Our toddler spent the latter part of church this morning shoving his brothers, putting his feet on the pew, and causing himself to slip, bottom first, between the kneeler and pew ahead of us, so that he had to be pulled out again.
“Maybe there’s something in his name,” I said to my husband, thinking about John’s persistent – and resistant – energy. “Maybe he’s a ‘son of thunder’.”
“Because he’s so rambunctious.”
“How does that make him different from his brothers?”
He has a point. Our civilising efforts have paid off with the others and they are now relatively mellow fellows. But looking back I do remember that they were similarly full of – ahem – pep and vinegar.
Our latest concentrated effort with John has been to cure him of his habit of greeting people whom he likes with a good, sound shove, a gesture that is a mix of challenge and bonhomie.
Parenting and discipline are hard work – necessary and rewarding, but hard, work. And we’ve haven’t even started with the “Wax on, wax off” yet.