0  | 

I found this helpful Thank You! Your vote will be tallied soon!

It had been several days without rain, so after mulching my garden, I thought I'd water. Hamlet, of course, wanted to help.

I let him hold the hose while he pretended to be a firefighter. He did a pretty good job spraying the water back and forth over the ground, just as if he were really putting out a fire. I held my tongue when his attention wandered; the only time I opened my mouth was to tell him which new plants needed water next.

And to scream. Because Hamlet decided I needed watering.

He has loved to spray me with the hose ever since he was 2. I'd put the hose down so I could plant something and the next thing I knew, my little scamp had picked it up and aimed it right at me. He didn't even talk then. Just cackled maniacally.

Which he still does. After he'd thoroughly drenched me, I decided to get him back. He laughed the first couple of times, his perfect little-boy squeals echoing around the yard.

Then he said, "I need new pants. And new hair."

"Do you mean dry hair?" I said.

"Yes. You ruined my hair. You ruined my shoes!"

I had to try really hard not to laugh. Because he was starting to cry. I collected his baby brother and we all went back inside. I toweled Hamlet off, got him out of his wet clothes and sandals, and changed him into dry clothes. He cuddled up on the couch and sucked his thumb and watched TV.

Clearly, what's good for the goose is not good for the gander. It may be that he feels he needs more control over his life, especially as we wield more parental control over him. Or it may simply be a foible of almost-4. Whatever it is, it would seem that even in fun, I must learn to back off.