What a Boy Wants

“I would like to share an orange outside.”

“I want to have a picnic at the park with the tall slide.”

“I’m wearing my black pants with the blue Spiderman shirt under and the Batman sweatshirt over and my Crocs with no socks.”

“I want 2 pancakes -- whole, not cut up -- and strawberries without the green part on them. And orange juice in the purple cup.”

My almost-4-y.o. son Miles knows what he wants. I admire that about him. He is sure about his likes and dislikes, swift in his decisions, and specific in his requests. Often annoyingly so, like when he wants blueberry waffles and we only have the plain kind, or when he refuses to use a spoon that’s not his favorite color. But I’m trying to focus on the positive here.

I can’t remember what I was like at his age, but I suspect I was always less vocal about my preferences. I’m the person who says, “I don’t care, where do YOU want to go?” when going out with a friend, or “You pick, I’ll eat anything” when ordering take-out with my husband.

I like to think this is a good quality, a laid-back, go-with-the-flow attitude that makes me easy to get along with. But lately I’m afraid I’ve begun to slide into martyr territory. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll just have whatever’s left over,” I find myself saying to my family when there’s not enough of something to go around. “Here, this is the last of the milk. You take it.”

And more often than not, a short person in Cars underwear is calling the shots about where we’re going to shop or eat or play. What if *I* want to go to Chipotle instead of Chick-fil-A? What if *I* want to go to the gym instead of the playground?

Lately -- on the advice of something I read somewhere, probably O magazine or some self-helpy blog -- I’ve been checking in with myself more. I feel stupid even typing that, but it’s true. I am making a concerted effort to actually stop for a moment during my day and say, “What do I want now?” And then if the answer is, say, a cup of tea, I (try to) make one, sit down, and drink it. While it’s still hot. Without jumping up to put in a load of laundry or schedule a dentist appointment. (!!!)

It turns out my deepest desires aren’t that extravagant. For example:

- I want to watch the damn weather report for 2 seconds in the morning without someone screeching at me to turn it back to “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse."

- I want someone ELSE to change a freaking roll of toilet paper around here. And actually put it ON the roller thingy.

- When my kids eat something they don’t like, I want them to spit it out into their OWN hand.

It’s kind of sad that I am raising a vibrant, confidant little person who knows his mind and has no qualms about speaking it, yet I, an intelligent grown woman, struggle with this.

I guess compromises and putting others’ needs first are part of parenthood. I’m OK with that. I just wish every once in awhile, someone would ask me what *I* want. Until then, I’ll continue to ask myself. “Self, do you want to unload the dishwasher or locate the source of that stench in the fridge?” And let a preschooler decide my favorite color. He says it’s purple, BTW.

READ O’ THE WEEK: I have often thought this, so I was interested to see my theory confirmed: “How Twitter Makes You a Better Writer.”