Paginas... ewwww

Having helped raise a daughter through pre-teen years, then teen years, then the early 20's, this is what I tell people all the time... I say that I learned a lot of things during those chapters and have also learned a lot during the early years with my 4 boys. But the space between the boys' ages and our daughter's age when I met her are all a question mark to me... As the boys have gotten older, the gap of time about which I'm clueless is narrowing... I now have only NOT raised kids ages 8-10. I know a lot about ages 0-7 years and a lot about ages 10-27 years... ages 8-10 remains a mystery yet to discover.

I learned after the twins to watch for signs that the next page was turning and then a new chapter was ahead. So when Adrian would do something a certain way that was suddenly different and showed a new awareness, I wasn't surprised... often times, I even anticipated it, opening the door for it, letting it mosey on through, letting the door go gently after checking one last time for any stragglers heading my way to show me how grown up my baby was becoming. I do the same now with Santiago, although sometimes his growth and turning of pages does catch me off guard. I suppose it's because he is the youngest, and therefore I still see him as more of a baby since there isn't someone younger behind him giving me the same perspective into his own growth the way it would if he had a younger sibling to contrast the difference in stages.

Sometimes the signs that we have turned a page are as minor as the day the twins suddenly said "fishes" instead of "bitches" or when, through the years, each of the 4 boys cracked their head on the kitchen counter because they had suddenly grown and could no longer clear the counter when they ran through the kitchen... it was a right of passage, really: "Oooooh you're big NOW!" There were things like the day they insisted on buckling their own seat belt and the day you knew the baby gate wasn't going to keep them out of anything anymore... I still remember the precise moment with each of them when I heard the click and then the feet hitting the forbidden floor space. 

One of my favorite milestones is the day they start wiping their own butts. We count down the days to that one. The magic age in my house appears to be 7... it's unanimous... and very few things all yield the same answer among 4 boys under my roof. My 6 year old is already telling me we just have just 10 more months of wiping his butt.  And yet... we have turned a different page this week. I regret that the page had to be turned in a public restroom, but that also has been shown to be par for the course. I have heard many a chuckle in public bathrooms over the years as people listen in on my kids' opinions and uninhibited expressions. These people are innocent bystanders who didn't ask for the lively happenings in the stall next to them, and they have no choice but to hear it in all of its booming, echoing glory.  (We always appreciate good sports).

So, normally, my 6 year old yells out he's done and very confidently summons me over to wipe his butt, while using his hands to motion me to him quickly so he can grab onto my legs and bend over, tucking his head between my knees every single time without a thought. This is the routine and has been since he swore off diapers the day of his 2nd birthday. 

This time, out of the blue, he suddenly does something different - he grabs my legs and then loudly scolds, "Eww Mommy, don't put your pagina in my face!" I stifle the urge to explain to anyone listening that I do not, in fact, have my pagina - err, vagina -- in anyone's face, that I am, in fact, fully dressed and not assaulting anyone, and that I'm merely doing him the favor of cleaning his backside instead of sitting in the truck eating my Pringles like I'd rather be doing. No, instead I just make that proverbial check mark in the book, lick the tip of my index finger, and turn the page... And then... I smile at everyone as we shuffle from the stall to the sink. Well, it's not so much a smile as an upturned, tight-lipped, wide-eyed, non-verbal apology that I do when I just don't have words. 

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