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.