Reasons Like Seasons

Kallax Shelving Unit "This is the worst day of my life!" screams Boy 1 as he teeters precariously near my open laptop on the top of a questionably stable Ikea Kallax shelving unit. "Why, baby? What's wrong? How can I help?" "I want to order Kai. Order this one for me right now! "How much does it cost?" "I don't know." "What does the number on the screen say?" "17." "How much money do you have?" Tears streaming from his face, he shoves a pile of crumpled bills in my direction. "You count them," he replies. Slowly, I flatten the bills with the edge of my hand, one-by-one, until I have four green rectangles lined up flat on the carpet. "Five plus one is six, six plus one is seven; seven plus one is eight. Eight. You have eight dollars." "Whaaaaaaaaa!" he screams with the power of a hurricane. "Order it for me NOW!" Ninjago Lego Set 7...

I want Boy 1 to read so badly that it hurts. He knows a few words, but I feel that I have no justification to believe he is a mini-genius until he can read me a story. He already narrates adorable fictional prose, but due to some unknown reason, I don't feel like it counts until he writes the stories himself. As part of this epic journey, I have decided to allow him a Lego prize for every perfect square of words he learns. So far, he has 9, which is 3 squared in case it has been more than ten years since you took 6th grade math, and we ordered some Ninjago Legos from Amazon to celebrate. Now, every time I pick up my phone, he asks if he can look up the delivery status of his Legos. On the one hand I should be pleased that he knows so much vocabulary surrounding orders on Amazon. But, on the other hand, I should be worried that he knows so much of the vocabulary involved in ordering items from Amazon. It seems like with parenting, there is absolutely no winning, or at least, ...