Take My Kid...

 

You know that old joke that goes something like this:  "Life is rough.  For instance, take my wife..."

"No, really, TAKE MY WIFE!   Somebody, please!  TAKE MY WIFE!"

Well, that joke was never really that funny, but I think I sort of understand it now, except I would apply it not to my wife (oh that I had one!) but to my toddler, who is driving me out of my gourd at the moment. 

I thought we had moved past the whining, the tantrums, the contrariness.  I thought all of that was so pre-third-birthday.  But it's not.  It's back, and it's bad.  Every single minute shift in activity over the course if the day is opportunity for a major altercation.  Addie needs to go potty?  Well, we have a fight about which potty to use.  Then we have a fight about whether or not, after thirty minutes of sitting there, she's finally done.  Then we have a fight about needing to wipe, needing to wash hands, needing to pull our underwear up.  All of which ends in me pulling my hair out and sticking her in a time out, where she dissolves into heaves and sobs on the floor.  I'm really the one who needs the time out, but I haven't told her that yet.  I should.

You know that movie Sophie's Choice?  These last few days would have made that choice just a little easier.

What a terrible joke.  I take it back.  But, really?  Somebody, please!  TAKE MY TODDLER!  If only for a few hours.  Because I might throttle her myself if you don't.

The spells are worst on school days, of course.  This is still a major adjustment.  And although she's not having night terrors at the moment, Addie is taking a good two hours to go to sleep at night and refuses to nap, so she's also overtired.  Overstimulation + exhaustion = child succubus. 

We're reading the book Harriet, You're Driving Me Wild! about a mom who doesn't like to yell at her "pesky" daughter Harriet Harris, but finally loses her cool once Harriet creates one crazy mess too many.  Addie really likes this story.  I imagine it's a way for her to work through our own horn-locking.  At the end of the book, after the mom finally yells, she and Harriet dissolve into laughter at the silliness of it all.  This would be a good thing to try, if I can muster it.  But pulling one's hair out is painful, and it will be hard to laugh through that.  Send me good thoughts.

On an adorable note, at her new school, a truck pulls up every Tuesday, loaded with a gymnasium in the back of it, and the kids go out in small groups to do what Addie calls "nymastics."  You should see her trying to do a somersault.  It's really special.