
"I want Aidan's water." And just to demonstrate it was not empty, Josiah turned the glass over. Giggling the whole time. I, on the other hand, did not exude laughter.
Blessed bedtime was just around the corner. Holding the all-but-three-year-old hand while saying prayers, he began to cry. "No, Granma, I want your other hand." Arms crossed in front of me to accommodate the request, we continued.
When I turned out the light, Josiah started to scream. I know for a fact that I cannot outlast his screaming, but it is a personal challenge to try. "Josiah, why are you crying?" The reply did not vary from the original. With a shrug, I went downstairs to listen from a safe distance. Yes, he beat me again. Eventually, I went back upstairs and repeated my question. Unable to answer for himself, Aidan did the talking, "he wants his blanket." Turning the hall light back on, I soothed the crying child from the doorway, "Josiah, you are holding your blanket in your hands." Something magical happened. In one continuous motion, he looked down, closed his mouth, rolled over and closed his eyes.
This will be my seventh round of the threes - my own sons and three grandboys to date have navigated the year and lived to tell - as have I. My advice: hold your breath until they turn four, which does happen eventually. Thirteen months from now, Josiah will turn four - and there will still be four months of solace before it's Elijah's turn...
LOL!
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