Little man of the house
by Jennifer Cohron
Aug 11, 2013 | 1406 views | 0 0 comments | 114 114 recommendations | email to a friend | print
Jennifer Cohron
Jennifer Cohron
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I have called Wyatt my chunky monkey since he was a baby.

At that time, it wasn’t yet apparent that he had inherited his father’s tall, lanky frame. There’s nothing chunky about him these days.

He is still very much a monkey, though.

Wyatt reminds me of a little monkey we’ve been watching on TV in the mornings named Curious George.

Like George, Wyatt is fascinated by the world around him. Every day is a new opportunity to encounter something new and figure out how it works.

Wyatt began showing signs of being mechanically minded as an infant.

If a toy had wheels, it was certain to spend most of its time turned upside down so he could “inspect” them.

As he got older, he became an expert at solving child-sized problems.

One day, he accidentally rolled a marble under the washing machine while I was putting on some laundry. When I didn’t retrieve it in a timely matter, Wyatt grabbed the nearest hanger, flattened himself on the floor and pushed the marble to safety.

Now that Wyatt is 3, he has some toys that require some assembly each time he pulls them out of their box.

That’s not a problem if Zac is around to create an elaborate figure eight with his train tracks or stack the Legos on his other train set so that Thomas the Tank Engine can reach the ferris wheel.

However, there is a reason that my plan to become an engineer only lasted a day at UAB — I don’t like making things.

Wyatt picked up on his mother’s ineptitude about the fourth or fifth time he asked me to fix his track and refused to take “Let’s wait on Daddy” for an answer.

After watching for a few minutes as I struggled with the various pieces, he picked up the extra track and quietly started working on a layout of his own.

I was still trying to make a couple of curves connect when he threw his hands in the air and yelled, “I did it!”

I am no longer asked to assist with trains or Legos.

Lately, Wyatt has grown very interested in his daddy’s tools.

Several weeks ago, Zac let him help make some adjustment on his new tricycle. For days afterward, Wyatt spent more time “working” on his bike than riding it.

“What’s wrong with it?” I finally asked him.

“It not go very fast,” Wyatt mumbled as he beat on it a little with a wrench. A typical male answer, I suppose.

Wyatt also sticks close by his daddy’s side whenever he is handling some manly duty around the house, such as fixing a leaky faucet.

A couple of months after the faucet incident, I was trying to wrangle him out of his pj’s so we could make a trip to the store. He insisted on grabbing a flashlight and heading off to the bathroom half naked instead.

He opened up the doors under the sink and said, “Mommy, cut the hot water on.”

I obliged.

“Now the cold water, Mommy.”

Again, I followed his instructions.

Then he pulled his head out from under the cabinet and with more than a little disappointment in his voice said, “It not leaking.”

I’m beginning to think the motto of men age 3 as well as 30 is “If it ain’t broke, give me another reason to fix it.”