is up!?  You just have to laugh.  And that is always what we've done with this one.  There is no manipulation behind his ways, it's all genuine, heartfelt emotion.  He wears his heart on his sleeve. He smiles at everyone and he will join in any game.  From day one, "Is he always that happy?"  Still rings true, even in his tantrums. 

Speaking of tantrums, our curious George, the sponge, has decided that Curtis' little dramatic events are quite fun to replicate. He does this while also making his little stink face, or one of the many other expressions he exhibits.  Like his oldest brother, he is quite observant, pointing out any interesting sight or sound with an extended arm and a high pitched, "Eh?"  But like the middle child, he is generally content most of the time, happy even. He manages to keep up with those older two, it's quite remarkable.  He has begun blowing raspberries, as learned from Curtis.  He instantaneously dances to anything resembling music, even if it's a creepy noise coming from a toy low on battery life. He says Taties, and Mamma, Dadda, Bye bye, Uh uh (Uh oh), Thank you, and repeats any boy sound from his brothers.  No question he's inquisitive and bright.  If his behaviors didn't indicate these traits...that huge noggin sure did.  All fore-brain.  All genius. 

I observe, evaluate, hug, kiss, wrestle these boys constantly.  When I am working all day, I randomly imagine one of their funny faces or humorous comments or silly actions, and I just smile. Perhaps even laugh to myself.  If I think about them too much, I will miss them.  Just after a couple hours away.  Twelve years ago, I had this problem only with Matt.  Now there are 4 boys distracting me from my day.  It's a wonder I ever get anything done, besides blogging about how much I love these stinkers that had my heart since day one.