So, the other day I am blissfully minding my own business in my room when I hear the door to the garage slam open and Buzz's high pitched, overly charged voice screeching something like "this always happens to meeeeeeee-eee-eee." Followed by a continuous siren like wail of a frustrated (but tearless) crying that went something like "nwaaaaaaa nwwwaaaa nyaaaaaa nywaaaaa..." (did I mention loud and attention getting?) as he marched through the living room toward the kitchen. My trained instincts and acute hearing instantly told me this was one of those "I'm-screaming-loudly-because-my-bigger-older-brother-who-always-wins-and-dominates-every-activity-we-ever-do-together-has-beaten-me-again-and-I'm-frustrated-and-want-Mommy-to-come-in-and-rescue-me-and-get-my-mean-brother-in -trouble-for-being-mean-to-me-AGAIN" cries that I have come to recognize at the drop of a hat.
Now, first of all? I was the oldest child in my family, so let's just say that I hated this growing up and my mom would always fall for it and I would always get in trouble just because I was older. Ugh! So, for my youngest, this loud crying thing, is a crap shoot. Either I feel sorry for him because his brother is using his "I'm three years older and much superior" attitude solely for the pure enjoyment of watching his little brother go into frustrated hysterics (okay, I was maybe guilty of this behavior once or twice growing up, but never, ever repeat this to my brother!), or I go the other way and get the younger one for being whiny and manipulative and for doing what my little brother did to me growing up.
So, being the dutiful mom I go to find the source of the "loud wail" only to run into Buzz on his way back from the kitchen carrying a (as in a single) paper towel as he is heading back into the garage. Also coming to investigate the noise was Woody, who, as it turns out was in a completely different room when the "wailing" commenced. So much for my mother's intuition (note to self: get that intuition thing checked on will ya?). Curious now, I follow him into the garage to find out what was going on. He continues to wail and berate himself, "I always do this... this always happens...mmmmnnyyaaaa mmmnyaaaa..." as he heads to the side of the garage where the t.v is and goes over to the little table and bends down and takes his paper towel and attempts to clean up the can of Pepsi that he spilled. The full can of Pepsi. Well, the once full can. Anyway, feeling bad for him I pick up the can, which he left still spilling when he went to get the paper towel and I talked him down from his hysterics in my most re-assuring voice telling him that it is okay and that I will help him clean it up but we would probably need a real towel, blah blah blah, until the mess was cleaned up and all was calm.
But, later? I was thinking how clever he was by innitiating the hysterics himself instead of waiting for the hysterics to come from me. If he would have come and told me he spilled, I most likely woud have gone postal on him because a) he is not supposed to drink in the garage b) he did not ask if he could have a soda and c) the ants love that shit and I don't want another ant invasion on my hands! But instead? He got hugs and kisses from mommy, she cleaned it up herself and he got another soda to replace the one he spilled!
What am I teaching this kid?