My sister says I should start a whole new blog called The Middlest.
It’s true. The Middlest supplies a fair amount of fodder for babyonthebrehm as well as just general convo. Because he is absolutely his own dog. If he is reading this in 20 years, I have to say it, once again, he is the sweetest of the sweet. And then, the most trying of the trying. He was sent to the earth to teach me patience and restraint. And to show me authentic humor in action, every day of my life.
People have asked, Where did you hear the word Middlest? I heard it nowhere. It, I believe, is “mine”. I felt like, in writing about our boys, one got to be the old-est. One the littl-est. Why should the middle simply be the middle. He deserves the -est, too. He is the most middle. The most important middle. And thus, was born, the Middlest.
The kid has more energy than the other four of us combined. And he is totally unpredictable. His scream has caused many to question if he is being injured. Or taken. He is teaching us that every kid has to be parented differently. That matching clothes are apparently overrated. And that a hug will solve most any problem. His teachers tell us he is a saint at school. And he says the darnedest things. Wherever he may be.
I used to worry that he will be lost in the shuffle. That he’ll feel slighted. After all, we’ve made no bones about the fact that even before we had a third, he was the middle. I fear that I made his in-between existence, for a bit, a stepping stone. We were on a race to get from the start to the finish. To produce this family we’d had in our hearts. And so, Jonah, was kind of crammed in there. But I am starting to be thankful for that. Because I fear that if it had gone any differently, he would not offer quite the same spice to life. And every moment with him, is spicy. And completely off script.
So today, I give you the excerpts. Some of the pieces that have been on the cutting room floor of the blog. Today is an ode to The Middlest. In all his glory.
When he’s not acting like he’s the family puppy {no joke}, this sharp-dressed man brings his A Game wherever he goes. And costumes. Costumes as far as the eye can see.
He’ll fix your furry friend right up. He is the gentlest of the gentle. And loves snuggling with his littlest bro who he has named: Harry, Harry Barry, Snacky, and a bevy of other monikers.
He’s so jazzed about taking orders.
Bucket on the head. Because you never know what’s gonna happen when you go outside.
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The day this kid was caught red-handed. After re-wetting a school art project with water from a sippy. And painting himself. And his sheets. His blankie. And his stomach. During naptime. I had to give him props for his mad MacGyver skillz.
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Safety first with this one.
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He does not like green eggs and ham. In fact, he does not like regular eggs. Or ham. But he does like hats. For days.
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Life is one big costume party for this kid. He’s going to dig fraternity life someday.
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A repeat. But one I can’t get enough of. The day he was a grandpa for “What do you want to be when you grow up” day at school.
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Anything left behind quickly goes into his stockpile. That he keeps under his bed. His friend Kaia may never see her hat again.
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Green hands. From the day an apparent “Leprechaun came into his room” during naptime and colored his hands. His jeans. His sheets. And his face. I’ve had the Leprechaun Sprayers out to eliminate any further issues.
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A visit to Scheels to ride the Ferris Wheel. In pajamas. And a toolbelt. And sunglasses. And a scrub cap. And backpack.
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Senior picture session from school. Because it’s always so natural to pop a squat in the woods.
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Socks on the hands. Because J. Crew is totally handsock worthy.
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He wears his sunglasses at night. And day. And whenever he damn well pleases.
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And, last {for now} but totally not least…
He’s a laugh a minute, this kid. Clearly, The Middlest is 100% his own man and I’d be lying if I said his tantrums aren’t enough to completely unravel my wits. But where he lacks in emotion management, he makes up in laughter, smiles, and snuggles.
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