My 5-year-old sees the world a bit differently than the rest of us do. He can’t help it. Age is a tough thing. No matter what age it is. Today’s challenge is to write about the emotions, beliefs, or ideas of someone else. His are top of mind because of how he behaved this morning:
The light just turned green. My little brother is screaming and running out of the door to wake mom up. Again. He gets really excited. You could call him an early riser. Lately, I’ve wanted to lay in bed for a little while longer.
I hear them go down the stairs, fast and creaky. I think I’ll lay here just a little while longer. It’s still a little dark outside and Christian gets so loud, so early in the morning.
I hear her getting out dishes. She’d better make me French toast sticks this morning. I don’t want any Eggos! They’re gross.
At this point, I think I’m going to get out of bed. I’m going to sneak on them. Like a ninja! Quietly, I walk down the stairs and I put my back against the front hallway wall. Sliding quietly, I come to the entrance to the kitchen. Christian is standing at the microwave, counting down the seconds until whatever is in there is ready. It better not be Eggos! Oh wait. Those go in the toaster.
My mom just saw me. Man!! I was trying to sneak on her. I’m sheepishly grinning as I walk into the kitchen with my red pajama pants and Darth Vader PJ top.
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asks as she finished peeling Christian’s banana. He’ll have about four bananas today.
“I want French toast sticks,” I tell her.
She’s now telling me that we don’t have any and I’m starting to get mad. I’m angry with her. I’m going to fall down to the floor and throw a fit. She is not happy with me and threatens to put a check on my “good behavior” chart. She thinks I haven’t been listening very well lately, so she just started this chart. I don’t care. I’m going to throw a fit anyway. It doesn’t matter, she’ll pay attention at some point.
What is she making over there? It looks like she’s heating up some pancakes. I huff and puff to the table as she puts the finishing touches on what probably is my plate. Mandarin oranges and milk. I think that’s okay. I can eat that.
“Can we turn on the TV?” I ask. She goes to get the remote and Dora is on—I don’t want to watch Dora. I’m kind of growling. But then she tells me I can play with the dogs after I’m done eating, so that will be good. I won’t worry about Dora then. I’ll eat my food.
Clean plate club! I ate all of it. I dive onto the couch and Bentley and Barkley come up to snuggle with e under the blankets. They’re so soft. I love them. I feel better now. The pancakes weren’t so bad.