So, today I have to literally drag T out of bed. He doesn't want to wear socks. He doesn't want to get dressed or have his diaper changed (no, he's not potty trained yet - pick this fight with me another day please - preferably in 2045). He doesn't want waffles for breakfast, or cereal, or yogurt, or fruit, or any of the other 15 choices I give him. Okay, okay, I didn't really think he'd go for the canned peas or the celery sticks, but at least I offered.
I get S started on a bottle and I fix myself a frozen waffle knowing that T will probably immediately want one. I was right. He ends up eating two and a half waffles, half an apple, and two glasses of milk. S, not to be left out, eats almost an entire waffle (sans syrup) by herself. How about that?!?!?
I totally cheat and turn on cartoons so I can get T changed, dressed and swabbed down from all the sticky syrup. Bonus plan, I hand him his toothbrush and he automatically brushes his teeth. So at 9:02 we leave the apartment. I'm toting S, the diaper bag, the garbage, and another bag full of cardboard to be recycled. All I ask T to carry is his coat, he throws it down the steps. I start singing "Girls just wanna have fu-un" because it's either that, bite a hole in my tongue, or yell at T before it's even noon. And let's face it - that's NOT how I want to start my day. Or his.
I drop him off at school, warn Mrs. J that he's been a pill since Monday (we had an hour long standoff when I picked him up from school over putting on his shoes and sitting in his car seat), and decide that all the errands I was planning to do can wait. I just want to go home and enjoy the quiet and solitude. S, God bless her well behaving self, happily plays with me for about an hour or so and then wants to take a nap. I take advantage of this time and stretch out on the couch with the paper.
Picking T up from school, Mrs. J says he's been fine for her - a little wild, but all the kids were wild today. I know she's just saying that, but it makes me feel better. On a side note, there are now five kids in this enrichment class. The little boy that used to be the only one there besides T is on a three week vacation with his Grandma. T's behavior has improved 200% since he's been gone. I dread him coming back next week. T is glad to see me, his shoes are already on (Thanks, Mrs. J) so we head out to the car.
"Hey T", I say, knowing I'm pushing my luck, "guess what? We're going to get your haircut today!"
"Okay, Mommie" he says.
Uhh... excuse me? Did he... did he just agree with me? Holy shenanigans!
We find parking, I plop S in the stroller, and into the barber shop we stroll. Of the three available chairs, only one has a barber working, but there's also only one person waiting. There's a little boy in the chair and he's behaving well. Look, I point out to T, that's how well you behaved last time. You are going to be that good today too, right? T, watching with fascination as the boy in the chair gets sides buzzed, nods in agreement. Cool!
After the boy in the chair is done, his dad gets his hair cut, and T and the boy (whose name is Nathan) play a rousing game of who can get the most hair from the floor on their clothes. The barber is not amused. The other dad and I are slightly amused. Right before it's T's turn, he falls and hits his hip. Since I've calmly asked him to sit in a chair at least 70 times, I find it hard to be truly sympathetic, but I do give it a shot.
I put T in the barber chair. He wants to sit on my lap, so I ask if it's okay. No says grumpy barber. T immediately starts to throw a fit. I try reasoning with him, no go. I try several approaches. No go. Then the barber, whom is my least favorite anyway tells me that he will not cut T's hair today and that we have to leave. You know, I get it - I really do. I wouldn't really want to cut a squirmy, crying kids hair either. But come ON! Could you please, please just cut me some slack here? Nope - the barber says we have to leave. So, I get T down out of the chair and slink out of the barber shop, really embarrassed. It's not helping that the three guys that walked in after us are laughing. It's also not one bit funny to me. As soon as we are out of the barber shop, T throws a fit to go to the food court and play the racing game. Uhhh.. I so don't think so. So he sits down in the middle of the sidewalk and screams. I keep walking. I'm mad enough that I know not to open my mouth. We've parked right beside the food court, so I go to the car. I look around for T and he's about to run into the parking lot. Losing my grip on reality or volume control I holler (holler is a southern term that is somewhere between yelling and verbal murder) GET OVER HERE. NOW! I'm pretty soft spoken so even I'm surprised as my words echo off the building and everyone outside stops in their tracks and looks at us. T resumes crying and trots over to me. I strap the kids into their seats and we go home. I'm still fuming.
When we get into the apartment, I send T to his room. I call R and vent. As I'm venting I realize that while I'm plenty angry with T (could we please just stop the tantrums for crying out loud???!?!?! You're three!!!!!!!), I'm much more angry with the barber and the laughing idiots. I go into T's room to try and talk to him about it, he's having none of it, so we are at a standoff. When he finally comes out of his room, S is eating lunch and the first thing he does is whack her on the head. Geez!
|Poor S - I took this after she was whacked on the head. Life is tough today!!!!!!!!!|
Okay, fine I tell him. First timeout, and then a haircut from me. NONONOONNONOOOOOOO!!!!!!! he screams. I put him in time out. When he's done with that, I strip him to the waist, and I cut his hair. He wiggles and periodically screams "ow!!!" but I manage to trim around his ears and the back of his neck. It's not great, but it's better than it was.
|After the haircut - not too bad, if I do say so myself.|
After I clean up the hair, it's nap time, and today I take one too. An hour later, I feel more human, the kids are still sleeping. I open T and S's doors to start the wake up process. T wakes up first, so since it's already been a day of battles, I change his bandage. I grabbed the camera and took a picture of his finger. It's right below this paragraph (if I can get the pics to load this time) so be warned. It's not gross, but it's not pretty. The rest of the evening goes much better except for Sara's spectacular poopie diaper, but that's a story for another day!
T's finger. It's really looking much better. A lot of bruising and some swelling, but it's healing nicely. The stuff on his chest from the first picture is adhesive from the chest monitors when he was put under general anesthesia. Every day we get a little more of it off.