Ups and Downs

Three-year-olds are such strange little creatures.

My Big Boy is generally sweet, he loves understanding the rules, and loves doing things "just right."

Except when he doesn't.

Sometimes he deliberately breaks the rules. Testing to see what will happen.

What's a mama to do?

Though I understand this is a completely normal part of his development, sometimes I feel like I'm in a scene from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers."

Yesterday he heaved a big, giant rock at his wee brother. Caught him in the arm and made him cry.

The mama bear inside me bared her teeth and started to get up, and it was challenging to rein her in.

Calm.

Consistent.

I know, I  know. Consistently reinforce the rules. Don't let him push your buttons.

A few minutes after the rock, he threw a bucket at the Wee One. Then he dumped a shovel-full of sand on his head. Then he threw a golf ball at me, and I (somehow miraculously) managed to duck and avoid catching it in the forehead.

Grinding teeth.

Calm.

Deep breaths.

Consistent.

This is hard. It's relentless and grating. Tiresome.

It is a battle of wills and to be honest - his is stronger than mine.

Nonetheless, I can't let him win.

I have to trudge along through this developmental phase with him, working just as hard (perhaps harder) than he is.

You know what the kicker is? He'll emerge from this period of struggle like a phoenix - a young boy with a deeper understanding of himself and a new found sense of self control. I, on the other hand, will emerge like the Velveteen Rabbit, with all my fur rubbed off, whiskers pulled out, and all lumpy and misshapen.

Sometimes motherhood is like last weekend - all flowers and treats. Unfortunately, at other times - it ain't so pretty, yes?