Sometimes, Sam just gets goofy. I don’t know why – but he’ll do something stupid, intentionally, to get in trouble. Not because he wants to be in trouble, but because he’s bored or wants attention or just because he’s a lunatic. And there’s no cracking him, he just wants desperately…. something. And will act like an idiot until he gets it.
And I think – I’m not sure – but I think what he wants is fight-on-the-bed.
Tonight was a classic example of this. It had been a lovely afternoon. Really. Very peaceful and relaxed, the snow is coming down and we were all home. Jessie isn’t feeling great, so she’s been moping around the house. I spent an hour on the phone with the kindle helpline (turns out you can’t have two separate email accounts with two separate calendars sync-ed up without making the calendar app shut down completely). We had dinner, Sam was teaching Julianna how to play chess (some would say it’s an exercise in futility to teach a three year year old chess).
Then it just all fell apart. Sam just got… stupid, for lack of a better term. He started screwing around and then when nobody reacted, he intentionally destroyed a paper thing that Julie had built. He knew damn well that would get a reaction, and it did. I lectured him, briefly, and when that wasn’t enough of a reaction, he then ripped it into little pieces. When he wouldn’t pick it up, I told him that I’d put him in time out if he didn’t. He said fine, but with a big grin on his face. Then I threatened to take away all electronics for tomorrow. Which he blithely agreed with – and that’s never something Sam is blithe about. Ever. I put him in time out, just for being… a pain. So I’m sitting on him, to keep him in the chair, and he’s giggling and being stupid, and I’m looking at Marc and he’s looking at me. We are just punishing him for being goofy. And not stopping.
I gave up and just walked away. I’ve got fraction homework to oversee and rugs to vacuum, punishing a seven year old for being giddy was ridiculous, and yet, he was being such a pain that I couldn’t deal with him. So I left the room. Which is where having two parents comes in handy because Marc handled it in a way that I would never have. He took off his glasses, grabbed Sam by the waistband of his pants and carried him into the bedroom. Then he flung him onto the bed. After a solid half hour of wrestling and flinging and giggling and lunacy, Sam was able to stop giggling and answer coherently. Put on pajamas even. They’re snuggled up together reading Harry Potter.
Flinging and Fight on the bed. Would never have thought of it. Boys are weird.
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