What do you do when you’re only four-years-old and your big brother heads off to first grade but your preschool doesn’t start for another two weeks?
You flop around the house. You mope a little. You color in the coloring books your mommy laid out for you, but for approximately seven minutes. You do one workbook page and declare, “I’m too smart for this workbook.” You raid your imagination box, dressing in Woody cowboy boot slippers, a firefighter airpack and hose, a cape and a hardhat; then you leave all of those things on the living room floor. You read all of the books and leave them on the living room floor. You take all of the stuff of of your bed, without telling your mommy so that later, when it’s bedtime and she has forgotten, she has to try not to cuss in front of you, and build a fort in the dining room. You find a flute-recorder thing that you got on vacation two years ago and make your mommy’s ears bleed. You ask her eleventy billion times, “Is it time to get brother yet?” You throw all of the Angry Birds into the… yes, living room. You use your computer time, the only quiet thirty minutes of the entire day. You sit in your brother’s room and stare at his bed, like he will magically appear there and play with you. You pop into your mommy’s office — again — and right before she goes to snap at you, you say, “I just wanted to say I love you.” She smiles and says she loves you too. You ride your tricycle, slowly, up and down the driveway; it’s no fun when your brother isn’t chasing you.
Then you throw a fit when it’s time to go get the brother you’ve been missing all day, thus causing your mommy’s head to simply implode. Not explode, because she understands what is going on. Just implode, because, REALLY, KID?!
And then, to really drive it home, you start arguing with your brother as soon as the three of you hit the sidewalk outside of the school. Less than a minute after you have been rejoined, you just launch into it like he was never gone, like you didn’t miss him all day long… all while your mommy bites her lip and smiles through gritted teeth at people she doesn’t quite know yet, hoping for an understanding or sympathetic soul in the crowd.
Later you ask your brother, “Will you push me in the dump truck?” He obliges.
And all is right with your world.