"I hate you." A Parenting Milestone

My youngest son, the Wee One, is four.

He is a combination of the stubbornness and poor coordination of age 2 mixed with the impulsiveness of age 3.

He has a temper like my retired US Marine Corps father and the manipulative skills of a charming 16 year old girl.

The intensity of his rage appears undaunted by the smallness of his stature.

In the space of 30 seconds he has been known to say:

"Mama, could you please fetch me some water? My cup is empty and I am thirsty."

And then:

"Mama? Is this still today?"

And then:

"MAMA! THIS SPOON WILL NOT SCOOP!"

And then:

"Mummammuumma garbeldygook babytalk gibberish"

It is challenging to keep up with his wildly swinging moods.

He will hug me and then mid-hug begin to choke me - yes, on purpose. He waits until I ask him to stop. He does this so often that I'm fairly certain he is testing the exact pressure at which hug becomes pain and he wants to be statistically certain that his value is within an acceptable standard deviation.

He head butts. He pinches. He bites. He yells and throws himself on the floor. He jumps straight up and down when frustrated - which would be absolutely hilarious if not for the surrounding tantrum.

He is challenging to parent.

He requires a level of sustained parenting commitment that is difficult to maintain. He needs me to be on my A-game from 5am to 8pm. Every day.

If I stay fully engaged with him, moment by never-ending moment, I can help him regulate his moods, impulses, and urges. But, I can't realistically do that. Yet another way I fail as a parent, I suppose.

Nonetheless - now you have the background for the tantrum that occurred last weekend.

I forget what was the precipitating event. He was asked to go to time out.

He refused.

He was asked to walk to his room.

He refused.

He was carried to his bed. His wails and screams echoing throughout the house. His kicking and flailing becoming increasingly aggressive as we approached the threshold of his room.

He was placed (perhaps not entirely gently) into his bed, and I took my usual seat during tantrum-time in the rocking chair.

My philosophy during tantrums is to sit nearby, letting the rage run its' course, offering support, guidance, and consequences.

As the fruit of my loins thrashed on his bed he began to yell:

"I hate this!"
"I hate my room!"

wait for it ...

"I hate you, Mama!"

There you have it.

Inside my head there was a moment of shocked silence. Then a myriad of voices began to chime in:

Sweet, motherly voice: "I think a piece of my heart just died"
Intellectual voice: "QUICK! THINK" How do we respond without permanent damage?!"
Angry voice: "That little $%*# Imma kill him."
Tired voice: "Where is hubs? I'm done."
Sweet, motherly voice: "There. We've done it. We've ruined him forever."
Intellectual voice: "What would Dr. Sears say??!!"
Angry voice: "Still mad here. Really mad."
A voice that sounded like my own: "I'm the worst mother ever."

In the end I said something like, "How would you feel if I said that to you? That's a very hurtful thing to say."

Later, Hubs made him apologize and we talked about how hurt feelings are like boo-boos and they take time to get better.

I wish I could tie this all up and say he sweetly sat on my lap later and the dead piece of my heart was healed ... but alas he continued to be a pain for the remainder of the weekend. Thanks, daylight savings time, and the truth is - he's not much for cuddling and warm fuzzies.

I suppose this will not be the last time he hates me, and I better get used to it. Adolescence should be fun.

Parenting, my friends, not for the thin skinned.

Coffee. The struggle.

6:03am

We've been up since somewhere in the 0500's when the boys joined me in bed.

I trumble (trudge+stumble) downstairs and head directly to the coffee pot.

The youngest child is circling me, crashing and ricocheting off my legs like a moth with a light bulb. 

I must concentrate fiercely, lest I pour OJ into my coffee or something. Mug. 

"Mama?"

Put Coffee in mug.

"Mama? Can you read this book?"

Spoon. Sugar.

"Mama? Where is Yoda's light saber?"

Milk. Put Milk in, too.

"Mama? Mama!" He crashes into my legs, bounces off and falls to the floor. Now there's crying.

"Maaammmaaa"

Where did I put my mug?

There there, buddy. Shhh.

Seriously, I just made it. Where is it?

"Mama? Can I have breakfast?"

"Sure bud, what would you like?"

"A muffin?"

"Sorry bud, we're all out."

There it is! 

"A cookie?"

"What?"

"One of the cookies we made yesterday?"

"We don't eat cookies for breakfast."

Cold?! How?!

"A waffle?"

"Sure. Go get in your chair."

Now the big one chimes in from the living room, where he is nestled on the couch under a blanket,

"MOM?!CanIhaveCheerioswithmilkandalsomilkinacup? And can you tell me when it's on the table?!"

God forbid he emerge from his blanket before absolutely necessary.

"Sure bud."

A moment of silence while both children eat.

I locate my coffee in the microwave.

Cold again. 

A crappy parent does crafting

It's Christmas!

Time for heartwarming sessions crafting with the boys, right?

Sweet, candlelit, gingerbread scented moments of glitter, glue and laughter.

Beautiful gifts to hand out to beaming relatives. 

Here's how it went:

The plan:

Stupid Pinterest.

How easy could this be? Kiddo's fingerprint, a little sharpie work and viola! A cute keepsake for beloved relatives.

How it went down:

Fingerprints? No, mama. 

The fingerprint plan was quickly abandoned.

The children began to paint the ornaments any which way.

I had given them red, green and white paint (Christmas colors, yes?) but the wee one insisted on brown.

Brown?

Very festive. A brown ornament is a lovely addition to any holiday decor.

And finally:

Ker-smash!

And we're done!

Fa la la la la. La. La. La. LA!

Happy Holidays!

Parenting, as done by a Neurotic

This post could also be titled, "What Goes Through My Head While Interacting with Other Parents."

Inside my head at any (and all) school functions...

"Hi, how are you? Nice to see you again. How's your son/daughter doing at school this year?"
She is so much thinner than me. 
Way thinner. 
Must be a runner.  
She probably does marathons. Why was I cursed with these short legs and lack of discipline. 
I'm going running when I get home. 

"Hi, I can't believe how big your son/daughter is getting!"
What a great suit. I bet she just came from a fulfilling day at an important job. 
Why did I even wear this outfit? Do I even own a suit anymore?
No, no I do not. 
My boys will probably grow up to think that women aren't productive members of society. 
I'm going on Monster.com when I get home. 

"Hi. Nice to meet you."
Look at those earrings. So pretty. I never would have thought to buy something like that. 
Do I even own earrings that were purchased in the 21st century?
Accessories. Jewelry, shoes, purses. I have got to get on that. 
When I get home I'm going to start a Pinterest board regarding current trends.  

"Oh, hi - yes my son talks about your son/daughter all the time!"
Those children are so well behaved. 
Why is  my son yelling again? 
Please God, don't let them start hitting each other right here and now. 
They are obviously way better parents than I am. 
When I get home I am ordering parenting books from Amazon.com

"It was great seeing you too. Let's do a playdate sometime."

I do not schedule enough playdates. 

My children are socially deprived. 

It's a wonder they can socialize at all. 

When I get home I am emailing every parent on the class list for a playdate, before it's too late. 

"Take care. Bye!"

We're probably leaving too early. Are we leaving too early? 

Everyone in there is enjoying themselves except me. 

No one likes me, or my kids. 

I bet they're all headed home to feed their children healthy, vegetable-laden dinners, too. 

Tomorrow I am going to do everything better. 

Parenting

My youngest is small for his age.

25th percentile for height, and easily the wee-est one in his preschool class.

Ignore the epic blinking face on photobombing brother.

He is anti all things dairy (except ice cream, of course) so on the rare occasions that he asks for chocolate milk, I am happy to oblige.

Today was one of those days.

I obtain a tall cup of chocolatey calcium and hand it over.

Something occurs with plastic swords and the entire glass is spilled.

I grind my teeth, "No big deal guys, accidents happen" I say, with mock cheerfulness and I obtain another cup of chocolate milk.

For growing bones, I tell myself as I hand it over.

Why can't they play with dolls? 

This time something happens with a plastic bead necklace and the table and floor are once again covered in milk.

This time my cheery, "Lets not cry over spilled milk" isn't fooling anyone.

His short little bones be damned, he ain't getting another cup.

Enchiladas

I am currently awash in a sea of beautiful produce from our local CSA. I love our farmer and each year that I am a member of the CSA I vow to use everything we get.

So far I have failed miserably, but each year I get a little better.

I imagine that I am not the only person in the world swimming in zucchini (and cucumbers... and kale) so today I made some vegetarian enchiladas and used up a big chunk of this weeks farm haul.

Here's the recipe!

First of all, make some salsa. Into the food processor:
3 large tomatoes
1/2 large onion
1 clove garlic
1 handful cilantro (stems and all!)
1 seeded jalepeno

Pulse until salsa-y  (it required 2 batches in my food processor). I strained this slightly before using it in my enchiladas - my tomatoes were very juicy and the salsa was watery.

Next make your filling. In a large skillet heat up some olive oil and saute:
3 medium zucchini (diced)
3 green peppers (diced)
the other 1/2 of that onion (diced)
1 clove garlic (minced)
2 tablespoons each: chili power, cumin, coriander
1tsp garlic powder and onion powder
salt and pepper
Cook until soft.

Finally, layer it up like lasagna
Into the bottom of a 13x9in baking dish place a layer of your salsa.
Cover with a layer of soft corn tortillas.
Cover that with your zucchini mixture (reserving about a cup)
Then add a layer of your favorite shredded cheese.
Finally another layer of corn tortillas, salsa and the remaining zucchini mixture.
Top it all off with a layer of cheese.

Bake at 400 for 20-30 minutes, until golden brown and bubbly.
Allow to cool for a bit before cutting, lest it be watery.

Cheesy, veggie goodness. 

This made for a very mild dish, next time I think I'll use the jalapeno whole and it will still be pretty mild.  

Running: a mind/body experience

Wednesday, 9am.

38 degrees F.

Mind: We're going running. 

Body: What? No. It's cold. 

Mind: I will provide you with a hat and gloves. 

5 minutes into run:

Mind: Yay! Running! So good for me. Shrink stubborn thighs, shrink. 

Knees: crackle, crackle.

Quads: I'm tired already.

Hamstrings: We're tight. 

10 minutes into run: 

Mind: Yay. Running. Must keep running. 

Body: Yay! Running is awesome! I feel great! Hey! Is that a downhill? WEEEE!

20 minutes into run: 

Mind: I'm bored. Can we stop?

Body: No! I love running! When are we going to increase our distance?!

Mind: What do you think are the odds of being snatched by a serial killer on this stretch of road? 

Body: Wha? 

30 minutes into run:

Body: I'm hot! Take off the hat and gloves immediately! 

Mind: What am I supposed to do with them?? 

Body: Carry them awkwardly, of course. Can we take off the rest of our clothes, too? I want to be free. 

Mind: No. I don't want to carry these. We're ditching them behind this telephone pole. We'll come back for them later. 

40 minutes into run: 

Body: Effing hill. Can't. Breathe. Must. Stop. 

Mind: NO! Almost done! See we are cresting the hill now! Way to go!

Body: Still. Can't. Breathe. Wheeze. Gasp. 

Mind: Why are you still panting? We're going downhill now. Weee?

Body: No. 

End of run:

Body and Mind: YAY! 

4 hours post-run:

Mind: I feel great! So calm and centered. 

Body: Stop climbing up and down the friggen stairs. No. More. Laundry. 

And there you have it. 

Running, as experienced by me.