Being Sensitive vs. Silly: a Study of Contrast

Ahh, Spencer. My sensitive child.

When I say that, you have to understand that to use the word "sensitive" on any Moody man in our household is nearly miraculous. I constantly tell my mother-in-law that I married the least sensitive of her sons. This is not news to her.

Clay mimics his dad. If there were a Richter scale for sensitivity, Bruce and Clay would fall toward the very low end. Between a 2 to 2.9, where it's defined as "generally not felt, but recorded."

And I'm okay with that. Actually, it's a good thing, because truth be told, with Allison being overly sensitive, I'm coming to realize that we have enough of that trait in our house. For the record, Allison's Richter score would probably be around 7 to 7.9 where it "can cause serious damage over larger areas."

Spencer is a nice blend. A good amount of sensitivity to others, without taking everything so personal and getting in a twist.

Allison has been having nightmares. Often enough that on Thursday night, she begged to have Spencer sleep with her. (They've done this a lot since Clay's birthday last June, when we very unwisely let both of the younger ones watch "E.T." To this day, Allison does not like to talk about "E.T." I think simply because he was wrinkly, which in her mind translated to ugly. Hate to see her reaction when she looks in the mirror in another 50 years.) In any case, we cut out the sleeping together a couple weeks ago because there was more playing going on than sleeping. And then we'd have grouch-galore in the house the next day.

But she was simply pitiful. Big tears. Quivering lip. I'm pretty immune to her tears because they come so easily, but the quivering lip... that's a nice touch. It works on me.

Bruce was at school late that night, so while me and the kids were driving home from Clay's Upwards basketball practice, I caved. Sort of. I said they could sleep together, but the light would be off as soon as I kissed them goodnight. No lamp. Just the nightlight. And any playing past that point would result in Spencer being moved back to his own room.

At bedtime, my boys rallied to Allison's aid. She started crying and insisting that she knew she would have another nightmare. Finally, I just said it was time to say our prayers. I mean, really, we can't talk her out of it when she's that distraught. We just try to ignore it and move on.

First, Spencer prayed for her. It really touched me. Completely unprompted, he asked God to keep Allison's mind "clean" that night so she could sleep with no nightmares. He went on to say the same thing over and over a couple times, a little differently each time (He gets that from me, and it makes Bruce crazy!). And then he said, "God, don't let her down."

At Clay's turn, he, too, petitioned the Lord on Allison's behalf. He tacked on that he knew God wouldn't let Allison down. There's that big brother mode that's so hard to turn off... always setting the record straight and correcting all misconceptions.

On a completely different note, Spencer brought tears to our eyes last night, but not for his sensitivity. He is just a nut sometimes.

All three kids were having a sleepover in Clay's room, complete with sleeping bags. Bruce and I were trying to watch a movie, but the kids kept coming down. When I thought they were finally done, I opened a bag of Cheetos for Bruce and me to munch on.

It was very late when Spencer made the last trip down to complain that Allison was talking too much and keeping him awake. His eyes zeroed in on the bag of Cheetos, and he asked if he could have some. I said, "Yes, tomorrow."

He smiled a completely beguiling smile as he sauntered over to the couch where I sat next to the bag of chips. He picked up the bag, and I thought, "No way is he going to flat out disobey me and grab a chip while within bottom-smacking distance." I was prepared to pop him a good one.

He raised the bag to face level and wrapped the opening edges around his nose and mouth, like people do to breathe in a bag to prevent hyperventilating. And he deeply inhaled the smell of the Cheetos. (This was no small sniff. He breathed like a man coming up for air following a near drowning.) And then, he let it back out. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Followed by a very satisfied smile.

Bruce and I completely lost it!

I love this stage of their childhood. Where life seems a little more like "America's Funniest Home Videos" and not as much like a "Super Nanny" episode.