Also - and maybe only a select few of us will find this unbelievably charming - he's been known to occasionally sing about zombies.
* * *
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my youngest has a secret weapon.
On top of this, he’s a flirt. A charmer. A regular little Casanova.
He’s only four-and-a-half, but he’s got women of all ages wrapped around his little finger, doting on his every whim, insert-appropriate-love-is-blind-and-easily-manipulatived-cliché-here.
The last time Mr Lannis took the boys to the rink to help them learn how to skate, the four-and-a-half-year-old was on the ice for thirty seconds before he’d roped a ten-year-old girl into holding his hand for balance.
My dear husband returned home, stumped. Apparently our youngest had not only never met this girl before, but he’d cited “I need help to balance” as the reasoning behind the hand-holding. (Mr Lannis had asked the girl -- who had declared our boy’s approach, her own age, and that no, she didn’t know him from school, as Mr Lannis had previously assumed).
And this clingy behaviour from a child who usually steadies himself on the boards, but doesn’t need much help, even though this venture into skating is relatively new.
Now, to be honest, I’m usually the one bearing witness to our little Casanova in action. I’m the one with him in the grocery store, where he chats up girls from 6 months to 60 + years, be they in a shopping cart, pushing a cart, or behind the cash register.
If she’s breathing, he’s flirting. It’s that simple.
And he’s usually the first to toss out his name, age, and where he lives, too (don’t worry, we’re working on street-proofing).
When put on the phone recently with a female (my auntie), the first words out of his mouth were “When are you coming to visit me?”
Understandably, she melted.
And over Hallowe’en, once the trick-or-treating had been burned out of their systems and the boys were home helping dole out candy while checking out the neighbourhood kids’ costumes? There was my youngest, at the door, looking every little girl in the eye and telling them, “You’re pretty. And you’re pretty. And you’re pretty, too.”
Of course these girls were more concerned with thanking me for their candy and moving on to the next house. Some tittered and giggled.
Most clearly thought he was weird.
I asked him why he was giving the girls compliments, and he threw his arms wide and said, “I want all the girls in the WORLD to know they’re pretty!”
Well, isn’t that lovely!
My mental cynic reasoned that either he’s genuinely trying to express his appreciation for girls’ beauty, or he’s tapped into a vibe of insecurity that not many males tend to notice until they’re well into puberty (and sometimes beyond).
And my exuberant little four-and-a-half-year-old is in love with life, too.
He’s bouncy, and energetic, and oozing positivity until you want to bang your head against the wall because he’s just so dang cute in his never-ending-optimism, it makes you want to puke.
He’s freaking adorable.
Which is why, when he’s told to Sshust! in a restaurant or in public because he’s yapping away in his plucky, upbeat way (and interrupting the grown ups), he usually ends up winning. Because whatever random female we’re chatting with will bend down to say hello to him, because, well, even silent, the secret weapon lurks.
(Cutest unibrow you’ll ever see. Trust.)
So hide your girls, parents. He’s got a way to go until puberty, but he’s clearly just using the time to hone those skills...
Lord save us all.
Occasional poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]
I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.
If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.