"Mom? What does "high maintenance mean?"

Today as I was leaving the room (shutting the door) at nap time Michael SCREAMED "Mom! what does high maintenance mean!" Oh my sweet oldest son, the fact that you are SCREAMING that at me just further explains how high maintenance you are. I'm sure I was a high maintenance child, but I was in no way prepared to have one. He is high energy, high volume, high need every.single.waking.moment. Preschool has been our saving grace (Thank you Ms. Ferial!). From the moment his little eyes pop open in the morning he needs your full attention (or thinks he needs, but perception is reality). He wakes up yelling for us, requests things constantly, will not play alone, and wants to be entertained. This isn't new, this has been Michael since... well since the delivery room. It's exhausting being his parent (wonderful, exciting, and the best thing ever but exhausting). The concept that mommy doesnt like to talk while she pees... well that is lost on him, who doesnt want to carry on a conversation about Star Wars while trying to pee? There's always a need for one more story, to play one ore game, watch one more show, eat something different than what was prepared, and ask on more question. I can't wait to see what this energy turns into as an adult. Imagine what he can do when he learns to harness the energy? I'm excited to see!

In contrast, Zach. Oh my sweet and mellow (sorta) second child. You were sent to restore my sanity (while very sneakily taking it away with your dangerous ideas). He wakes up, chats to his Puppup, reads a few books, rolls over and goes back to sleep. He does ask for one more story and one more song, but if refused, he will read to himself, or better yet sleep. He plays alone, something I didn't think children could do! He gets into lots and lots of trouble (like dangerous possible hospital trouble) but he's mellow, and devious. Between the two of them... well let's just say that between the two of them my hair will all be grey in a year or two, but it's worth it.

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