Posts
Wish I had something insightful or thoughtful or entertaining to post, but alas, I feel like absolute poo.
On Friday, I had A Break Down of the DEARHEAVENS Variety. Conner has been swinging from my last nerve like a gorilla in a jungle full of crack-cocaine for a solid week. He is, at this moment, so not my favorite preschooler.
If it's not the violence towards his brother in the passive aggressive variety ("Oops. I didn't mean to walk right through you at full speed even though I totally saw you standing there") it's violence towards me in the "I'm mad you took my light saber away and threw it in the garbage when I wasn't looking", so I am now going to slam the door on your foot" fashion.
He is also on repeat. REPEAT. REPEAT! REPEAT!!
Every single thing that comes out of his mouth -whether it be a word, a non-word, a phrase or a stinking PARAGRAPH - must be repeated with exact precision by you or the listening party in its entirety. If he believes you A) Mispronounced what he said to you B)Misunderstood his non-word words or C) Don't care to recite all 1,500 things he just sputtered out then you, dear friend, should prepare for The Hellashish Meltdown of Lava and Firey Brain-filled Fireworks ala Conner.
Heaven help us.
I'm getting his hearing checked. He constantly says things that are just mumbled garbage and I can't understand him AT ALL. And you have 2 choices. First being to mumbled some stuff together and spurt it out really fast back at him and pray that he finds it adequate enough ... or, say what you think he's trying to say, and risk being right and him moving on or suffer through aforementioned Hellish Meltdown of Lava and Brains.
As I was loosing my mind, my marbles, my sanity and every single shred of mothery-ness, I found myself sitting on a children's stool in the kitchen floor at 6:30 on Friday night with only a small light on over the sink, texting Staci as to whether locking Conner in his room for the rest of the weekend night was cruel. She conferred that it was not. I replied "Sweet. Now to take the knob off and turn the lock around. I'm looking for the screwdriver now."
Honestly, I was.
But, then I realized that it'd take me an hour to do this (I've done it before, middle school - replaced my own doorknob on my bedroom with a deadbolt I found in our garage - great way to piss off your parents, btw. All I wanted was for my sister to leave my stuff alone...).
Then on Saturday, Ali and I spent 2.5 hours in Target acting like children with NO CHILDREN, and suddenly the weight of Conner's Volcano was lightened (note: NOT LIFTED). I re-centered and now I am able to be around him all day without wanting to place him on Craigslist. For cheap.
Or free.
And now I'll stop blogging about being grumpy. (PS - I hate you Day Light Savings)
