GAIL WHITE The littlest one just tries to keep up with the blur of family life

Sometimes, I feel sorry for my youngest child.
With the other children in our family being between 5 and 10 years older than he is, there are days when the coming and going of the others is a fast-paced, confusing blur to him. But then, there are other days when his fast-paced, active body and mind is a confusing blur to the rest of us.
He begins almost every day walking into the kitchen, rubbing his sleepy little eyes and asking, "Where are the boys?"
"At school." My answer is always the same. There have been mornings when he cries after hearing this news. The boys think he's lucky to be able to sleep in. David, 5, finds his good fortune very lonely.
He was very excited one day a few weeks ago when I told him we were going to the boys' school for a conference. I did not share in his excitement. The last time I had a conference with this teacher, David had wandered around the room, found the garbage can and fallen head first into it. His voice echoed off the metal sides of the can as he yelled, "Mommy, help me!"
I needn't have worried about the garbage can this time. I had an older son on hand. While I talked with the teacher, David sat with Phillip in his classroom. When I returned to retrieve him, he was hidden under a pile of coats. Disappointed that I discovered him, he began clinging to his instigating older brother. I carried him out of the school as he wailed all the way down the hall, "I want to stay at school! I want Phillip!"
Sleep-overs
Weekends can have the same effect on the little guy. David loves it when the boys have friends over for the night. He has a difficult time when friends invite his brothers over. "Why can't I go to John's?" he asked as he came into the kitchen crying one Friday evening. "He's my friend, too!"
Of course, the tears that this youngest child cries over his siblings are not his alone. David unwittingly exacts his revenge on his brothers all too often.
The other evening, the child was running around the house with his favorite blankie tied around his neck and a monkey with long Velcro arms attached to his waist.
"I am monkey man!" he yelled as he ran. He hopped up on furniture and down the other side. If someone was sitting on the furniture, he became a mere obstacle to hurdle over. Back and forth he ran, from one side of the house to the other, yelling all the while.
One by one, the brothers began approaching me in the kitchen.
"Mom, make him stop," one said with great irritation in his voice.
"Why is he doing this?" another asked in bewilderment.
Holding his head, the third brother moaned, "I can't take him anymore."
I had been somewhat enjoying the happy confusion David was making. It wasn't that long ago that the three other boys were constantly running about with bizarre scenarios. One "monkey man" seemed rather cute to me.
In the car
The car is another place that David exacts his revenge.
"Where are we going? ... Why are we going there? ... Will there be snow there? ... Cookies? ... How about juice? ... When will we get there? ... Can I get a new bike?... When will I lose a tooth? ... Where are we going again?"
"To the store!" an impatient brother bursts into David's line of questioning. "We are going to the store! Now, let's see who can be the quietest until we get there."
Sitting behind the driver's wheel, I mused at how familiar that line sounded.
There are days that I don't help poor little David's confusion over our family's fast pace.
We were on our seventh store one morning, desperately searching for curtains. David had been a real trooper, hustling and keeping up with my pace.
Coming unraveled
Sometimes, in my fatigued mother-of-four state, I don't hear little David the first time. I don't know if that was the case on this morning or if things just came unraveled before he had a chance to stop it.
"I think my pants are falling down," I heard him say just once as he held a candy in one hand and my hand with his other.
When I looked down at him, he was trudging along with his trousers down to his ankles.
Poor kid. It's tough to be the youngest. If I had let him be monkey man that morning, the Velcro arms would have held those pants up, I bet.
gwhite@vindy.com