The boy doesn’t want to play with me. Doesn’t want me around him. Doesn’t want me in the same room.
He’s sassy, but he’s using language to sass me, so I’m going along with it. To an extent.
When I suggested we might want to leave the house and go to the park, Ryan pointed sternly at my sewing machine and ordered, “You can sit back down in the chair and get back to that.”
When I asked if I could work on his puzzle with him, Ryan glared at me and said, “Mommy, you can go over there.” I’m not sure where “there” was, but it was certainly nowhere near the puzzle.
And the other day, when I annoyed him by telling him not to dump all the water out of the neighbor’s kiddie pool, he told me, “You can sit down over there.” When I didn’t leave, he started to walk toward the street. When I yelled at him, he turned around and asked, “What’s the problem?” Like, all casually, like he asks questions all the time. I don’t care that it was a script, it was used perfectly.
And on those rare occasions when I’m not totally unwanted, Ryan’s using words to communicate with me. Yesterday, after an hour of painting with water on a slate wall, Ryan stood back and asked, “You like it, Mommy?”
Yes, baby, yes I do.