Old Whine in New Packages

Oliver is a whiner. He has more passion than his little body can hold so the disparity between what he wants and what he gets just leaks out sometimes in the form of a whine. I understand this – but it doesn’t mean it’s not annoying as hell.

But as powerful as his whine can be, nothing holds a candle to his curiosity.

Take the other day, for instance. Oliver and Brahm have been eyeing the only present under the tree so far. They know it’s for them, and while it has aroused Brahm's curiosity only slightly, it has just about been the death of his brother.

"Just tell me what it is, Mom! Pleeeease??? When can we open it? How many days until Christmas? Just give me one little hint! Will I like it? Did you buy it or did Dad? Why can't I just open it right now? That’s no fair!! Is it a lizard?"

"Yes, Oliver, it's a lizard." I say.

"BRAAA-aahm!" He yells, running through the house. "It's a lizard! Mom said it was! I knew it!"

Today is Sunday. Always hard up for things to do on the Sabbath, Oliver resorts to wondering what’s inside the box again. Only this time, he’s turned his focus on Brahm.

"Look, Brahm," I hear him say in jeering tones. "I'm going to open the present now." They're both in the front room and I'm in the kitchen. From what it sounds like, Brahm is trying to mind his own Legos business while Oliver is holding the present over him, taunting with tiny tears of paper.

Of course it’s not long before Brahm takes the bait and soon they’re fighting. “Give me a break,” I say to myself. “I’m too old for this.”

That’s when the idea comes to me.

While Oliver is in Cool Down, I slip into my room and wrap two more presents I bought just for him. I do two, of course, so that it will be impossible for him not to notice them right away. When I am finished, I carry the packages out to the front room and slip them quietly beneath the tree. Heh, heh, heh. It will be a loooong ten days for the poor kid.

Sometimes I have to create my own fun in a job that gets predictable and boring. Awaiting the punch line to my own private joke will be enough to get me through the rest of this Sunday afternoon. And no amount of his whining or pestering me will ruin it for me, either.