Obligatory Alex Post

Now, I try to be careful about the cutesy Alex stories, for reasons I’ll explain below. But this one, well, it’s funny. At least to me. So I’ll share.

I believe it’s been well-established that Alex is a talker, a chatty fella, if you will. But he’s now taking the talking one step further and repeating every. single. thing. his daddy says or does. Fortunately, his daddy doesn’t really say or do anything inappropriate (unless he’s tackling a home improvement project). It’s just that his daddy is very funny, and Alex tries to imitate the funny, and much hilarity ensues.

So last night, when I let David know that supper was ready, he walked into the kitchen, looked at all the fixins, and immediately began to sing an impromptu homily: “Sweet Mary, Mother of God, we have some meaaaaat-baaaallls.” Alex, who was standing in a kitchen chair, watched every move his daddy made, and then, perfectly on pitch: “Sweet Mary, mother of God, we got some meaaaaat-baaaallls.”

I mean, that IS funny. Exact same inflections. Exact same expressions. Couldn’t have sung it any better if he were administering the sacraments on a Sunday morning.

Last week I actually posted another example of how A. imitates his daddy, but David thought it just reeked of “Oh look at my child – isn’t he just an angel, an angel straight from heaven,” so I deleted the post. Don’t get me wrong – I think it’s wonderful to adore your children, but I try not to venture overboard lest my friends and family be tempted to ram their vehicles into large concrete barriers after reading the blog. The last thing in the world I want to be is That Mama, the one who puts up the facade that everything in her family is just perfect and wonderful and she never gets tired of meaningful interaction with her children and really, even though she tries to be humble about it, she’s tempted to put a bumper sticker on the back of her Suburban that says World’s Greatest Mom because she IS, y’all. She IS.

A couple of months ago I had to take A. to the doctor on a Sunday, and there were two other families in the waiting room. One family was sitting quietly, but the other family? Well, let’s just say that the MOTH-er? Who was READ-ing? BOOKS? To her LIT-tle GIRL? In loud SING-SONG tones? And “OH, SWEET-heart, do you SEE the BIRD in that PIC-ture? THAT is so PRET-ty! Isn’t that PRET-ty? OH, YES, the bird IS blue! VERY GOOD!” She went on and on, with EVERY DETAIL more EXCITING than the LAST!

It probably goes without saying that I have a hard time relating to mothers who talk to their children like they’re being filmed for some Learning Channel special about how to interact with toddlers, like the mamas in Target who so patiently explain, “NO, Hannah Grace, we don’t eat COOK-ies before LUNCH-TIME, but you can have a ba-NAN-a if you’d like” because meanwhile, I’m over on the canned goods aisle gritting my teeth down to nubs, with my face one inch from Alex’s, hissing, “Sit down in the cart. Right now. If you don’t sit. down. right. now. I will WEAR. YOU. OUT. Because I have HAD IT.”

Anyway, after the woman who was reading books in the doctor’s office got called back to a room, the other mother, the quiet mother, looked at me, looked at her husband, looked to make sure the READ-ing mother wasn’t listening and said, “Mark my word. She keeps THAT up? Reading like that? Her little girl will jump off of a building by the time she’s five.”

Now THAT’s a mama I’d like to know better.