Tag: terrible threes

children, mommyhood, parenting, terrible threes

Stubborn Streak

WFAM

Mad Dog surprised the family and came home early enough that we could all go to dinner. We picked the boys up and headed to eat pizza outside. Little T.Puzzle was feeling the unfortunate need to continuously test his limits and by the time dinner was over, Mad Dog had certainly reached his own kind of limit.

T.Puzzle was being difficult and wouldn’t get in the car. He kept locking his legs and simply refused to sit nicely in his car seat. In frustration Mad Dog says to him, “Do you want to go to Box Seats or do you want to go home and go to bed?”

T.Puzzle sticks out a defiant chin and replies, “I want to go home and go to bed.”

Yeah, right! My children and their stubborn streak never cease to amaze and baffle me.

I magnanimously offer to take little T.Puzzle home as I will gladly bypass the sports bar, video car-racing experience. However, both Mad Dog and T.Puzzle relent.

Shucks.

All I know is that if Mad Dog had asked me, I would have chosen to go home and stuck with it.

I guess I’m stubborn, too.

bad day, mommyhood, terrible threes

I’m Stunned

WFAM

The adventure continues… we were at the park and things were going well if you can believe it. All of a sudden Full Speed looks completely panicked. He has to ‘POOP!’

I call to T.Puzzle who completely ignores my command to hurry to the bathroom with us. He climbs higher and higher out of my grasp and smiles sweetly. He knows I can’t do a darn thing about it.

Full Speed’s panic is increasing with each passing second. His eyes are growing wider and he looks at me with pitiful eyes. “I have to poop NOW!” he insists.

I don’t really know what to do. I know what I would like to do. I would like to find a stun gun that shoots lasers and leaves prey temporarily immobile, unharmed and completely compliant. Alas, no laser-stun gun is available to me so I do the only thing I can. I leave little T.Puzzle unattended and Full Speed to the restrooms (which fortunately are right next to the playground). I tell Full Speed  he’s going to have to ‘man-up’ and poop without me in there because I have to stand outside to keep an eye on T.Puzzle. This makes Full Speed crazy with fear. He doesn’t want to be left alone in the creepy, playground bathroom and he starts to cry. “Man-up!” is all I can say to him as I run back outside.

At this point, little T.Puzzle has positioned himself so that he is completely unreachable and he looks like the cat that swallowed the canary. I. AM. LIVID.

Then, I hear Full Speed wailing and look up to find him outside the bathroom crying with his pants around his ankles. “Go back inside, I’ll be there in a minute!” I yell. I’m so frustrated that he couldn’t have just stayed put but really he is the least of my worries. T.Puzzle has yet to move to lower ground.

I run back to the bathroom, clean up Full Speed and my hands as quickly as possible and order him to wash his own hands before he returns outside. I hightail it back out to little T.Puzzle who by this time has lost his focus and has starting chasing some older kids around. He doesn’t realize I am watching him and as he descends to a spot I can actually reach, I make my move. I run at full tilt and grab him. I tuck him under my arm and use the force of my anger to help keep him locked down. I jog the best I can back to the car and Full Speed eventually follows.

The only way I may ever go back to the park or back in public with little T.Puzzle is if someone invents that stun gun I described. Help a Momma out, people.

bad day, mommyhood, tantrums, terrible threes

Oh Smack!

WFAM

I had this crazy idea that I would take the boys for haircuts. They have been rocking the mohawk look and it’s amazing how quickly it grew out. My plan was to pick Full Speed up from school and take both boys directly to the children’s salon. It is a pretty fantastic set-up. There’s a foosball table, an indoor climbing structure with a slide and an endless array of cool vehicles to sit in and watch Nickelodeon while getting your hair trimmed. They had a splendid time. I played foosball with Full Speed who insisted he was winning no matter how many times I scored. “That one didn’t count, Mom, only mine did,” (of course). Little T.Puzzle took to the slide like a fish to water (more fish similies later; I know you can’t wait but don’t get your gills in a tangle). They both did great for their trim and I was feeling really glad to have it done. Haircuts usually eat into our precious, weekend family time and I had just saved us the hassle. Win, win for sure.

Until,… it was time to leave. Little T.Puzzle absolutely refuses to leave and makes a scramble for the back of the slide structure. He is just about out of reach when I manage to grab his leg. He immediately starts screaming. Full Speed tries to help and yanks on the other leg. Full Speed accidentally tugs off little T.Puzzle’s croc in this muddled process. I see that this is a hot-button for T.Puzzle because he is really starting to lose it. As I manage to wrestle him into my arms (and by now, a crowd of sorts has gathered to watch the show), little T.Puzzle throws his arm back and smacks me squarely on the face.

I take him outside and all hell breaks loose. He’s screaming so loud I can’t think straight. I try to maneuver him to a time-out spot and quickly realize that he is violently flopping about like a dying fish so I can’t. I scoop him up and head to the truck. I grab his other croc from his foot and say he can’t have them back because he slapped me.

He is inconsolable. He cries and yells the whole way home. He is so upset he almost makes himself vomit. I get him home, send him to his room and try to regroup.

This is all stuff I’ve seen before. This isn’t the first time I’ve been smacked by one of my sons (hopefully it’s the last) and this isn’t the first outrageous tantrum I’ve endured.

But seriously, isn’t it enough already?

children, mommyhood, terrible threes

Certainly

WFAM

Death and taxes are the only certainties in life, right? I would like to amend this list to include time-outs (at least temporarily).

Frustration originates from wishing something inevitable could be different. I have to change my frame of mind. I have to start each morning and realize that yes, little T.Puzzle  will assert his independence throughout the day and yes, he will have to be in time-out. If I come to expect it like the other parts of our day such as lunch and quiet time, then it won’t seem nearly as aggravating. At least I hope so because I’ll give you three guesses who started their day in time-out. And we hadn’t even cracked 9 am.

children, mommyhood, terrible threes

Shocker

WFAM

Do you ever have one of those motherhood moments where you actually can’t believe you are doing what you are doing? For instance, I couldn’t believe this morning that I was fighting with little T.Puzzle over him not wanting to eat his McDonald’s pancakes. Why, you may ask yourself, am I attempting to force my son to eat something that contains little to zero nutritional value? Broccoli, sure but pancakes, really?

It all has to do with trying to make a point. Little T.Puzzle is so adamantly entrenched in the ‘no- I never’ stage, that I can’t let much slip past me. If he says ‘no!’ to wearing a Cars shirt (which is among his all-time faves), you better believe he will be wearing that shirt. If he says ‘no!’ to watching Dinosaur Train (because what three year old boy does not love all things dinosaur or all things train?), guess what Mommy’s putting on the tube? And, therefore, if he says, ‘I not eat pancakes!’ (which in every past, pancake-related situation, he has devoured them so quickly I’m surprised he did not ingest his plate as well), guess who is going to eat his pancakes? Yep, you know it. Little T.Puzzle will be eating those pancakes. It may take a threat or two, a rough stint in time-out and the promise of losing his beloved Brutus and Doggie for the day, but he will eat it. He won’t be happy at first. He will moan and sigh and generally let it be known that he DOES NOT want pancakes. If Mad Dog and I ignore him long enough and he realizes our feathers are no longer ruffled, he gives in and eats them. And wouldn’t you know it, he winds up enjoying them just like 99% of everything else he says ‘no!’ to.

What. A. Shocker.