I have secretly called Sean “The Dictator” for almost three years now. My parenting teacher says I can’t do that because labels make people, even if I never say it, and he’ll still know. Seeing that his asperations now are becoming a Sith Lord, I think the decision of being a dictator was never in my court.
But Aidan has become pushy. More and more so. He’ll pull my hand to where he wants me. If I don’t budge, because I’m doing something like making dinner, he’ll get behind me and push my knees. Which is quite effective, since I don’t like falling. He treats everyone to the same demands. We’re all just dolls for him to move where he wants us, to get what he wants. But unlike Sean, Aidan’s requests are usually very sensible. Juice, snack, ball, car, play with me, turn on the TV. Ok, the play with me is hard when I’m cooking dinner.
Last night, as we froze because winter swung back around my little area and we were at Evan’s baseball practice, Aidan took great delight in pushing Sean around. Aidan grabbed the back of Sean’s jacket and nudged him. Sean thought it was a great joke and allowed to be pushed wherever Aidan went. They discovered it was the best when they rammed Sean into me, and I played the clown.
Then I read this post from when Sean was the same age. Oh how the mighty have fallen.