Blargh

First and foremost let me assure you the cold is not gone. Furthermore it is now settled happily into my sinus cavities and even though I downed a slug of rich and fortifying nyquil I did not get the full nights sleep that I was promised.

No, between the Tiny Tyrant doing his bed hopping routine, and my body doing the ‘really now is the time that your lungs have to come out of your chest’ thing I didn’t get any sleep at all. Ask me if this bothers me. Go on, I dare you.

While we’re on it, I’m not precisely sure why TT (do you mind if I shorten it? no? good.) is doing the bed hopping dance of love. He started it when we began the baby bootcamp (reminder for those of you who don’t give a damn; it’s no tv, no toys, no fun all the time around here until he shapes up a bit) and I thought it was because the sudden amount of discipline made his little psyche flip out. However, we’re nearly a week into the whole ‘you will no longer argue and get into things that don’t belong to you’ regime and still at least once a night I wake up with his knee in my back. Actually lastnight it was his head near my feet and his feet in my butt. But you get the picture.

I’m sure that it is because we’ve gone from a semi accepting household to the baby equivalent of Guantanamo Bay (oh and my god! I just looked up how to spell Guantanamo Bay and holy crap people there is -a newsletter- for the people on the Bay. The entire Western culture sees that base as a place of torture and terrorist holdings and they have a f’n gazette with pictures of navy personal dressed up for Mardi Gras. I can not stop laughing. Maybe the Nyquil hasn’t worn off yet?), he’s in total lockdown while we try to get a grasp on his behavior.

People laugh when I tell them that my son is evil, or at least the next world dictator. I am not kidding though, he is a force of nature in and of himself. I keep joking that he is going to be the next Napoleon also that Momma’s gonna get herself a chateau out of the deal. The baby lockdown this time came on the heels of him trying to poison himself and the cats within one week. Also with a lot of his exasperating all encompassing arguments and whine fests that were accompanying any aspect of our day. Want to eat something? Throw a fit. Lets change your pull up, you’re smelling a bit ripe. Throw a fit. How about you come away from the road now before Momma has a heart attack? Throw a fit. It’s time to get out of the car darling we have to go inside. Throw a fit. You’re getting the picture aren’t you?

Then last week he found my clorox bleach cleaner spray bottle and proceeded to spray himself down. Ruining a beautiful set of gymboree cloths that he got for christmas from my Dad and step mom, and you know..potentially killing himself in the process. But really it was the clothes that got me. Then he went into the bathroom while I was sitting not eight feet away and got under the sink, finding the cat litter deodorizer (which wow isn’t that a funky word to spell?) and spreading it all over the bathroom. In the cat’s food, in the cat’s water, on the floor, in the tub, in the toilet, in the toilet paper…it was -everywhere-.  Which again, couldn’t be safe and good you know?

Finally we had to admit that our reasonable and kind approach to discipline was not working with our littlest dictator and decided to take drastic actions to help him realize that there are consequences to his choices. So gone are all his shows and his own personal dvd and tv setup in his room. Gone are the bazillion toys that he litters about the house and only picks up when I’m talking through my clenched teeth holding a trash bag and saying such horrible things like ‘if you don’t come in here and pick this room up Dora’s going to the compost heap in the sky little man!’

So far it’s had mixed results. The arguing has gone down considerably since now when he starts to kick up a fuss I send him packing to his room and bed, where he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling for 20 minutes, no longer distracted by anything. Since his room only contains his bed, an empty bookcase and a table. However, we’ve not yet broken through to him about the whole not getting into things and the cat torture has stepped up a notch. Both of our forgiving felines have been locked into rooms and closets since this has happened and now he follows them like a tiny Steve Irwin giving a commentary on their every move. Which I’m sure is just fun and fabulous for the cats.

I am told, repeatedly, that all I have to do to make him understand that this is the results of his behavior is to continue to stick with it. But see the problem is, I’m fairly sure he can outlast me. His imagination is rich and varied, and when that fails him, he has two Humans who are willing to interact with him and at least cuddle. I on the other hand, am tired and worn out and in desperate need for some study time that isn’t punctuated by a tiny hand grabbing my pen and demanding to ‘help mommy with her story!’.  I never thought that I would fantasize about Scooby Doo and Elmo. Right now I’d give my left tit for a uninterrupted hour of seasme street so that I could tackle my massive rambling essay and chapter that I have to read for the not so pop quiz today.

Infact this entire entry has been punctuated by interruptions. A thousand ‘leave that cat alone!’s have left my lips. A few scrambling up to find the mysterious thumps have occurred, there’s been a refill of milk on cereal an attempt at going potty on the toilet and one horrific sound of the back door being opened and a ‘I’m going to play outside!’ being bellowed. Is it any wonder that my writing leaves something to the imagination?

Ah well, my hour allotment for writing the blog has been eaten up, it’s time for me to grab something somewhat nutritious to eat and go sit on the couch and attempt to study. My head feels marginally clearer today and I am giving up my pipe dream of skipping class tonight because of illness. I’m not precisely sure where this new work ethic came from, I honestly didn’t have it in highschool or my first attempt at college. But here it is, the work ethic that makes me work on a paper for two weeks straight, editing it compulsively, ontop of doing every assignment throughly and studying like a fiend for every test. If I had only done this 12 years ago I might be in an entire different life. Then again, would I want things different?

Better not to ask that thing while I’m twisting in my chair trying to drag the TT out of the bookshelf and away from a yowling cat. Wishes have a lot of power when people are in extreme amounts of stress I hear.

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1 Comment »

  1. 1
    Miss Fayne Says:

    Girl, remember how I told you it gets better with time? I promise it does, but don’t forget that they’re going to have their little slip ups.

    I was sitting on the couch, watching Dateline’s “To catch a predator”, and folding laundry. The boys are out of the tub, the girl is in the tub and all of the sudden I see a streak of wet, pissed of pussycat. Much to my surprise, I see my son tailing off after her into the room howling about how the kitty just mysteriously “jumped” into the tub.

    I stare at my son, who is soaked and it all clicks into place, the tumblers on a Yale safe.

    He put her in the tub! That little demon put her in the tub!!!

    So, I grabbed him by his arm, up ended him and dunked him in the water, head first, three times.

    He’s now dry, and in bed very early, feeling very remorseful…

    Or at least I hope he’s feeling remorseful.

    ~lol~

    They’re never as perfect as we want them to be.

    Love you,

    Miss Fayne


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