I have a funny, independent, hot-headed, daredevil of a third child. I’m not sure if it is just the byproduct of being the third child, but he has been a climber more than the two kids before him. It’s possible that he learned everything he knows from them. It’s possible that he just goes missing because he’s the third of four kids. It’s possible that he was just born this way. It’s also possible that I just don’t have anymore “f***s" to give… because, you know, he’s not the last kid. Whatever the case, I find myself saying, “Dang it Steele!!” every time he does something.
Example.
We’re about to leave the house during the morning rush/chaos that is our household and Steele (age 2) is nowhere to be found. I’m trying my best to get all four kids out the door to daycare and I only have 75% of my children. Sigh. It appears that Steele is gone. He is not in the house. He is not answering when called. Of course.
I load up the other three kids in the car and proceed to drive to the back of our land (we live on about sixteen acres). My second child proceeds to tell me that we can’t leave without Steele to which I reply in angst, “Don’t you think I know that?!?!?!?!” And I wonder where she gets her sass from. Eyeroll
As we drive to the back of the yard, most parents might be freaking out that their kid has gone missing, but this sort of thing happens so frequently that it is just a normal day in the life of a mom with four kids under the age of six. Sure enough, I see my red-headed third child on the lawnmower, which is parked on my brother in-law’s trailer. “Steele!!” I yell from the car window, “What are you doing?”
Steele replies innocently, “I got the key!”
“Dang it, Steele!!!! Get in the car!!” I shout back to him.
“Okay!” he says as he (not so carefully) climbs/jumps down from the lawnmower and the trailer and proceeds to come to the driver side door for me to let him climb over me on the way to his seat, which is at the very back of our Tahoe.
I would pause here as I buckle him in while leaning over my one-year-old to explain that we can’t leave the house without telling anyone, but what good would it do? He had his mind on something and would not be persuaded otherwise.
I know better than to lecture this child about leaving the house. This is not the first or last time I will get the call or text from my brother in-law or mother in-law and father in-law, who live on these sixteen acres too, that Steele is at their house.
Dang it, Steele is the most outgoing, friendly, carefree child I have. He is the most daring and curious child. Not to mention that he is adorable. The cuteness tends to get him out of most trouble. It’s a problem.
Even my other kids have picked up on the fact that Steele gets into mischief. I asked my second child where her brother was and she simply said, “He’s gone… Dang it Steele,” and shook her head. She continues to imitate me more than I would like, which is for another post entirely. Ahem.
My oldest reported to me that Steele was jumping on the bed one day. “Mommy, Steele was jumping on the bed and I told him we don’t do that... Dang it, Steele!”
What can I say? I fully expect that one day I will receive a phone call saying that Steele broke his arm climbing up a tree, to which I will say with no surprise in my voice, “Okay. I’m on the way. I will text you a photo of the insurance card.”
I’ve accepted this child for who he is and embrace his adventurous nature. While it is my job to keep him safe, perhaps more importantly, my job is to love all the things about him… Even if those things often leave me shaking my head saying, “Dang it Steele!”