This morning I decided that it is simply not worth the hassle to try to keep G from partaking of N's ice cream, jello, pudding, push-up popsicles and other soft food treats as she recovers from tonsillectomy. Based on how annoying G is most of the time, I figure additional sugar probably won't make too much of a difference in how often I want to throttle him during the day.
With G I vacillate every 20 minutes between feeling this close to enrolling him in daycare just so I don't have to be the one to contend with his behavior and adoring the sweet and often cute things he does. Even though N had her fits and starts at age 3, she was never, ever as annoying as G. (I have to remind myself that for much of N's third year I only had 1 child, and for the latter part of her third year, I only had 2 children. Having 3 kids ramps it up considerably.)
All day yesterday he was a royal pain in the arse. He started throwing a fit when D and I left a little before 7:00 a.m. to take N to the surgery center. He refused to take a nap. Every time I gave N some jello or slush he ranted endlessly to give him some too. It was all I could do not to completely lose it with him.
Before I read to him at bedtime, he opened up this book and sang the song to me twice in his wobbly 3-year-old voice. And no matter how frustrated I am with the little booger, hearing him sing, "The cheese stands alone," and being so proud that he can turn the pages and "read" the book to his momma makes everything feel right again.
G loves me fiercely and is very much a momma's boy, which I often don't understand since I feel like I spend 90% of my life hollering at him to quit pestering or stop hitting someone. I often worry that one day he will look back on his childhood and only remember a mom that nagged and screeched and was generally grouchy and disagreeable. My mom says G reminds her of my brother, who was also very, very stubborn and a right royal pest. (Evidently, G's issues are genetic.)
I hope one day my blog may redeem me to my children, just as it often redeems my children to me when I have had enough of the unpleasant parts of their childishness and forget the lovely parts of it.
Like how G and N play a game in the basement that they call "Centimonipedes," which involves laying pillows down in rows to look like gigantic centipedes and then jumping off the couch onto them.
Or how G asked me in the car one day as we were driving home:
G: "Are we on earf?"
Me: "Yes."
Pause of a couple minutes.
G: "What is earf?"
Me: "It's a planet."
Another long pause.
G: "I want to go into space."
When G said this to me my thoughts illustrated just how complex my feelings are for my boy. On the one hand, I thought his "going into space" sentiment was so cute, but I couldn't help also saying to myself that I often feel like kicking him to the moon Honeymooners' style.
With G I vacillate every 20 minutes between feeling this close to enrolling him in daycare just so I don't have to be the one to contend with his behavior and adoring the sweet and often cute things he does. Even though N had her fits and starts at age 3, she was never, ever as annoying as G. (I have to remind myself that for much of N's third year I only had 1 child, and for the latter part of her third year, I only had 2 children. Having 3 kids ramps it up considerably.)
All day yesterday he was a royal pain in the arse. He started throwing a fit when D and I left a little before 7:00 a.m. to take N to the surgery center. He refused to take a nap. Every time I gave N some jello or slush he ranted endlessly to give him some too. It was all I could do not to completely lose it with him.
Before I read to him at bedtime, he opened up this book and sang the song to me twice in his wobbly 3-year-old voice. And no matter how frustrated I am with the little booger, hearing him sing, "The cheese stands alone," and being so proud that he can turn the pages and "read" the book to his momma makes everything feel right again.
G loves me fiercely and is very much a momma's boy, which I often don't understand since I feel like I spend 90% of my life hollering at him to quit pestering or stop hitting someone. I often worry that one day he will look back on his childhood and only remember a mom that nagged and screeched and was generally grouchy and disagreeable. My mom says G reminds her of my brother, who was also very, very stubborn and a right royal pest. (Evidently, G's issues are genetic.)
I hope one day my blog may redeem me to my children, just as it often redeems my children to me when I have had enough of the unpleasant parts of their childishness and forget the lovely parts of it.
Like how G and N play a game in the basement that they call "Centimonipedes," which involves laying pillows down in rows to look like gigantic centipedes and then jumping off the couch onto them.
Or how G asked me in the car one day as we were driving home:
G: "Are we on earf?"
Me: "Yes."
Pause of a couple minutes.
G: "What is earf?"
Me: "It's a planet."
Another long pause.
G: "I want to go into space."
When G said this to me my thoughts illustrated just how complex my feelings are for my boy. On the one hand, I thought his "going into space" sentiment was so cute, but I couldn't help also saying to myself that I often feel like kicking him to the moon Honeymooners' style.
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