Deja Vu All Over Again

My mother frequently reminds me that our middle child is so much like me, and from the sound of her voice, I don't get the feeling that's such a good thing.

Actually I've noticed it myself. I realize so much of my frustration with him often lies in the fact that I know how it feels to do what he does and I just want him to "get it" without having to learn the hard way.

We were at a picnic the other night and someone asked him what happened to his eye. He replied, "Daddy hit me." Though just halfway listening to the conversation, I immediately turned around and stared. I had said the same thing (only it was my mother who inflicted the wound) when I was his age. In reality, I had fallen down the steps; in his case, Doug accidently hit him with a frisbee.

I beamed with pride Saturday morning, however, when he made the following request: "I want a peanut butter sandwich and pickles." He's his mother's son! Though his was soy butter and the pickles were on the side, it reminded me of the delicious sandwiches I shared with Her-too when I was little.

I take comfort in the fact that he's enthusiatic, charming, and just so darn cute. Hopefully all that energy can be focused into constructive channels.