Carrots, carrots, everywhere

Beebee the scout elf, as I’ve already reported, has been perched in various lookout spots since the beginning of the month, keeping his watchful unblinking eyes on the kids (mostly the little guy) in order to report back to Santa, a fact which my wife and I are not hesitant in the least to remind the little guy about when he’s being particularly obstinate (approx. 67% of the time). The little guy also, on a recent shopping excursion, somehow convinced us to buy him an oversized plastic candy cane filled with mini Reese’s Cups, and we acquiesced primarily with the understanding that he could have one chocolate per day, along with his bedtime story, and only if he were able to get through the rigors of the bathtime and bedtime rituals with a minimum of drama-trauma. And in addition to all that, the little guy is currently working on a sticker chart; every morning, if he gets dressed by himself (with implied minimum of d-t), he gets a sticker, and if he gets enough stickers he will get to stay up a little past his usual bedtime this Friday night and watch the animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas (on dvd, because CBS broadcast it the week after this year's super-early Thanksgiving and we totally missed it because it was November, come on, network execs, seriously).

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, in other words: between Santa’s naughty-or-nice list and rationing of candy and once-a-year cartoon specials, we have no shortage of incentives for the little guy to do the things he’s supposed to do right when he’s supposed to do them. And apparently we need them in triple-force, because it has been a little tough lately. I can only speculate as to how it must feel to be four years old (no picnic in and of itself), still grappling with no longer being an only child, with a little sister who is rapidly becoming more and more assertive about her own opinions, and fully aware that yet another baby sibling is on the way. And it is almost Christmas! No wonder the little guy just seems to be teetering on the edge of a total freak-out some days; if anything I should be amazed he doesn’t lose it altogether more often.

Some days I think it’s getting better, and some days I think it’s getting worse (like the evening we all got tied up in logical knots because I had defused an extreme little guy meltdown the previous night with a “calmdown story” before the bath, while still allowing for a regular bedtime story after, and now 24 hours later the little guy was expecting to get a calmdown story every single night until the end of time, and finding out it didn’t work that way just sent him into a tantrum tailspin) and many, many days it feels like it’s harder than it’s supposed to be, although in my moments of clarity I’m usually dubious as to where exactly that supposed-to originates. (I suspect it’s someplace not entirely adjacent to reality.) I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that everything’s headed in the right direction in the long run. But then I think about surviving Christmas, followed a couple months later by bringing home the new baby, followed a couple months later by school-testing for the little guy to see if he’s ready for kindergarten, followed (I’m assuming) by actual kindergarten a couple months after that, and the potential opportunities for setbacks abound. Oddly enough my saving grace may be that my wife and I will be too busy and exhausted to overthink it much at that point, and whatever will be will be.