All parents go through moments when their child is not their favorite person. Like the time your child screams, “I need to go pee-pee” at the top of his lungs in the middle of a crowded and very small grocery. Of which there is no public restroom and you know damn well that kid just peed 5 minutes ago before you left the church. Or the time you took him to play “hockey” and informed him that you would be going to Starbucks to get him a cookie, but he’s 3 and doesn’t realize that Starbucks isn’t right. there. in that. very. place. So he goes into internal mode and sees nothing but red and there isn’t anything you can do to calm him down and he proceeds to scream like someone’s killing him as you remove him from the birthday party laden skating rink, through the over-full parking lot, into the car and 10 miles down the road. At which point he passes out from exhaustion*.
But there are times when your child is just the cutest stinking thing in the world. Like in a picture that doesn’t talk back or when he’s sleeping.
We’ve had more of the McScreamy around here than either of us care to handle at this point. Take for example our morning.
The three of us sit down to a nice breakfast and a Winnie the Pooh DVD commercial comes on the television (yes, we watch TV during breakfast). The trusty husband casually mentions that it is computer animated like Mickey’s Playhouse. He says this to me. The boy, always listening to what everyone is saying even if he’s at the other end of the house, informs us that he wants to watch Mickey. In this house Mickey is a weekend thing. Frankly because I think Mickey is a mouse-ka-tool. We tell the boy that it is Monday and there is no Mickey on. If he had asked again nicely I may have looked to see if it was on or even checked Disney on demand to see if it was listed. But did my child ask nicely? No. He screamed and in a half a second I was covered in fruity Cheerios and strawberry yogurt. This child flung his breakfast further than he’s ever flung it before. We haven’t had a food throwing episode in months. That child hurled his bowl so far there was yogurt on the chair in the living room. At that point all I could do is stare at him with my mouth agape. The trusty husband was out of his chair so fast I didn’t even see the child disappear. He grabbed his son and whisked him off to his bedroom small child screaming the whole way. Then Derek calmly proceeded to clean up. I stopped him to take a photo. Cause at that point, through my seething rage, I thought hey! now I at least have something to write about today.
If hurling food wasn’t enough, we later confined the child to the space in the house with the least amount of toys and he got pissed off because I think I might have been breathing too loudly or something and he hucked a shoe box at the TV.
All before my first sip of coffee this morning.
Later in the morning we did our usual trip to the veg store and the grocery and he was a perfect angel. He didn’t even harass me to use the toilet.
Yet again, I currently dislike him because when I nicely asked him to pick up his toys before nap he laughed at me and told me no. Repeatedly.
We’ll see what life holds after nap.
*both of those episodes have happened to me, exactly like that, without exaggeration.