Walsh Family Universe V2

It started on a Tuesday morning, three weeks into preschool.

Ash woke up feeling... different. Not angry exactly. Not defiant in the way he'd been in those early weeks. Just restless. Mischievous, almost.

His toddler body had energy that needed somewhere to go, and his adult brain was tired of always being good, always complying, always doing exactly what was expected.

Maybe it was seeing the other kids at preschool get away with small acts of chaos. Maybe it was Emma's delighted laughter when she'd "accidentally" knocked over the block tower yesterday. Maybe it was just that he'd been so well-behaved for so long that something in him needed to push back.

Just a little.

At breakfast, Shannon set his oatmeal in front of him. "Eat up, sweetie. We have a busy morning."

Ash looked at the oatmeal. Looked at his spoon. And instead of eating it, he flicked the spoon, sending a small glob of oatmeal onto the table.

Not onto the floor. Not at Shannon. Just... onto the table.

Shannon paused. "Noam, we don't throw food."

"I didn't throw it. I flicked it."

"That's the same thing. Please eat nicely."

Ash flicked another small spoonful. This time it landed on his placemat.

"Noam Francis Walsh." Shannon's voice had that warning edge. "That's enough. Eat your breakfast properly."

Something about the way she said it made Ash want to flick one more spoonful. Just to see what would happen. Just to test the boundary.

He did.

This one landed on his shirt.

Shannon sighed and got up, retrieving a washcloth. "You're making a mess. Is that what you want? To make a mess?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you still need to eat your breakfast. And if you can't eat nicely at the table, you'll go straight to your room after."

That was a consequence. Not a big one, but a consequence. Ash considered pushing further but decided against it. He'd made his point. Had that tiny thrill of doing something he wasn't supposed to do.

He ate the rest of his breakfast normally.

Later that morning, Shannon was folding laundry in the living room while Ash played at his table. He was supposed to be coloring, but instead he was watching her, thinking.

In the laundry basket he could see his clothes—little polo shirts and shorts and the dreaded pull-ups that Shannon was trying to transition him to from diapers.

An idea formed.

While Shannon was focused on folding towels, Ash quietly got up from his table. Crept over to the basket. Grabbed three pull-ups.

And hid them behind the couch.

He didn't know why. There was no strategic purpose. He just wanted to do something slightly naughty, slightly chaotic. Something that was harmless but would mildly inconvenience someone.

He returned to his table and resumed coloring, fighting a smile.

An hour later, when Shannon tried to change him before nap time, she frowned at the pull-ups drawer.

"That's odd. I could have sworn I had more of these..." She counted, checked the laundry basket, looked confused. "Where did three pull-ups go?"

Ash said nothing, keeping his face carefully neutral.

Shannon checked the bathroom, the nursery, even asked Patrick when he came home for lunch. "Did you move any pull-ups? I'm missing three."

Patrick shook his head. "Nope. Maybe they're in the wash?"

"I already checked." Shannon looked baffled. "They've just vanished."

Ash nearly broke character and laughed. He could see the edge of one sticking out from behind the couch, but neither adult had noticed.

After nap time, Shannon announced they were going to the grocery store.

Ash liked the grocery store—there was lots to see, and Shannon usually let him pick out one treat. But today, strapped in the shopping cart seat, he felt that mischievous energy again.

Shannon was comparing prices on pasta sauce, her attention focused on the shelf.

Ash reached out and grabbed a box of crackers from a display next to the cart. Held it for a moment. Then deliberately dropped it on the floor.

It landed with a satisfying crunch.

"Noam!" Shannon turned. "That was on purpose."

"My hands slipped."

"Your hands did not slip. I saw you drop it." Shannon picked up the box, examining it. The crackers were probably broken inside. She put it in the cart with a sigh. "We're buying these now since you broke them. And that's coming out of your treat budget."

Ash shrugged. Worth it for the small thrill of chaos.

As they continued shopping, he found other tiny ways to cause minor havoc. Knocking his foot against the cart to make it rattle. Reaching for things Shannon said not to touch—not grabbing them, just reaching. Singing the alphabet song off-key and slightly too loud.

Nothing huge. Nothing that would trigger serious consequences. Just the low-level mischief of a three-year-old testing how much he could get away with.

"Someone's in a mood today," Shannon said as they checked out. "Is someone feeling cheeky?"

"Maybe."

"Well, cheeky behavior means no treat today. You broke the crackers on purpose, and you've been pushing boundaries all morning." Shannon's voice was firm but not angry. "That's the consequence."

No treat. Ash felt a flicker of disappointment but also that odd satisfaction. He'd misbehaved. Had been slightly naughty. And the consequence was just... no cookie. Not a spanking. Not timeout. Just a natural consequence that actually made sense.

That evening, Patrick came home to find Shannon looking slightly frazzled.

"Rough day?" he asked.

"Noam's been testing boundaries all day. Nothing major, just... cheeky. Flicking food, making messes, dropping things on purpose." Shannon lowered her voice. "I found the missing pull-ups behind the couch, by the way."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "He hid them?"

"Apparently. Like a little game."

Patrick looked at Ash, who was playing with blocks in the living room, very carefully not making eye contact.

"Noam, come here please."

Ash walked over, his heart rate picking up slightly. Was he in trouble? Real trouble?

Patrick sat on the couch and gestured for Ash to come closer. When he did, Patrick lifted him onto his lap—not in the spanking position, just sitting normally.

"Mommy tells me you've been having a cheeky day."

"I guess."

"Hiding pull-ups? Dropping crackers? Flicking oatmeal?"

Ash nodded, waiting for the lecture, the consequence, the disappointment.

Instead, Patrick surprised him. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you were bored. And I think maybe you were testing to see what you could get away with." Patrick's voice was calm, analytical. "Is that right?"

Ash considered lying but decided on truth. "Yeah."

"Okay. That's pretty normal for three-year-olds. Testing boundaries is actually developmentally appropriate." Patrick adjusted Ash so they were eye to eye. "But here's the thing—there are better ways to get attention and have fun than making messes and causing problems. You could have asked Mommy to play a game. Or said you wanted to do something different. Or used your words."

"But that's not as fun."

Patrick's mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "No, I suppose it's not. Being a little bit naughty is kind of fun, isn't it?"

Ash blinked. He hadn't expected that response.

"But," Patrick continued, "fun for you means extra work for Mommy. She has to clean up the oatmeal you flicked. Find the pull-ups you hid. Pay for the crackers you broke. That's not fair to her, is it?"

"No."

"So here's what's going to happen. Tomorrow, you're going to help Mommy with extra chores. You're going to put away the clean dishes from the dishwasher—the plastic ones you can reach. You're going to help sort laundry. You're going to make up for the extra work you created today."

That was... actually a reasonable consequence. Not punishment, but restitution.

"Okay," Ash said.

"And if you're feeling restless or bored or like you want to cause some chaos, you need to use your words first. Tell Mommy 'I have a lot of energy' or 'I'm bored' or even 'I feel like doing something silly.' She can help you find appropriate ways to be energetic or silly that don't make extra work."

"What if I want to be inappropriate silly?"

Patrick did smile then. "Everyone wants to be inappropriate silly sometimes. But we're three years old, buddy. We're learning how to be part of a family and a community. That means thinking about how our actions affect other people."

He set Ash down. "Go apologize to Mommy for making extra work today. Then tomorrow you'll help with chores. That's the consequence."

Ash walked to the kitchen where Shannon was starting dinner.

"I'm sorry I was cheeky today."

Shannon turned, looking surprised and pleased. "Thank you for apologizing. Do you understand why that behavior wasn't okay?"

"Because it made extra work for you."

"That's right." Shannon crouched down and pulled him into a hug. "I know sometimes you have a lot of energy or you're bored or you just want to do something different. But we can find better ways to handle those feelings, okay?"

"Okay."

"Tomorrow we'll do some fun chores together. You can be my special helper."

That night in bed, Ash thought about the day. About his little acts of mischief. About the responses they'd gotten.

No spanking. No NCI. No being sent to his room for hours.

Just natural consequences—no treat, having to help with chores. And a conversation about why the behavior wasn't okay and what to do instead.

It was... weirdly good parenting, actually.

They'd acknowledged that testing boundaries was normal. That wanting to be silly and chaotic was a real feeling. But they'd also set clear expectations and meaningful consequences.

"My name is Ash," he whispered. "I'm twenty-five years old. Today I hid pull-ups and dropped crackers on purpose."

And part of him—the three-year-old part, the part that was adapting whether he wanted to or not—had actually enjoyed it. The mischief, the chaos, the testing of boundaries.

He'd been cheeky.

And it had been kind of fun.

Tomorrow he'd help with dishes and laundry. Would learn that actions had consequences but that consequences could be reasonable and teaching moments rather than just punishment.

Would learn, again, that his parents were better at this than he wanted them to be.

Five thousand four hundred and sixty-one days to go.

But today he'd been a little bit naughty in a very three-year-old way.

And somehow that felt like its own kind of small rebellion.

Not against being Noam—but as Noam, asserting the right to sometimes be imperfect, to test boundaries, to have the full range of three-year-old experiences.

Even the cheeky ones.

He fell asleep thinking about hiding those pull-ups, and how Shannon's baffled expression had been genuinely funny.

And if he dreamed of more tiny acts of harmless mischief, well.

Even good kids were allowed to be a little bit naughty sometimes.

That's what being three was for.