Monday, April 10, 2006

Identity Crisis

It was just after bath time Wednesday night. The Fellers were running around, slick little streakers reveling in their chance to play as nature intended while I was distracted with cleaning the two inches of standing water in the bathroom. My husband decided to help me out that night and grabbed the first rascal to wiggle by to dress. He grabbed the nearest outfit from the clothes I had set out and began to insert arms, legs and head while B screamed bloody murder. Meanwhile, in a fog, tuning out B's screams, I grabbed the remaining outfit and the other streaker, who was giggling with glee at his brother's evident discomfort. It was then that I noticed that my husband had grabbed the wrong outfit for B. My Mommy Noise Reduction Filter still on, I continued to pay B no mind and proceeded to dress J as B still shrieked and flailed in my husband's arms. After the Fellers were dressed, B continued to protest. He screamed, and pulled at his shirt and J leared giggled with glee. My husband and I bagan to realize B was having a major issue. We questioned him. Was something scratching him? Did he have owies? Whatwas wrong? He tried to tell us, "Daddy! Non na sir da tiggu! Boo! Mommy, Daddy nona da boo!" but really he and his brother speak Twinish, a mixture of English and Gobblety-Goo. Needless to say, my husband and I remained clueless as B began to become completely distraught, tuggging frantically at his pants and shirt. Finally, like a flying toddler, it struck me. He was upset about his outfit!

Normally, the Fellers are dressed in whatever I happen to grab that somewhat matches. Rarely, like when it's the Spiderman sweatshirt, they wear the same thing. However, that night I had laid out outfits from their first Halloween, one Pooh and one Tigger. I had always dresed B in Pooh and J in Tigger. B is going through this stage where he is very possessive about certain things: his Spiderman action figure, Luke Skywalker (NEVER Obi Wan), the Cat Blankie. The other kids cannot touch those things without B losing his composure completely. Evidently, the Pooh outfit had become one of B's things. My guess is that it is an identity thing, a way of defining himself through his unique stuff, something us singletons can never understand.

After I realized that the outfit was the problem, I briefly considered just having him stay in it. After all, it was getting late at night on an already long week. He could suck it up for one night, couldn't he? It was just an outfit. . . But one look at his distraught face and I couldn't leave it at that. So I asked J, who is normally so accommodating, if he would trade with B. Well, J was so delighted to be wearing Pooh and at B's displeasure that when I moved to undress him, he started squwaking. So that wasn't going to work. On to Plan C. Time to pull out the big guns. Time for the ultimate favorite, the Spiderman sweatshirt. No one can resist the power of the Spiderman sweatshirt, hahahahaw!!! B was more than willing to forget his distress for Spiderman. Then J saw what was going on. B can't wear Spiderman and not J! Now J was squwacking for Spiderman. But I could only find one Spiderman in the fifty million laundry baskets piled up (long week, remember). After another frantic search, I located another Spiderman sweatshirt. But it was the older brother's and a little big. Oh well, J can wear that one. Now K, the older brother, wanted Spiderman...

I guess you can't win them all.

Wow, it only took me one run-through of Shrek 2 to write this thing. By the way, now I must tear the house apart for B's Spiderman action figure because you would think losing it brought on Armageddon .


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