Anson. Age 3. Sees me in my brand new, cream-colored, thinly crocheted sweater that was oh-so popular in the year 2002. I had waited months to buy one of these bad boys. Anson takes one look at me. His eyes light up. He rushes over to where I'm standing, grabs the edges of my sweater and says, "Mommy. You look so beautiful." It was the first time I had ever heard such lovely words from my first born son. No one prepared me for how my heart would melt...how I would suddenly feel like I had missed my calling as a supermodel (if you ignore the baby snot that was probably on my shoulder and in parts of my hair). No one told me that hearing such sweet, heartfelt praise from a son could immediately make a mother's entire life. My head was rather big, and I was feeling so incredibly beautiful that I almost didn't hear Anson say, "Mom! You look just like Spider Man with that shirt." Wah-wah. Record scratch. He spent the rest of the day aiming his Spider Man hand at my torso, pretending to shoot out a web. I spent the rest of the day trying to ignore him.
Hayden. Age 4. Tall, leather black boots have surfaced in the fashion world. I got some for my birthday. I put those high-heeled suckers on and walked into the living room feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Hayden looks my way, starts jumping up and down on the couch and chanting..."You are so cool, mom. You are so cool!" I was equally marveling at my four year old's obvious fashion sense and feeling like a rock star. Why didn't I run? Run like mad? Hayden stopped jumping and said, "You look cool...like a Power Ranger. Can I wear your boots? Please?" He went and immediately put on a costume. So we could "match."
Hudson. Age 3.5. Last night I'm sporting my skinny jeans and tall, semi-furry brown boots. I'm a little hot and sweaty from stuffing my pants legs tightly into my boots. They have to be just right, ya know. If we're tucking our pants into our boots again, can I just say that I vote that stirrup pants come back in style? I'll run the campaign, make the posters, pass out the buttons if I must. I really will. I mean it. Hudson runs around the corner, enters my room, stops dead in his tracks, and proceeds to stare me up and down. I have no idea what to expect. His wheels are turning. "Mom. I like it. I like you boots."
Aw. Nice. He's being nice! I'm just about to swoop him up and thank him for his sweet compliment when I hear...
"You look like Hiccup!"
Aaron tried to save the day (while laughing).
"Don't you think mom looks like Astrid?"
Hudson thought it over. "No. She look like Hiccup."
Note to self: When your son says something nice, take those words and your high-heeled boots and run out of the room. Run for your life. Run fast before they tell you that you look like a prepubescence Viking boy.
Don't say I never warned you.