For some reason, I was saddened this week when Beckett was told by the eye doctor he needed to begin wearing glasses.
Those feelings were quickly dashed when I learned he thought it would be incredibly cool to wear them and wanted to do so terribly.
Like most things with kids, these sorts of milestone changes are tougher on the parents than the children. Kids just have a way of embracing change in a way that I admire.
Before we even got to the point of realizing glasses were in the mix, we had to go through the painful process of having a 4-year-old’s eyes examined. Because it was such a monumental occasion, Pam and I both went to the appointment.
Beckett had never complained about not being able to see anything, but we have learned that he is not a kid that whines about anything. He’s one tough kid who almost always replies “good” when asked how he is doing, even if he’s sick and obviously not feeling well.
The eye appointment was torture for all of us. After undergoing some basic tests that required a lot of patience from a 4-year-old and no goofing around, we then had to wait 45 minutes after his eye drops were put in. Of course, the process of placing drops in his eyes was quite a fiasco as well with lots of kicking and screaming. He was quick to complain about that, showing that he has limits.
The 45-minute wait nearly did all of us in, as Beckett was bored beyond belief and we quickly exhausted all our tricks of keeping him entertained. Within in minutes after the eye drop drama, we knew we were in trouble when he was fixated on trying to mount the eye equipment and wanted to do Spiderman jumps off all the chairs in the room. We were not prepared for that long of a wait and quickly ran out of ways to keep him entertained in an exam room, particularly one that prohibited cell phones, which can come in handy as a way to distract kids his age.
Fortunately for me, I was not involved in the actual fitting of the eye glasses the next day, but Beckett and Pam paid me a visit at my office afterwards, and it was quite clear Beckett did not have reservations about wearing them. He was quite proud to show them off and his rambunctious self.
Later that night, the novelty of the glasses appeared to be wearing off, as they were found several times in various places around the house.
It’s going to take him some time to adjust to wearing them, particularly since the cool factor wore off within a matter of hours.
The baby of the house, who is now 3 ½ years old and tips the scales at 45 pounds, has been beating up his family lately.
I think it’s a natural phase for little ones to go through a period when they are prone to hitting, but it’s nothing to joke around about with Carson, who can ring your bell if you are not careful.
That’s why whenever Carson approaches, Pam, Beckett and I often find ourselves flinching because we expect to get a love tap of some sort.
While there may be some love involved on some level, the problem is the little beef has no idea that he possesses freakish strength for his age. When he smacks you, it stings and it’s hard enough to mean business, particularly if it’s to the head or face.
That’s why I can hardly blame Beckett when he pushes or hits back after getting blindsided by his little brother.
For example, while Beckett was on the iPad during a rainy afternoon the other day, Carson apparently walked up to him and smacked him several times atop the head. Beckett told him to stop and eventually he did, but the problem was Carson came back a minute later with a Tupperware bowl that he got out of a drawer in the kitchen and was apparently looking for more of a reaction.
There he was with a huge smile on his face and with both arms extended over his head with hands affixed to the bowl preparing to slam it down atop his big brother’s head. Fortunately, I was there to grab it out before he executed his plan. That caused him to begin smacking my leg in a temper tantrum, leading him to a time out in his room, but not before a few farewell slaps to the back of my head on the way.
Surely, it’s a phase, but it’s one I know we all hope goes away sooner rather than later because I am going to hyperventilate if I keep taking all these deep breaths after getting smacked around.
Even the dogs have been on the receiving end of Carson’s wrath a little bit of late. On the way to the bathroom the other night, he gave Bailey, our 8-year-old black lab, a slap across the nose that the poor dog appears to have still not forgotten.
I know this because whenever Carson comes near him he scoots away like he’s about to get roughed up with my little guy’s devastating left hand.