Weapon play in the Thiel house

I'm always surprised the way certain tendencies and turns of phrase seem to come innately to kids. My boys uttered phrases like "no fair!" and "he's copying me!" without ever hearing them elsewhere. Add to that list boys' proclivity toward weapons. I've heard plenty of parents say that they try to keep play gender-neutral only to have their daughters gravitate toward dolls. Or think of parents who eschew any kind of gun or weapon play, but their sons find a way and build guns out of Duplos.

Of course this isn't to say that all girls like dolls and all boys guns, but Gus certainly has fallen into the stereotype. In our house, the weapon of choice isn't guns but the mystical four golden weapons of Spinjitzu. If you have a boy of a certain age, chances are you know what I'm talking about: Lego Ninjago. At first, Paul was interested in the toys. He got a couple sets for Christmas, but quickly Gus glommed onto Ninjago in a big way.

The Lego play is fine, though the sets are far beyond Gus's ability and only the "guys" stay intact for any length of time. (Just ask Mark how frustrating it is to spend 45 minutes assembling Jay's plane only to have it be destroyed in no time flat.) It's more the Ninjago cartoon that's the trouble. The ninja fighting is mesmerizing to my youngest.

I know the simple answer is don't let Gus watch the cartoon. And maybe I'm weak-willed, but he loves it, and his brothers watch it. This is a complicated situation for youngest kids. I think they tend to have interests beyond their years because of older siblings. When my niece was 5, she was majorly into Hannah Montana because her sisters liked the show, a phenomenon that obviously wouldn't have happened if she were a first child. I guess a teen pop princess is more innocuous than ninja fighting, though, so it's a doubly difficult situation for us.

The big problem comes into play when Gus turns everything into a weapon of Spinjitzu: a baseball bat becomes the sword of fire, a toy golf club found in our garage morphs into the scythe of quakes, a pair of sticks transforms into the nunchucks of lightning. Gus doesn't mean to hurt anyone, but the risk is obvious. Big G accidentally hit me in the hip with the sword of fire last week, and it still smarts.

What's a mom to do? I think this challenge would flummox even the wise Sensei Wu. Trying to stop Gus feels futile. His imagination for weapon creation seems boundless. I do what I can. I try to keep the weapons of Spinjitzu outside only. Other than that, I think my only choice is to ride it out and try to direct my little Ninjago master toward other activities. Or maybe I could get him hooked on My Little Pony?

Ben's Achilles heel

Ben's assignment was to act as the book's illustrator and draw anything about the story he liked. Above is what he drew. Um, yeah, he's in fourth grade. I say this not to make fun of my boy (though it is kind of funny to me) but rather to underscore the fact that you can't be good at everything. (Well, I suppose you can, but who likes those people. Ugh!)

My firstborn is a great student all around - math, science, social studies, English, but he doesn't give a flying fig about art. I wouldn't dare tease about an art project he'd lovingly created, but it's pretty clear to me that he simply doesn't care. I've watched this with my own eyes. Ben will be assigned to draw something. He'll take out his crayons or markers and scribble something out with the absolute minimum of time and effort.

This trend first showed itself in first grade, when art became part of Ben's curriculum. His first report card of the year came home filled with mostly 3's and 4's. The glaring exception was art, where he received mostly 2's and a few stray 1's. I was upset at first. Certainly his art teacher must have been harsh in her assessments. I even contacted her to get the scoop about what was going on, but the long and the short of it is that he simply doesn't put in the effort. His strengths simply  lie elsewhere.

Plenty of people aren't good at art. It's not really a big deal, but it does have a tendency to spill over into other areas of his work. Ben has an issue with neatness in general. When I talked to Ben's teacher on Friday, I wasn't exactly surprised to hear him bring up this concern to me again, especially after reading the comment on Ben's report card that neatness needs to be a goal for him going into fifth grade. "Best handwriting, Ben," we're always harping. I know this is a problem many boys have. Incidentally, I saw the penmanship of a girl in Ben's class, and it seriously was better than mine (which isn't saying much - hey, wait a minute - maybe Ben gets it from me!).

I suppose of all the deficits a kid could have, this one isn't so bad. Just think, maybe with handwriting like his, Ben is destined to be a doctor. Seriously, though, anyone got any great ideas for encouraging kids to take their time with handwriting and neatness?

This is a thankless job

Our familiar dinner time frustration took on a new dimension Monday night. Most evenings, I can anticipate a familiar set of battles - them: "How much more do I have to eat (before I can have dessert)?" or me: "Stop screwing around and eat your food already!" Aside: Seriously, Mark and I can have our whole meal eaten before Paul has even gotten a couple bites down. That's how pokey and unfocused he is about mealtimes.

This night, however, an all-out battle erupted. It's one that had been simmering for days, and it chose to boil over the night Mark was working late and unable join us for supper (lucky SOB!). To make a long story short, Ben got this Lego Ninjago guy for his birthday. Gus loves Ninjago and has been known to take and play with Ben's guy. Let's just say that Gus is not super-considerate about the whole thing.

So Ben has a point. It is his toy, and he, and everyone else in the house, is sick of Gus getting his way by whining. (I've seriously got to find a solution to that.) Gus also has a point. Ben does not play with this Lego guy. He doesn't really play with toys at all anymore. He's just kind of dug in his heels and decided he does not want Gus to have this toy. Gus couldn't find his Ninjago Jay on Monday, so I let him play with Ben's, justifying it using the Gus POV.

Monday night at dinner, Ben discovered what I'd done and completely lost it. He sobbed and yelled in frustration. I made him leave the table until he was calm. When he came back, I told him it wasn't really Gus's fault, that I'd given the toy to Gus. He screamed, "I know! I'm mad at you!" Ouch.

This is just another incident that solidifies for me how hard it is to be a parent. When you have more than one child, you simply cannot please everyone. Kids are naturally self-centered, and no matter how hard I wish they could see my point of view and how hard I'm trying to succeed at this difficult job, they can't.

Lately I've been getting a lot of the "You're mean!" from Ben. It's really hard to hear that. I know you're not supposed to be your child's friend, and that's not really what I want. At the same time, though, I want to be thought of as a benevolent dictator, at the very least. I want the boys to know how much I love them and that I'm always looking out for their best interest. I short, I want to be understood.

Sadly, I think wanting my 3-, 6- and 9-year-old to understand my heart's deepest intentions probably is too lofty a goal. For that, I may need to wait a good 10 to 15 years or so. Or until they're parents. Then, they'll know. Oh, will they ever.

The intensity is strong with this one

I suppose that a lot of personality traits carry with them both positive and negative aspects. That certainly is the case with my oldest boy. I'll just put it this way: Ben is intense. And incredibly competitive. 

The pluses are easy to identify. Ben is driven to stand out, to succeed. This helps him to excel in school, to give his all in whatever sport he's participating. He may not be the tallest or the fastest kid in running club (in fact, he's probably one of the smaller kids, truth be told), but he always pushes himself to be a top finisher. He wants to win every game, every bee - spelling or geography, every race.

Unfortunately, the negatives are pretty evident, too. First of all, obviously Ben can't be the best at everything, and when he's not, the you-know-what can hit the fan pretty quickly. Becoming a good sport and team player has been a learning curve for my oldest. Take for example last year when his indoor soccer coach repeatedly dispatched him to play defense rather than offense. Ben wound up shedding tears of frustration. It seemed that defense wasn't good enough for him. He wanted the glory of offense. In baseball, you guessed it, he loves to bat, field not so much.

Last weekend, we went to family bowling on Sunday morning. Everyone had a good time, cheered their strikes and spares, laughed at their failures. Everyone except Ben. He grew increasingly agitated that he was in last place. Seriously though, we had the bumpers up - it can go any which way, and Gus was using a ramp! Ben was miserable, and drove us all a little crazy with his moaning and groaning. And you should hear the tortured cries that emanate from him when he's not doing well in a video game. "Please," I want to scream, "just let go and have fun!"

I remember us babysitting Mark's nephew when he was about Ben's age. I watched in discomfort as he played a video game and banged his head against the couch when he did poorly. Little did I know that would be my kid some years later. Jake is now nearly 17 and one of the best kids I know, so I have confidence this will work itself out for Ben. I hope Ben's intensity and competitiveness will round themselves out and serve him well in the future. Until then, though, I'd better steel myself for some drama.