On the eve of my newest nephew’s birthday, I’ve been struck by an undeniably clear life-truth: Aunts and uncles are the source of all evil.
Maybe that didn’t come out right… what I meant to say is that kids get all of their contraband from the siblings of their moms and dads. All the things they want and no one will let them have.
In my case, I got my first electric razor to shave my legs from my Aunt Rox. Followed by my first mascara and blush and lipstick from my Aunt Sara. I still remember it perfectly. They came in a little silver bag with a lucite brush. They were sleek and silver and introduced brand loyalty that lasted for decades. (Note to Clinique— market teenage make-up to aunts not tweens. Plus aunts have way more money.)
For boys, it’s uncles. Uncles are the bestowers of bebe guns and Nerf guns and heaven forbid, potato guns.
And while boys are receiving various weaponry when their mothers’ guards are down, dads are busy pushing the “growing-up” agenda. James is always the pusher of big boy food and big boy chairs and big boy cups and big boy beds and big boy underpants. He plays an important role in weening the boys from their “baby” habits.
Two weekends ago I woke-up early Saturday morning and Nate was sandwiched in the middle. A rare occurrence as he’s been weened from our bed for a long time now. I cuddled up to him and realized he didn’t have a shirt on… and he was wearing his bathing suit.
The bad news? Nate had wet his bed.
The good news? We can count on him to get up, change his own clothes and crawl silently into our bed. The big one used to just yell from his room until you came to save him from his own bodily fluids.
My weekend away in Santa Fe is when Daddy decided to ween Nate from his nighttime Pull-ups. The remaining vestige of diapers gone, cold turkey. Strategically planned for my absence, of course.
I’ve started calling James the Diaper Weener.
He really doesn’t like it.