Holden: Three Years

Three years? Whaaa--? WOW! Um, did I blink? Wow.

OK. Holden is 3-years-old. He's getting up there, so maybe it's time we start thinkng about his future. What will Holden be?

I think Holden would make an excellent attorney. He's already showing a penchant for negotiation, and he'd make a wonderful advocate on behalf of a cause or a client he really believes in ... especially if that cause or client is himself. We often have a chance to negotiate at the dinner table, where Holden could easily eat his weight in carbs, shunning all the other food groups. So we tell him: "Four more bites of chicken, then you can have some bread." He counters with: "Two more," holding up two fingers. He's pretty good at holding out, too. On a recent shopping trip with Grandma Bonnie at Old Navy, Holden picked out a T-shirt with a lion on it. For weeks, we pleaded and cajoled, trying to get him to wear this shirt. He said the lion scared him, and cited caselaw confirming his point. Finally, defeated, we folded it up, put it back in the drawer and figured we'd try again with Riley in a couple years. A day or two later, when it was time to pick out clothes, Holden reached in and pulled out the lion shirt. With a big smile, he ran in to show me, and was just so proud of himself. We're not really sure who won that case.


Holden might also prove to be an adept politician. He has the Commit-A-Crime-Lie-About-It-Then-Make-Solemn-Apology Act down pretty good. If he could hold a press conference for everyone to see how sincere he is when he admits wrongdoing and cries, he would. His various indiscretions recently include throwing a toy at the kitty, refusing to turn the water on himself to wash his hands and the ever-present running in the house.

If Holden could make being a teenager a career, he'd be a shoe-in. Everyone talks about the attitude of older kids, but you haven't lived until a toddler's sassed you. "Fine!" he yelled back recently while getting a calm little talking to about something or the other. He wasn't in trouble, until then. All the sudden, he's got all this pent-up aggression, like a hormone-driven 15-year-old. He balls up his fists, grits his teeth and lets out a "Grrrrr!" in your face when you're saying something he doesn't want to hear, like please hurry and get in the car seat because we're running late.

Another option might be an athlete. His energy and strength are astounding, and, although I don't know what he should be capable of at this point, he's really good at kicking around a soccer ball, trolling the neighborhood on his scooter and playing catch. Or maybe a musician. He plays the guitar with gusto and all the world to Holden is a song. Songs he knows, songs he doesn't know, songs he's making up on the spot - his life has a soundtrack. He's also real handy around the house, and loves to fix things. Maybe a janitor or a carpenter. He's so great with his brother, giving him toys and leaping to help change his diapers or give him a bath. Maybe a nanny? A scientist! Then he could answer "Why? Why? Why?" He likes cars. Maybe a race car driver or a mechanic and then he can talk about blinkers and going super fast and stop signs all day long! Thanks to his little daycare friends, he's added the expressions: "C'mon dudes!" and "What's up, dudes?" to his repertoire. He's got the surfer lingo down.

The possibilities are seemingly endless. He's growing so fast, we better decide soon! I've got it! A professional Casanova. He'd be the best there ever was, assuming such a career exists. With his sweet dimpled smile, generous hugs and spontaneous, warm declarations of love, you can bet I'd buy whatever he sells.