Play-Learn-Grow-Repeat

From Friday Mom – Jaime:
We’re having Andrew’s “kid party” tomorrow. At Bounce U. With a ton of screaming, running, rambunctious 4 year-olds. (Wish us luck)

As he was talking to one of his friends and that kid’s dad about the party (and how they were about to buy Andrew’s present), my son decides to announce, “Aiden…If you’re GOOD, THEN you can play on MY inflatables. But if you’re NAUGHTY, you are NOT playing with ME.”

Oh, the attitude of a 4 year old…

Right now I’m downstairs listening to the sounds of him throwing a massive temper tantrum in his room. I think this one started because I told him to climb into bed.

Remember when everyone said “Oh, it’s just the terrible 2s” as your kid was throwing a fit for no apparent reason? That kind of talk leads you to believe that once you get past 2, it’s like a magic wand gets waived and suddenly you get your sweet, angelic child back.

But then, right around birthday time, you start to hear: “Oh, no. Three is MUCH worse than 2.” Wait a minute. Where have you been for the past year? You know, as I’ve been telling myself the attitude is eminently going to get better at Andrew’s 4th birthday.

So age 4 rolls around and at his party I’m told, “Nah, Jaime. Two was bad. Three was rough. FOUR? Nightmare.”

Really? At Andrew’s birthday party next year is someone going to say the same thing to me about age 5?

How do you deal with the attitudes and temper tantrums?

Hope you all have a great (tantrum free) weekend!

From Friday Mom – Jaime:
The other day, I gave Andrew a hug and said, “I love you baby.”  He threw his hands on his hips, pouted and proceeded to tell me, quite loudly, that he is NOT a baby.  “I a big boy, mommy!” he told me before running off to play with his friends.

Andrew has a fiercely independent streak.   He will tell you – all the time – that he can do things all by himself. Put on his shoes.  Change his clothes.  Use the bathroom.  Everything.

However, in the next moment, he will turn into the biggest, clingiest, whiniest little boy…

I’m not sure what happens in those moments.  Or why Andrew feels the need to whine incessantly in hopes of getting what he wants.  (He also has developed a nasty habit of yelling at me at the top of his lungs for absolutely no reason.)

As he’s freaking out and needlessly throwing temper tantrums, I have to wonder to myself “where did my sweet little boy go?”

At one point, I asked my mom this.  She laughed and said Andrew was going through the terrible twos in his threes.

Have you guys gone through this? Do the terrible 2s really last until age 4?

Hope you have a great (tempter tantrum free) weekend everyone 🙂

I dread the days where I pick Andrew up and see the white page on top of his lunch bag. Incident reports are the bane of my existence, even though most of them are pretty benign.

Andrew goes full throttle all day and often tries to run faster than his little legs can carry him. He also has the misfortune of inheriting my klutziness. He walks into things that are right in front of his face and trips over his own feet. It’s rare when he doesn’t come home with a new bump, bruise or scrape – and the incident reports tell me how the latest one occurred.

But the OTHER kind of incident reports are harder to take – the one where your kid was in some kind of altercation with another kid. Yesterday, there was a biting incident. A little kid was playing with a toy that Andrew wanted. The other boy didn’t want to share and my darling boy bit him when he turned his back.

I realize in confessing this bit of information some of you may be horrified. Some of you may also be relieved to know that your child isn’t the only one who, at one time or another, has had a biting incident… But let’s be real shall we? Every kid is either going to bite or be bitten at one time or another.

Allegedly, the parents of the biter are generally more horrified by the events than the one whose kid has been bitten. At least that’s what they tell me at day care. But I also know this to be true from experience.

So how do you try to explain to a 2 year old that it’s not okay to bite? Especially when you come upon the scene hours after the fact?

Our conversation went a little like this…

Me: Andrew. Did you bite someone today?
Him (looking sheepish): Yes.
Me: Why did you bite him?
Him: (shrugs shoulders) I no know mommy!
Me: Did he have a toy you wanted?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Baby, we don’t bite. You can’t bite someone because they have something you want.
(He starts bawling)
Me: Andrew, I’m not mad at you. I’m not yelling at you. But you can’t bite people.
(He stops sobbing but continues to sniffle pathetically)
Me: After you bit this kid, did you find another toy to play with?
Him: (puffs out his chest proudly) Yup.
Me: Was it cooler than the toy he was playing with.
Him: (smiles broadly) YES
Me: See. There were other toys you could play with. You didn’t have to try to take his and you REALLY didn’t have to bite. Promise me no more biting.
Him: OH-kay mommy.

I spend my days explaining complex commercial transactions to businessmen or the intricacies of legal nuance to clients who would rather just hear me say “do whatever you want, it’s cool.” Yet trying to explain to a two year old that he can’t bite another little kid stumped me. How do you really reason with a toddler? Does he understand what I’m saying? Is he going to remember what I said the next time someone is playing with the toy he wants?

I’m not sure. Masterful as that conversation was, there were no biting incidents today at school. I choose to believe that it was because what I said got through to him. I also hope that the next time a little kid has a toy Andrew wants to play with, he’ll remember our little talk…

I can remember sitting in restaurants with my friends or out on a date listening to little kids screaming their heads off. Inevitably, one of us would roll our eyes and complain loudly about how the parents should keep better control of their kids. Of course, OUR children – when we eventually had them – would be perfectly behaved in public.

Of course, as my mother would happily tell you, I actually got my parents kicked out of a Friendly’s when I was younger. Waitresses threw crackers at our table, hoping that would “shut me up.” And when that didn’t work, we were cordially asked to leave their fine dining establishment… I probably made history being the only baby ever kicked out of a Friendly’s!

It’s funny how things have changed… Now I look at the parents struggling with their screaming kids with total empathy. (And I’m totally grateful for the blissful, all too infrequent, moments where my child is the angel baby of the restaurant.) If the parents – why is it always the mom? – actually look over at my table and apologize, I laugh and tell them not to worry because next time it’ll be my son. And inevitably, the next time it is…

Those are the worst moments.

Your kid is screaming his head off. You’ve tried distracting him with books, toys, food. You tried passing him off between yourself and everyone else at the table. He’s been in the high chair, out of the high chair, in his own seat, in your lap. You’ve walked an insane number of laps around the restaurant. Even the diaper change didn’t help things.

Nothing seems to work… Nothing stops the screaming, the sobs, the crocodile tears for no apparent reason. So now what?

Well… we usually end up leaving the restaurant at that point, embarrassed to be “those parents” with “that kid” who the entire restaurant is staring at. Half the patrons are sympathetic and just thankful it’s not THEIR kid having the meltdown and the other half is angry that you’re ruining their good time with your screaming baby.

We had one of those nights tonight. In the moment it was so frustrating. My son was so upset and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. It was embarrassing. An entire table of women (10 of them – yes, I counted) were glaring at me every time Andrew started howling. Part of me wanted to melt into the booth and the rest of me wanted to shout, “Just because my son’s having a bad day doesn’t make me a bad mom!”

Instead, I held Andrew’s hand and walked out of the restaurant with my head held high while hubby paid the check and got our food packed in to-go containers. Outside in the parking lot, I scooped Andrew up in a bear hug and gave him a big kiss. We ran through the parking lot, arms wrapped around each other, smiling and cackling as we got drenched in the pouring rain.

It certainly wasn’t his best showing. But it’s not going to stop us from trying again.

Seriously, today was one of those days that I literally felt like someone else invaded my son’s body and took over. Kind of like an “evil twin.” As much as I love the boy, today he even pushed his patient mama to the edge! There were several time-outs, trains taken away, many “talks,” and even one “please go sit in another room, mama feels like she might get very angry.” That was the FIRST time that I ever used that line! Anyone else ever feel like you are at your wits end training these little guys (and gals)?

Let’s see… today we threw play dough across the room, hit the dog, hit me, yelled, and the highlight….. dumped water out of the tub during bath. Now when I say “dumped water,” I am talking A LOT of water. Have you ever seen those large hair rinsing buckets for kids? Yes, Brady filled that entirely FULL and dropped it on the floor. Now, you are probably all thinking that I could have just soaked it up in towels and all would be fine. Yes, very true. Except for the fact that my parents live in an older home and the water QUICKLY ran through the floor, to the basement. There was a 3-foot circle of water on the basement floor. And this was after I soaked up the mess, right after it happened. I was amazed at the speed of the water.

I was warned about the Terrible Twos. I must admit that two was rather easy. Three isn’t that bad either (most days). But today was definitely a Terrible Three day. When we did our goodnight routine, I still gave the kisses and hugs and told him I loved him (of course). But I did mention that “boy, I hope my nice Brady is back tomorrow.” And my little guy looked at me and said “don’t worry mama, he will be back.”