ohbloodyhell8

Last night during dinner, I asked my youngest about school.  He quickly shared that he had to write a story but he was not sure how because he missed most of writing when he went to speech.   I asked him what he did remember about the story.  He said it needed to have a middle, a beginning, and an end.  I asked if it was possibly a story with a beginning, middle, and end to which he replied, “Yes, that’s it!”

Well, older brother could no longer contain himself.  He had to chime in with his two cents.  He proudly declared that he writes stories with FIVE paragraphs.  He asked his brother if he was going to start his story with a “grabber-you know, to grab your audience’s attention?”  I calmly reminded him that his brother is in first grade and at the moment, the class was focusing on beginning, middle, and end.

My oldest son then asked, with attitude oozing and dripping from his entire being, if I even know what a grabber is and how to use it in a story.

I gently asked him if he remembered that my job is managing a writing lab at a university.  He quickly remembered and acquiesced that I might, in fact, understand the concept of a grabber.  I then told him I hope one day he graduates from the “classic five paragraph essay” because there are so many wonderful ways to write.

It was another rough night for the oldest son.  My youngest received the lion’s share of my time.  We brainstormed some ideas for his story.  He says he doesn’t finish his writing at school because he spends all his time thinking of what to write.  Now he has a plan for the story and he decorated his list with Sponge Bob stickers so I know he was pleased with it.  But this took most of the evening because I wanted him to enjoy the process.  We didn’t rush.  We brainstormed at the speed of a six-year-old.

Eight-year-old was crushed.  The evening was not centered around him.  This has been happening more often and he’s having some trouble with this adjustment of the Mom-time.  Once they were tucked into bed, I called my oldest son out under the guise that he needed to put something in his backpack.  I hoped that would be a boring enough request that my youngest would stay in bed.  Nope, he wandered down the hall about 8 steps behind his big bro.  I shooed him back to bed and called my oldest over for a good old-fashioned Brady Bunch talk.

I asked him why he had been so angry with me all night and he fessed up that he didn’t like so much time going to his brother.  I explained that it wasn’t that I love him any less, but that it was a shift to balance the time between the two of them.  We had a great talk and a lot of hugs.  Then his younger brother came down the hall again.  We three cuddled for a while on the couch and talked about random and wonderful things.  Once they were tucked into bed again, they happily drifted off to sleep.

Yeah, I know a few things.  But with each passing day they think I know less and less.