Occasionally Brian and I will use the boys’ middle names to
be firm. To be frown-y. To show we’re serious. The usual way people use middle names. I didn’t think the boys were even noticing
our use of their full names until the other day when we were climbing up the
stairs after a walk. As usual the boys were dallying near the bottom (where the
swarms of mosquitoes wait for their supple toddler skin). I belted out a nice
loud, echoing, “CLARK!” since he hadn’t moved a muscle. Both boys stopped in
their tracks and yelled back, almost equally as loud, finishing what they
assumed to be the rest of my reprimand “…Aaron Crosson!”
It has happened a few times now with, “Calvin Kenneth
Crosson!” or Clark Aaron Crosson!” being
shouted by one of them after we start talking firmly. It’s funny but it also completely undermines whatever we’re
trying to get them to do at the time.
This morning Cal was perched up on the counter, proudly
helping me add vanilla to the French Toast batter, when he decided he needed to
show off his position of kitchen-authority to the little girl I babysit,
Alexandra, whom we all affectionately call Baby
Alex.
“Hey, Baby Alex!” he belted in the general direction of where
he assumed she was. Clearly, the
freshly-turned one year-old was not going to answer or come sprinting to him, as he envisioned.
“Hey Baby Alex, come see me!” he demanded.
Still no acknowledgement.
He lowered his head and frowned.
“Baby Alex Aaron Crosson, come see me now!”
I love toddlers.
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