Last night I went out for dinner with some friends. We didn't make it to Lowenbrau because it was closed for a private function. Then we ended up at 'Beer Garden' which was actually Bavarian Bier Cafe (another branch of Lowenbrau). As usual, I'm so in love with the sauerkraut. But I'm not going to York Street for food anymore because the menu isn't as extensive as the one they have at Lowenbrau in The Rocks. I was looking forward to pork loins, but because of the limited menu, I settled for Numberger sausages. For some reason, I was so distracted by the waitress' boobs (which were testing the limits and durability of the buttons on her blouse) that I said Nuremburger. And I swear she blinked and I could see this speech bubble appear over her head that said "Oh great... another Asian that can't pronounce properly". Well, you should have restrained those boobs before they sprung out and tapped a rhythm on my head.

But I must say that the beer in that particular branch tasted waaaayyyyyy better than the ones in Lowenbrau. I don't know if it's because they changed the kegs before they served us or they put something extra in it... I was kinda scared of getting drunk so I stopped at 2 drinks. Seriously I was not in a good mood, and I was secretly praying that A was around to balance out the feelings of animosity. Someone was just being a piss ass and terrorising her other half. Anyhoos...that's over with for the moment.

So... on the agenda today... my hair is growing out (yes, I have to mention my hair at least once a week) and I know it's not THAT long yet, but I've decided I'm tired of straight hair, and therefore I'm going to get a hair straightening iron to curl and flip my hair. I'm still chuckling at the irony of it... hair straightener for curling hair. I read all the reviews on curlers and straighteners, and I've decided against curling irons. Mainly because I think I will burn my scalp or my fingers. Besides having hair a tad bit too short for the curling iron (it will place it horrendously close to my scalp), I also have the coordination of a 3 year old. Hence the bruises on my knees. I should try and make that a fashion statement, wearing bruises of various colours on my knees. I think it's more high fashion than Bai Ling trying to wear message band-aids  on her knees.

Okay okay, I WILL leave the house. The weather really sucks for leaving the house though. Oh shut up just fucking leave the house already. A will be checking out her CSI glasses this morning and she has a packed day. So I should get a move on with my day as well. It's not fair that she's still in bed while I'm out and about and doing things BY MYSELF! Time difference is not an excuse.

The Foodie asked me out for dinner today with some of her friends. I'm not sure if she'd remembered, but honestly, I can't be bothered and I'm just over this whole asking-people-out-and-then-coming-up-with-some-lame-O-excuse-for-a-raincheck. Last time I checked it wasn't raining. So if you don't want to go out, just say so, and don't say stuff like oh you have to study or your dog has conniptions, or whatever... This bitch is officially OVER being put off like that. I come out from someone's poonani too you know.

And from this day on, I am officially not available to anyone who wants to chuck rubbishy tanties...I have no time for you. And I'm too old for this. Go chuck your tanties and get your panties in a twist with someone else, like your girlfriend for example. She'd be patient enough, because she has no choice (in A's voice mimicking a certain someone). A is the only person I will tolerate chucking a tantrum and even then, only on special occassions. The only creature on this planet I allow to be the shits with me is the DOG. And that's only because she's cute and only because we have no way of understanding each other.

You, you know who you are. Don't get too big for your britches because you might just fall over.

Anyhoos... over it. Over it.

I miss A, and Crappy Girl and my other unnameable friends who are not so spastic. Even if they are spastic, it's in a ha-ha spastic way, not a too-big-for-your-britches way. I seriously had to hold myself back from whacking people. Some people just deserved to be whacked and I don't blame the whacker.

I just had to rant.

All is good now. After this, I will take a shower and all will be forgotten, and I will be wiser and listen to my gut instincts the next time. LIKE STAYING HOME FOR EXAMPLE!

If my mood is good enough I will put up some pictures. I don't know. This isn't a promise.

Yous have a good weekend.

I'm being firm and quite proud of myself for keeping it together this morning. Especially at dinner time when he refused to eats his dinner and after many attempts by me and a couple of warnings the dinner went in the bin. Obviously then he started crying 'I want my dinner' I explained to him in a calm low voice (as per the supernanny guidelines!) that mummy asked him to eat his dinner and he didn't so it went in the bin. I asked him what he's going to do the next time mummy asked him to eat his dinner and he said 'eat my dinner'. Well, we'll see I guess!

One thing that did make me smile a bit though was I said to him earlier 'Aidan you're really getting on my nerves' and he said 'Oh, sorry about that'!

And now I'm being punished for it. I made the mistake of buying Cheetos at the grocery store yesterday. And I let Lovebug hold them. I suppose my second mistake was bragging to everyone about how easy it is to get my shopping done when one kid or the other is in preschool. Anyway, between my bragging and allowing a small child to eat Cheetos, I guess I deserved what happened next.

As I was paying, Lovebug demanded to hold the Cheetos again. I had forgotten to separate them, so the bagger had put them somewhere. Somewhere I couldn't immediately locate. I explained he would have to wait until we got outside and out of the way. Lovebug's demands grew louder - the kind of louder that told me he was overtired and we were due for a meltdown. The tears flowed. The yells grew louder. I tried to calmly explain that we don't scream to get what we want as I pushed the full cart past all the people staring at me. I had barely taken two steps when I nearly collided with the person in front of me.

Lovebug and I were perhaps twenty feet from the door. I was sweating, since stress does that to me when I'm super pregnant. Lovebug was throwing a huge tantrum. We were quite a sight. And in front of us, in the too narrow for two carts to pass aisle, was an elderly couple. If they had been going any slower they would have been going backwards. Normally this would not have bothered me, but with sweat dripping down my face and a screaming two year old, I was in a bit of a hurry. Instead it took us five minutes to get to the door. I'm not exaggerating. I think the poor couple may have been deaf as well, since they never seemed to notice the huge tantrum going on behind them.

In our five minute trudge to the door, I tried not to have evil thoughts about them. I distracted myself by listing all the mistakes I had made that led to the tantrum - allowing Cheetos into my home, buying some that day, letting Lovebug hold them, not removing them from the bagger's clutches, getting behind this couple. This didn't really improve my mood.

Finally we made it to the car. Lovebug began to calm down. I wiped the sweat away. But then Lovebug decided he didn't want to climb into his car seat. I loaded the groceries in. Still no luck. I told him he needed to climb in or I would have to put him in, because we had to go. Still no luck. So I put him in his seat - and the tantrum began again. I was tempted to let him get down and do it himself, but then I thought I'd be rewarding the tantrum. And I'm pretty sure that's what got me into this tantrum mess in the first place. So I strapped his struggling body into the seat and got into the driver's seat.

I blotted the sweat. I took a few deep breaths. Lovebug screamed. The shopping cart guy glared at me. I had visions of other grocery store workers surrounding my car and I quickly drove away.

Moral of the story? Cheetos are bad. And life isn't necessarily easier when you only have one kid to deal with at the grocery story.

    (Of course, he managed to buy a new car - a Saab! -  and a pure-bred German Shepherd puppy with that $25, but he can't buy his daughter clothes that fit; nor can he pay for her care while they both work.  I'm in awe of how far he can stretch a dollar-- or twenty-five.  Truly.)

    After a heated argument during Friday morning's pick-up where he flatly refused to pay any child care expenses, he returned with Abbie at 5:30 PM, along with this coffee can full of change for me, and a cashier's check for Kristi.  Payment for services rendered, or something like that.  My guess is his lawyer told him to pay up or he'd end up back in court for contempt.  (I'm actually a little bummed he paid us.)

     I am not a coffee drinker, but I'd like to point out that this is the BIG can.  Do you know how much a 44-ounce can filled with PENNIES weighs?  I'll tell you.  It's 23.5 pounds.  We weighed it, and as soon as our scale dries out (thank you, Anthony), I'll snap another photo and post it.

     Filled nearly to the brim.
 

    The magazine is to provide scale.

     A side view, to show how high they were piled.  It was at least 4".

   Pennies to the left, dimes to the right, with two quarters and a $1 coin in the center.

    My fingers were FILTHY, along with the carpet.  I'm not sure what he put on them, but a good share of the coins were sticky, and most were covered with a black substance.  If I should happen to fall ill in the near future, perhaps one of you could direct the hospital staff (or coroner, whatever) to the 23-pound coffee can full of pennies?  Who knows what sorts of diseases they were covered in?

    I'd also like to state that there were several short, black curly hairs mixed in with the coins.  Ew, ew, eeeewww.

   Notice my hands.  They are so black you can see my palm-prints clearly.  It took three washings for the black to come off.  They still feel a little sticky.

    You're looking at $31.50.  That means I *should* have 3,600 pennies left to tally.  Of course, Jim insisted that I trust him, even reassuring me he had counted the coins twice to be sure of their accurate total.  I assure you, I trust him about as far as I could pick him up and throw him, javelin-style. 

    Kenny is making a trip to the Coinstar machine later tonight, where I'll redeem Jim's tantrum into an i-tunes gift card and an e-certificate for Amazon.com.  I'll let the machine count those potential 3,903 coins to verify their total.

    In parting, I'd like to pose this question:  For his repeated insistences that he was unable to get to the bank to put these coins into cash or check form, how was it that he managed to pay Kristi with a check drawn from his bank?  Dated the same day?

    My guess is, he had to ASK the bank for pennies to fill that can.  And dimes.  It was no coincidence that I had exactly $30 in dimes, I'm sure.  Nor was it a coincidence that dimes and pennies are roughly the same size, making it extremely difficult to separate them for counting.

   Classy.  Such a great guy.  I can't say it enough.

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I wish I could get my priorities and expectations straight. I have a smart, funny, creative five-year-old kid who happens to have the behavior problems that come standard with every five-year-old kid. She doesn't pay attention the first time, or often until the authority figure yells. She doesn't like getting up in the morning and when she does, she diddles around until the authority figure is forced to force her to get going. She is over dramatic and over physical and stubborn as all hell.

And everything's random, so one day she brushes her teeth, every single one, without complaint and the next day—the next minute—she's screaming because I didn't psychically deduce that she wanted an orange vitamin or she's shoving Baby off the piano bench because she needs more room to practice.

Ironically, I decided to wake her early this morning to give her plenty of time. I gave her a choice of outfit and laid out the winner, got her toothbrush ready, smoothed the way.

And she diddled. With everything. It took her forty-five minutes to get dressed because she suddenly fhated what we'd agreed on, forgot the school dress code, and pulled out several tank tops and short sets to try on. When she finally got it that she had to wear not only school-sanctioned clothes but pants—it's freezing and there's a special jump rope activity planned—she diddled about which pair. Then she didn't want to brush her teeth until after breakfast because it tasted funny. No problem, except she didn't actually get to breakfast because she still wasn't dressed yet.

This kick started my not-inconsiderable time anxiety , and all I could see after that was the clock. This was not an excuse for my temper—this was an accelerant.

She was promised a movie tonight after dinner if she made all happy faces on her good behavior chart ('I did not whine or scream" "I was polite" etc.). She blew it five minutes after she got up. And I blew it five minutes later.

She was dressed by the time I absolutely had to leave, but she hadn't brushed her teeth or her hair. My husband separated us and took her into the bathroom while I shoved her homework into her backpack and tried to get my own stuff togehter. When I went back to check on things, my husband was gone and she was dabbing at one lock of hair with her brush and staring into the mirror. Dab. Dab dab. Dab. I yanked the brush away, shoved her toothbrush into her hand and brushed her hair myself while her air raid siren went off in shrill protest. She did brush her teeth—probably so I wouldn't, smart kid—and took her vitamin.

Ten minutes after I absolutely had to leave, we got into the car. I won't relate the episode with her seat belt, but it wasn't pretty on either side.

I ranted for about half the drive about the quality of her behavior lately and that I didn't know what to do to convince her to make better choices. I told her it was like she didn't even care that she was being rude and mean and ignoring everything we were doing to try and help her. She just didn't care, so why should I even try?

A little voice from the back said, "I care." And a little later, "Will you still kiss and hug me when you leave?"

Did that stop me? Ohhhh, no. I had both barrels, and I was going to use them. And I did, until I lapsed into a sullen, frustrated silence.

When we got to the school, I had calmed down enough to pull her onto my lap and tell her that I loved her. We discussed why I was so upset, but I don't think it made a dent. She was done with my dramatics and frankly, I was done, period.

I'm sick and tired of the whole struggle.

The thing is, I have this great kid that I'm emotionally and verbally abusing because I want her to obey us without question. I want her to be perfectly behaved in the classroom so that everyone will know what a great kid I have. But she's not obeying and not behaving perfectly and I want to know what her problem is so i can fix it.

And her problem is that she's five and she's still adjusting to an non-Montessori kindergarten. Her problem is that she's five and she's not a morning person. Her problem is that she's five and will grow out of her immaturity, but she's stuck with parents who probably won't.

I can only fix the last part of that, or at least my part of the last part. God, I hope I can fix it. I need to give the charts a chance, I need to relax about this. She isn't going to fail school, she isn't going to be a complete failure in life unless I keep doing my best to destroy her under the guise of helping her.

I did hug and kiss her when I left, and suggested that we both have a better day.

The most that can be said of this morning is that I didn't attack the vending machine when I got to work.   There isn't anything in there I like—and for some reason that appears to be stopping me.  Or maybe the realization that I'm never going to be a good parent is wiping out everything else.

Where the hell's my Do Over button?

I crept downstairs and I could still hear her screaming.  Then all of a sudden it was quiet.  Eerily so.

I turned up the monitor and then I heard her.  "Sha-we, Mommy gone!"

The little brat was telling her stuffed Monkey "George" a.k.a. "Sha-we" that I had left the room.

The party could begin ...

*sigh*

And she did it again tonight....

Mum tries to put E down for a sleep but she has a tantrum and eventually falls asleep on the floor. She wakes up and has another long tantrum. Mum sets A up with some puzzles and drawing (see below) and T drinks all afternoon, occasionally stopping to smile and coo. After bath A chats to Mum about bats; where they live, what they eat, their sharp teeth. Mum reads 'Alfie Beastie' then E reads it and beasties go to bed. 

My son is 4. Like many children about that age, he has meltdowns. He can be tired, bored, overstimulated, getting sick, recovering from being sick, transitioning. I hate to say I'm USED to it, because that makes it sound like he's melting down so much I'm immune. But he and I have put in a lot of time together in a lot of different situations, and on occasion he loses it, and generally I make excuses, apologies, and split.

Apparently, though he has 4 children, my hubby has missed this happening.

Sunday, I had a gig and Ed got a birthday party invitation. I was wary of even mentioning it, as Jon is a bit of a hermit, and I didn't even want Ed to know that it existed if he wasn't going to go. But I spoke with the girl's grandmother (her mom and I joke that our kids will wind up married someday), and found out that many kids that were invited were not going...so I pushed the idea. I figured, Chuck E. Cheese. There'll be food, cake, kids and entertainment. The father had even referred to my husband as "a nice guy" so I figured he'd have someone to chat with. I happily RSVP'd, picked up and wrapped the gift, supplied a card, directions, and a full tank of gas. I even picked out clothes for Ed to wear and put them out on the bed. He was set. Dad and son time, and a little adult chat for dad while I went to shake my booty at a winery.

That night, exhausted from a double gig weekend, I hit Taco Hell, put on my pajamas and turned on football. Soon the car came back and I had visions of tired but happy Ed.

What I got was pissed off Jon and hysterical Ed.

Apparently, there was no one there they knew other than the way-too-busy hosts, it was a football stadium-sized place packed with screaming kids, and both of them were at a complete loss. Half of the games there didn't work, the prizes started at 1000 tickets,the food was terrible, etc. Jon was mortified, asked if I had told the hosts horrible things about him, if Ed acted like this, what was wrong with me, I sent him in unprepared, they had nothing there to keep the adults happy.

It's Chuck E. Cheese, Jon. Terrible pizza and scenes from Lord of the Flies are de rigeur.

First of all, the parties where the kids ran around like animals and ripped each others hair out while the adults hung out in the living room and got snockered on martinis are gone. Now the kid parties are all about the kids. He was lucky that this one wasn't replete with pony rides, cotton candy machines, bouncy castles and terrifying clowns.

Next: Walk over, open your mouth and go TALK to one of the parents. You don't need me to send you in with conversation or find you a friend. You're 53. You used to be able to talk to anyone. Now you just need a face to pontificate at and forget the fact that it's a kid party.

And...when the child acts up, he gets a warning. If he keeps it up, then you apologize and split. Seems harsh but trust me, it works. Generally when he doesn't react to the warning he'll be happier gone anyway. No one will look askance; we've ALL been Evil Parent from time to time. With my friends we take turns with who is the mean mommy with the bratty kid. Hell, sometimes I think unless peoples' kids act up I'd never learn their names..."Jackon! Put that down!" and "Bobby, you get over here RIGHT NOW!!"

You wouldn't think I'd have to give a father of four lessons on parenting.

But then again, I wouldn't think that he'd think that his having a bad time at Chuck E. Cheese was MY fault. Call me crazy. I also wouldn't come home with a hysterical kid and yell and scream that he's canceling the family vacation as he kicks toys around and refuses to have dessert out of spite.

No wonder I'm so good at meltdowns.

Why did I feel pangs of guilt for putting on a music DVD for my child?  He was dancing around the living room eating breakfast to the twangs of Johnny Cash while I did a sinkful of last night's dishes. Yes, I want to be a connected parent. Yes, I want to limit his exposure to television. And this morning, I wanted to wash dishes without him crawling up my legs.

The pressure can be enormous. As mamas, we put so much emotion into how we care for our children. And as "Natural Living Mamas" who are interested in a more connected, mindful approach to everyday mothering, we often scrutinize our every interaction with our children.

This afternoon we went to the grocery store. As I helped the monkey out of his car seat and lifted him into the seat of the waiting cart, he bucked and screamed. He pointed to the back of the basket. Recently, we let him ride in the bigger part of the basket for a short jaunt. That was not going to work today as I needed to fill it.

Suddenly I was that mother in the parking lot with the screaming, writhing, tantruming toddler. I felt eyes on me from every direction. I wondered if people thought I was torturing him. Perhaps they thought I was a terrible mother who had a frantic, belligerent child.

I pulled him into my arms and held him close as he screamed and thrashed. Calmly I told him that he could not ride in the basket today and that he was going to ride in the seat. He tried to slap me in the face. I held his arms tight to my body and told him that I was not going to let him hit me. I tried to stay cool and keep my voice low and my expression calm. I tried to put him in the seat three times and every time he resisted and I pulled him back into my arms.

On the fourth try, he went into the seat easily and happily practiced buckling the strap. It took almost five minutes. We went into the store and shopped.

As I moved to the check line, I kind faced man approached me. "Excuse me. I noticed the way you were working with your son in the parking lot and I was really impressed." He smiled into my eyes.

So maybe a morning of letting my monkey watch a DVD gave me just the space I needed to be the connected mama I really want to be. Maybe, just maybe it is more important to meet my own needs than it is to be perfect.

Well, I'm telling you this because I am throwing one of these tantrums myself right now. I am fuming in the corner with my arms crossed, saying "I don't like you" to God. I know it's because I am being immature and selfish, things just aren't going my way the way that I think they should. It's especially frustrating when you can't see the whole picture. I want to know the whys and the hows. How is everything going to work out for the best? In my limited view of the world, my past, present and future, all I know is how and why I would like things to happen. My niece didn't understand that the game was too advanced for her and she would get frustrated with it, and that we had other fun things to do. All she knew was that there was a fun game with characters she recognized on a computer and she wanted to play, play, play!

So, here I am, waiting, peeking ever-so-slightly out of the corner of my eye, waiting for His reassuring hug and an "I love you."

Dear World,

I think my toddler is naughty.  I try to tell myself that this is just toddlers but I have a nagging feeling that if I was just a better mother, Emily wouldn't be so naughty.  Like, for example, over the weekend we went to the mall and I let her play on the toys in the kiddie land.  She was pretty good but she would yell at the other kids if they tried to be near her or get on the same toys.  She even took a swing at one little boy who dared to touch the toy car she was sitting in.  I pulled her away from that toy and told her "we don't hit".  She was fine with that and moved to another toy.  She was getting very frustrated at the other kids and screaming quite a bit and I would have to move her to another toy.  None of the other toddlers were doing that.  Then, yesterday a friend brought her three year old over to play and Emily was screaming at her too.  Every time the other girl would touch Emily's toy or get near something that she wanted, she is screaming or pulling the other child off of her toy, seat, etc.... I just get so embarassed and wonder if I am doing something wrong.  I don't know.  Scott and I don't just let her act any old way at home.  I know the other kids at daycare scream.  Is she always getting picked on at daycare so she feels very territorial?  I am not sure.  She just seems naughty to me.  Does anyone have any advice for stopping all the screaming?  The hitting is infrequent and is mostly me and Scott.  I just wish she wouldn't scream every time someone gets near her.  Oh, and I didn't mention is also knows how to say "mine". Every parents dream!!  I almost feel like not letting her be around other kids because I don't want her to be mean to them but I know that isn't the answer.  I am sure others have dealt with this problem.  Help!

Sincerely,

All Screamed Out Mommy in Washington

Since people continue to forward that post around, here's another set of parenting lessons from the martial arts (and these lessons can be quite useful for dealing with adults too, especially those that emotionally haven't progressed much beyond the toddler stage!):

It's All in the Timing: In martial arts, an ill-timed attack, no matter how strong, will ultimately fail, because it will just elicit the most opposition. Simply trying to overpower your opponent is exhausting. Instead, you have to find your moment - an opening when he or she has left some part unguarded, or is off balance. So it is with toddlers too. A request to 'go potty' or 'pick up your toys' will be met with automatic resistance if issued when your child is engrossed in something he likes - even if that something is not what you would classify as exciting. You have to find your moment. Join his activity for a minute, establishing a connection first, and then try building a bridge to your next request.

Laziness Never Pays: A lot of martial arts literature talks about 'finding the flow' or 'zone'. You have to be in an open and receptive, rather than forceful, state of awareness, to intuit your opponent's moves. But although this state is relaxed, it is not the same thing as laziness - spacing out or disassociating from the moment. Laziness will always bite you in the end. The same is true in parenting. When you are exhausted, but your kids are bored or clingy, it is tempting to just dump out some toys or put in a video, so you can have a moment to yourself. But all too often this will only distract them for a minute, and then they are right back on you, or bickering amongst themselves. Much better to invest time in getting them truly involved in a longer-term activity like play-do or building with blocks, sitting down with them and giving them a few minutes of the attention they want from you. Then, once they are satisfied and engrossed, you are more likely to get the time you need for yourself.

Emotional Control is Critical: When you get hit in a martial arts sparring match or practice, getting angry never pays. It just constricts your muscles, and distracts your mind, to the point where there is no way you will see the opening you need. It hands your opponent an instant advantage. The same is true with toddlers. As soon as you lose it, they are in control. They will either pick up on your state and lose it themselves, creating a situation with no graceful exit, or they will be amused by your anger, and do more of whatever it is they were doing in the first place, just to see what will happen. If you want them calm, you have to stay calm, and your best chance at finding a solution to your dilemma is maintaining your equilibrium.

Find Joy in Repetition: Martial arts training involves a lifetime of repetition. Every class, from beginner to eighth-degree black belt, tends to start with the same basic moves, over and over. To thrive you have to be able to love that training, and always find something new to improve and enjoy. So it is with toddlers, who love to repeat their favorite books, songs, and activities to the point where you question your sanity. While you may think you will have to jump out a window if you read Good Night Moon one more time, take a deep breath and try and see what your toddler sees. Try and revel in the familiarity, and find something new and beautiful to love.

Here's the original Toddler Aikido post, or try the Motherhood page for more posts on spirituality and motherhood.

Steve got a new job!  He started last week and seems to like it so far.  He gets to work with one of his best friends since high school, so I know he enjoys that.  Also, his boss has no trouble letting guys work all the overtime they want, so hopefully that will really help us with our (very) past due bills.  Best of all he only has to drive across town-so no more enormous gas expenses!  I'm not sure if I told you before, but he was working night shift in South Philly and it was really hurting our funds and our marriage, but there was no other work, so we stuck it out.  It is great to have him home at night to help with the baby and other chores.  I can actually sit down before 9 pm now!

Stephen got his 1 year pictures last Saturday (a month late, but better late than never).  I can't believe he is over a year old now!  It honestly seems like yesterday that Steve and I were struggling to get pregnant-look at us now!  He went through a (thankfully) brief biting stage, but seems to have given that up for tantrums.  My mom thinks he is going through his terrible twos early.  Let's hope so because I certainly don't want him to get any worse.  The biggest problem is that he gets angry because I won't let him do things like climb up on the table or eat an old cheerio he found on the floor!  Um, get as angry as you want, dude, you're still not allowed to do that.  So, because there's no resolution he just gets madder and madder, until finally he is prostrate on the floor, screaming and crying.  Blah.  Oh, and he said his first cuss.  Steve and I were trying to decide on dinner, and I recommended a frozen pizza Steve said, "I don't want to eat that shit."  And Stephen said, clear as a bell, "Shit!"  I guess we're all on our best behavior from now on!

The following events take place in real time... over the course of 24 minutes. Kiefer Sutherland was not harmed in the making of this blog post.

7:37PM Buster is happy and alert. He's watching his father as he plays piano. Dad feels a rush of pride that Buster seems to enjoy music a great deal. He will surely be the only starting shortstop in the MLB who is also a jazz pianist and future Senator. But now Dad needs to put down Buster for a minute so he can help get dinner together. Buster isn't sure how to take this.

Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep.

7:38PM After ten seconds of deliberation, Buster decides he does not in fact want to be in his car seat right now, even for a moment. He lets Dad know through a sustained screech. Dad stops what he's doing and goes back and checks on Buster. He takes him out of the car seat, consoles him briefly and puts him back in.

7:39PM Buster considers whether he should be satisfied with that level of response. He decides the answer is again no, and that this time, he will need to enunciate better. Because he can't yet control his tongue, he will attempt to vibrate his uvula as he releases vocal hellfire.

Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep.

7:40PM Dad returns to Buster and lifts him from the car seat again, consoling him briefly and checking to be sure his diaper isn't soiled. It is not. The boy has been recently fed, diapered and should be just fine. If he puts Buster down and he yells again, it's clearly going to mean that he just doesn't want to be there. He places him back into the car seat.

7:41PM Buster instantly explodes into a gurgling shriek. It's clear that he believes that screaming is the best negotiation method. After consulting with agent Childsplayx2 at CTU (Counter-Tantrum Unit), Dadorbust has decided that he will no longer negotiate with terrorists. He's going to let him wail away.

Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep.

7:42PM Buster wonders whether Dad didn't hear him correctly at first. To be certain, he doubles the intensity of his cries. He has now turned from bright pink to bright red. His eyes are shut tight and he's balling his fists and shaking them.

7:43PM Dad stays near as Buster begins to unleash some of his previously unreleased works. One of the rhythmic screams sounds like a wildcat being choked by a boa constrictor. Dad stands pat and allows him to cry unchecked.

Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep.

7:45PM Buster gets louder and begins a never before seen display of colors. He moves away from the generic red and leans toward a nice Cerise.

7:47PM Carnelian. Crimson. Coral. Cerise again.

7:49PM Buster's crying intensity seems to diminish a bit momentarily. He opens his eyes and looks right at Dad. Dad doesn't seem to be relenting. Buster growls directly at him before delivering a crackling terror scream. He resumes his display of colors.

7:51PM Amaranth. Ruby. Alizarin. Carmine. The dog evacuates. The cat smiles with satisfaction.

7:53PM Mom is concerned about her baby and is beginning to doubt Dadorbust's technique. Dad advises her to stay away from Buster's view in order to maintain her status as a neutral nation. Buster senses a lack of unity and adds more lung power to his attack.

7:55PM Buster achieves a throbbing Venetian Red and looks about ready to burst. He's choosing yelling over breathing a bit too often. Just in case, Dad picks him up for a moment to get his attention, but puts him right back down as soon as Buster catches his breath long enough for a more traditional wail.

7:57PM Decibel level remains similar to that expected if two inches tall and placed inside of an airhorn. The car seat around Buster is beginning to melt from the intensity.

7:58 PM Window panes are rattling. A tiny woman walks in and starts calling for Carol Anne.

Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep.

7:59 PM Buster is nearly hoarse from screaming but manages still to achieve ear piercing tones. Neighbors are all standing around outside and staring at the sky. Dadorbust hears someone say, "the time is nigh."

8:00 PM Buster stops crying very suddenly. The symphony of red ends. He closes his eyes, catches his breath and falls asleep.

8:01 PM Buster wakes up briefly, but long enough to look at both his parents with the saddest expression ever created by a human face, before passing out again. Mom begins to tear up. Dad shoots her a look. She doesn't dare make a sound.

Dadorbust walks off into the distance. He is relieved from the victory, but he senses this may not be over.

Boop. Beep. Boop. Beep.

It's about the night time sleeping. You won't believe this! So last night I wasn't home for the bedtime routine. I was about 30 minutes late. As I walked up to the door, I saw that it was already dark upstairs. I thought wow, can they be really asleep? Hubby knew what I did the night before, so I knew he was going to do the right thing.

I open the door and I hear little boys screaming. Oh no!! He was whining and crying that he wants his puppy back, and that he doesn't want to go upstairs by himself (hubby already put him down the first time) that it's too dark (he does have a night light in the room), that he wanted Daddy to cover him up, etc etc.

I gave him a hug and a kiss and walked him to his bed (since I wasn't home originally, I thought I'll do that). He came down one time, got a spanking and was put back in bed. So all this was last night.

He didn't have his puppy for the night, but I had it in my bed when he came in the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well tonight, it's just horrible!!! Hugs, kisses, put him down, tuck him in and leave the room. Like a minute later guess who's coming down? Yup, it was Kapitonas! So of course he lost his puppy and told me that he'll have it in the morning in my bed. It was like he didn't even really cared about it anymore. He knew he was going to get it eventually.

So he goes back down and another minute later he comes down, telling us that he needs to go kaka. Fine! Whatever! You better go kaka! So he takes his sweet ass time in the bathroom. I'm not kidding, about 10 minutes. And that is the same kid that is always in-and-out of the bathrooms. He says he's still going. Fine. After he was done, Hubby walked him to his bed and came down. Before he went up I told him that if he comes down again, he won't get the puppy in the morning. And yup, you guessed it right again, he did come down again. So now he lost his puppy for the morning.

Now I'm just hoping that he doesn't throw a fit 5-6 o'clock in the morning wanting his puppy. But if he does, then I guess I will be up at that time. Definitely not something I want to do, but...

Anyway, I walk him back up again. So now it's been about 10 minutes and he's still in there. I hope he doesn't come down.

And you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking of getting a lock for his room and locking him in there until he falls asleep, and then unlocking and opening the door when I go to bed. It sounds cruel, it probably is, but I'm desperate here for him to go down on his own.

The whole saying "You just walk them back in there, and eventually, they will get used to and not want to come out anymore". Well, I DON'T BELIEVE IT!!! It's freaking been like 5-6 months already. I want to know how long did they mean by "eventually".

Or, I guess my other option would be is just letting him stay up all night, and see what he likes better. Sleep or no sleep. (I'm j/k about this one)

Really, really tired.

Week 3 is kicking my ass. Number 3 is still sleeping well as usual. I'm just more tired everytime I have to get up to feed him at night. I try to go to bed earlier but I can't stop watching reruns of House. I am obsessed with this show. Damn you, Hugh Laurie and your piercing blue eyes. DAMN YOU.

The last few days have been rough. Yesterday, number 2 locked himself in the bathroom and was happily splashing water all over the counter. He can't yet open doors on his own and of course I couldn't find the stupid pin that unlocks the door. Good thing I live with a man who was raised by wolverines, because I found a used toothpick in my husband's office and used it to unlock the door. Number 1 is turning four years old (OMG!) in a few days and can I tell you, I think the teenage years begin at 4? Because the attitude. THE ATTITUDE. I thought I would have at least 13 relatively pleasant years before she grew horns and became evil but apparently she's started early! Lucky me!

Intellectually, I know everything my children are doing can be explained by one thing - Number 3. Yeah, yeah I know. It's just a transition phase and things will settle down in time. Doesn't mean I can't complain about it.

Don't get me wrong. I adore my children and enjoy being with them but I do have moments when I wish I could just lock them in a dark closet so I can eat my sandwich in peace, for godsake.

What. It's not like I really locked them in a dark closet. Give me some credit. 

I left the light on...

It really snuck up on me... but one of the tried-and-true methods of gauging your child's milestones is the candy aisle at the supermarket.

I had to go to Walgreens today to pick up some pictures for some frames that have been sitting empty (for almost a year). It's 100 degrees here, the humidity is stifling, and the pavement in the parking lot is hell-hot. Everything was going okay, until we had to go down the candy aisle. I was feeling charitable today (ha) so I let the kids pick out some candy, and Baby Chen was playing with the tins of Altoids. When I said it was time to go, everyone trooped toward the cash register....except BC.

I could see the mulish look on his face and thought Oh great. I muscled him over to the register, and (naturally) we ended up having to wait in line behind some people who never mastered the art of "Paying For Your Purchases In A Timely Fashion". You know, the sloooooow people that pay with cash and then sit in front of the register counting out all of their change and organizing it in their wallet. Argh.

BC was trying to tear into the display items in the checkout aisle, and finally he was going to mace himself with a can of Raid, so I grabbed him and held him in my arms. This caused a screaming tantrum that only my daughter could have matched at this age. As BC sobs and screams at the top of his lungs like a fire engine on its way to a grease fire at El Pollo Loco, I realize - Hey. He's growing up!

As we get to the Checkout Lady she was understandably frazzled (screaming toddlers put everyone on edge), and she said "Oh my! Is that you making that racket? You're so cute." (I snorted and said "No he's not". I hate it when people feel like they have to pretend.)

BC calmed down and was standing by my leg sucking his thumb. We flew through the checkout, and as we marched toward the front door to freedom, I looked back and saw that BC was still standing in front of the register, with his face twisted. He let out another scream. I said "Okay then". (Mommy doesn't play this game.)

So as everyone in the checkout lanes watched, he started throwing another tantrum. I walked over to him, gripped him under the armpit, and dragged him to the door. He kicked and flailed his little legs like a squid, and his back was ram-rod straight as he screamed bloody murder - and I heard some of the witnesses laughing. (This is a good sign - it means that nobody is sorry that you are manhandling your little sweetheart, and they aren't going to call the cops.)

Little Mommy helps me drag BC across the sidewalk and as we're getting in the van, I actually started laughing. What is amazing to me is that when I was a new mother, this would have royally pissed me off. I said to Little Mommy:

"He's being so bad." She agreed with me. I said "He should get a spankin'." She goes "yeah - but wait til we get home." LOL (She's already thinking like a mom.)

I ended up just making him take a nap. I try not to punish tantrums too severely if they're caused by tiredness, and I'm tired too so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. (lol) Plus, I've got another 18+months of tantrums headed my way, so there's always tomorrow.

Please update your manuals.

It's incidents like these that I just want to hide in a corner. I want to throw my hands in the air and say, "I give up!" But I know that it will eventually end. I know that it will all one day a memory. But of course it makes me feel terrible, makes me question what I am doing wrong, makes me wonder if I'm handling it the right way. This is a phase I know I am going to see more problems out of. Her transition from stroller the entire time to more walking is going to be rough. I think I sweated the curls I had added to my already curly hair within 5 minutes of the meltdown. Some days I feel like a mess, I feel defeated. But just knowing that I'm able to get back up and do it again each time gives me strength. I know I can do it.

Some tips for the dreaded train ride:

-Bring coloring books and only one or two crayons (it's too much work when they want to switch colors every two seconds)

-Get your routine down packed (I stay on the local just to avoid a bigger crowd, get to keep my seat, and avoid one more set of stairs)

-Some days give in and wear a bookbag. I've only listened to my own advice once so far, but it was so much easier on my back and made it easier when it came to getting on and off the bus

-Always have juice and a snack (Hunger can be a huge trigger for a meltdown)

-It's bad I know, but a lolipop. Sometimes the most extreme meltdown ever can only cured with a sugary ball on a stick