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the super incredibly amazing power of new sheets

September 28, 2010


Graysen’s new Rugrats sheets held more sway over him the other morning than I did, not that this surprises me.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get out of bed–I didn’t have to wrest him from the flannely softness.

Rather, Gray is so enamored of these new sheets that he had to make his bed very carefully. Meticulously. Slowly. Before getting dressed. Before eating breakfast. He did it with a look of deep concentration on his face. He smoothed every wrinkle, settled his monster in just right. He even fluffed his pillow.

This desire to make his bed is wonderful, and I really hope it lasts. The last thing I would ever want to do is dissuade my children from tidying anything. The problem, however, is that making his bed consumed most of the time he needed to get ready for school (a Herculean task that usually involves much ado about polo shirts and a neverending odyssey to find matching socks, not to mention shoes…).

And did I mention that he felt the need to make the bed twice?

I’m not sure what happened, exactly. I asked him to go get dressed. Gently reminded him that we would have to leave very very soon. Very. Soon.

He humphed off into his room and I tended to something, not sure what now, got my own shoes on, tended to something else…. Bugged Soren, who was still in his AM Pre-Verbal Stupor, to eat something at least reasonably healthy for breakfast. Let the dog out. Bugged Soren again about finding something reasonably healthy to take to school for lunch….then…Chiara came in looking perplexed.

“I can’t find my shoes,” she said, looking around the empty living room floor. Gray’s lost shoe odyssey isn’t the only one I have to tangle with on a daily basis.

“I think they’re in the bedroom,” I told her, and started moving in that direction.

And they were. And so was Graysen. Who was still not dressed. No…instead, he was carefully smoothing his blanket again. Then he gently placed his new belt on the window ledge, and straightened it out perfectly, lined up exactly with the edge, as though it had to get some sun while he was gone.

I felt the edge of my patience creep up.

“Graysen!” I said, none too kindly. “I asked you to get dressed!!”

“I WAS!” he barked in reply. His clothes lay rumpled on the floor.

“On what planet do you call this ‘getting dressed?'” I asked, rhetorically.

Which of course pissed him off. He growled at me. I resisted the urge to growl back, took a deep breath and helped him take his jammies off.

Later that afternoon, I looked at his belt, sunning in the window, and smiled. Graysen has a certain precision about him, a personality that I know will get him far in life.

But he just might end up being late to everything.

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