(this is another re-run from 2 years ago - enjoy)
"My name is Michelle and I am the mom of a cereal smasher."
(insert AA-style greeting here, "Hello Michelle!")
I don't pretend to understand the goings on in the cerebral cortex of someone under the age of four. I can't tell you WHY they do the things they do. But I would pay for someone to tell me HOW TO MAKE IT STOP!
There is something evil and twisted lurking inside the skull of he who is three.
This morning as I cleaned up milky smashed cereal pieces with a snow shovel, I pondered why anyone would feel the need to smash their breakfast into every crack and crevice of their favorite press-the-button book. I am certain it does not do much for the acoustics of Thomas the Tank's whistle...the little blue train gurgled and growled at me with each swipe of my dish rag.
I wonder about his mind...his tiny little ABC-reciting, I yuv wu Ma-saying mind. WHAT.IS.HE.THINKING?!
Now, I don't believe that all three year olds compose devious plots against the sanity of their moms. I have three kids and neither of my other children tested my need for Xanax like this one does.
What possesses a child to open the heating vent and shove 13,000 hot wheels inside?
Where in the pre-schooler handbook do you smile sweetly at strangers and then hand them your boogers?
In whose mind is it a good idea to rub cold oatmeal deep into the fur of the dog while Mommy is on the phone?
And...in what far corner of his mind do the synapses tell you to feed a pack and a half of Dentyne to the dog?
Then there is the oral fixation....everything goes in the mouth! EV.ERY.THING!
While most children go the picky-eater route at some point, this one....this one has an expanded palette that includes items you wouldn't find in the slop the farmer feeds Templeton and Wilbur. We are talking dog fur, bird poop, rocks, dirt, coins, pushpins, hairy lollipops, someone else's gum, sand, mulch, hard shards of cheese from the dustpan, the juice from a kidney bean can scavenged from the recycling bin, tissues and coffee grounds.
Yum! NOT!
Of course, the destruction and deviant digestion of a typical day is enough to having me peeling my eyelids off before lunchtime, my sanity (or lack there of) eventually comes down to how many temper tantrums I deal with in a day.
I remember seeing the tantrum of a friend's child and thinking, "Wow! She needs to get a handle on that behavior! That is ridiculous!"
But, recently, as I fought for a week to get my son's flailing legs into the leg-holes of the basket portion of the shopping cart while he beat the daylights out of my head with a monster truck, pulled my hair and shrieked as though I was sticking pins under his fingernails, I thought of my friend and her little angel who whined for .7 seconds when it was time to leave our playdate.
I have been banned from WalMart until further notice.
And when is it OK to bash Mommy in the back of the head with the MarioKart steering wheel?
"EXCUSE ME for nodding off for a mere second during your 106th attempt to NOT be in 12th place!"
If anyone knows a good book about raising a CEREAL SMASHER... please forward the info.
Or....maybe I should write this book... then I could hire a maid to clean up the crumbs and pay for a therapist for me and my oatmeal-soft, minty-fresh dog.
Peace out, Mamas.
"My name is Michelle and I am the mom of a cereal smasher."
(insert AA-style greeting here, "Hello Michelle!")
I don't pretend to understand the goings on in the cerebral cortex of someone under the age of four. I can't tell you WHY they do the things they do. But I would pay for someone to tell me HOW TO MAKE IT STOP!
There is something evil and twisted lurking inside the skull of he who is three.
This morning as I cleaned up milky smashed cereal pieces with a snow shovel, I pondered why anyone would feel the need to smash their breakfast into every crack and crevice of their favorite press-the-button book. I am certain it does not do much for the acoustics of Thomas the Tank's whistle...the little blue train gurgled and growled at me with each swipe of my dish rag.
I wonder about his mind...his tiny little ABC-reciting, I yuv wu Ma-saying mind. WHAT.IS.HE.THINKING?!
Now, I don't believe that all three year olds compose devious plots against the sanity of their moms. I have three kids and neither of my other children tested my need for Xanax like this one does.
What possesses a child to open the heating vent and shove 13,000 hot wheels inside?
Where in the pre-schooler handbook do you smile sweetly at strangers and then hand them your boogers?
In whose mind is it a good idea to rub cold oatmeal deep into the fur of the dog while Mommy is on the phone?
And...in what far corner of his mind do the synapses tell you to feed a pack and a half of Dentyne to the dog?
Then there is the oral fixation....everything goes in the mouth! EV.ERY.THING!
While most children go the picky-eater route at some point, this one....this one has an expanded palette that includes items you wouldn't find in the slop the farmer feeds Templeton and Wilbur. We are talking dog fur, bird poop, rocks, dirt, coins, pushpins, hairy lollipops, someone else's gum, sand, mulch, hard shards of cheese from the dustpan, the juice from a kidney bean can scavenged from the recycling bin, tissues and coffee grounds.
Yum! NOT!
Of course, the destruction and deviant digestion of a typical day is enough to having me peeling my eyelids off before lunchtime, my sanity (or lack there of) eventually comes down to how many temper tantrums I deal with in a day.
I remember seeing the tantrum of a friend's child and thinking, "Wow! She needs to get a handle on that behavior! That is ridiculous!"
But, recently, as I fought for a week to get my son's flailing legs into the leg-holes of the basket portion of the shopping cart while he beat the daylights out of my head with a monster truck, pulled my hair and shrieked as though I was sticking pins under his fingernails, I thought of my friend and her little angel who whined for .7 seconds when it was time to leave our playdate.
I have been banned from WalMart until further notice.
And when is it OK to bash Mommy in the back of the head with the MarioKart steering wheel?
"EXCUSE ME for nodding off for a mere second during your 106th attempt to NOT be in 12th place!"
If anyone knows a good book about raising a CEREAL SMASHER... please forward the info.
Or....maybe I should write this book... then I could hire a maid to clean up the crumbs and pay for a therapist for me and my oatmeal-soft, minty-fresh dog.
Peace out, Mamas.
14 comments:
Oh Lordy I'm there with you. My daughter was a SAINT compared to this boy I birthed. He's into everything... I'm just hoping he grows out of it before he's 16.
I know exactly how you feel! I think my problem is that I had two girls before this boy of mine! They were angels compared to him, and I thought they made me crazy. My son likes to look at people (he doesn't know) and growl at them. I think he's going to be a bully; what's a momma to do??? He will be 4 in July and also wants to play the Wii games until he wins, it drives us ALL nuts! If you figure this thing out, please let us know.
DeDe
When you find that book please pass it on to me!! I have two cereal smashers! They have worn me so thin here lately I don't know what to do...terrible two's x 2 = UGH!!!
How did my daughter get all the way to your house without me knowing about it?? LOL
My 3 year old recently gave up the terrible twos, just in time for my two year old to take over.
*sigh*
Remember, one day we will look at our grandchildren and laugh our fool heads off when they do the same stuff their parents did when they were little.
Gum to the dog? oh my...
seen hot wheels in a heating vent.
thank goodness my daughter never smeared oatmeal into our dogs fur. I thank God for her everyday - a boy would have driven me to the brink me thinks!
Yeah, I laugh when people say Terrible Twos...it's the threes that will push you over the edge. I remember running Daniel to the neighbor's house, opening her sliding door and launching him in. Him crying. Me crying and screaming I'm going to kill him! If he was my first, he would be my only! Guess God knew that and that is why he was the second one.
Try pre-school for a couple of hours. Then he becomes the teachers challenge. I can say that since we are 60 miles away and he won't be at the one I work at. LOL.
Love you, T
Michelle,
I have a book for you - Raising Your Spirited Child.
I forget the author, and I just last week, if you can believe it, lent it to another mom friend at wits end.
But I'm sure you can find it.
It may not have all your answers. You may not even like it. I liked it because finally someone was explaining my child. I didn't feel so alone.
Anyway, email me if you want more info.
I know your pain.
"Raising Your Spirited Child" is by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka. My pages are all dog-eared and the cover is ripped from throwing it at my "spirited cherebums!" I highly recommend it.
There's also "The Strong Willed Child" by Dr. James Dobson.
Also, I think your reader had a good suggestion about pre-school. Give both you and your loved one a break from each other. When he is an adult, working in the big bad world, his "strong will" is going to make him successful, thereby making his mother proud. It's getting there that is the not-so-fun challenge.
Hugs...
ROFLMAO!!!!!!!! You crack me up, Michelle! That was great! :D
Write the book and call it "Cereal Smasher and Future Genius" because all those things that drive mommy nutz, all those antics that make you think "Why would you do that?" they all indicate a very healthy imagination and desire to explore his world.
In other words you've got one smart cookie on your hands and I hope your sanity doesn't crumble as his noggin expands.
I'VE also read a book called Making your child mind, without losing yours:)
Oh Lord. For a second there I thought you were talking about MY 2 year old. Right down to the same book. When I got to the part about the shopping cart I realized you weren't because he doesn't beat me with a monster truck and pull my hair.
He does the reverse headbutt and the scream until everyone in Ikea stares at us while simultaneously kicking my skirt up so that everyone can see my knickers.
*sigh*
The joy of a toddler.
Have I mentioned the meltdown at the portrait studio today? ...no?
You can probably imagine it without an explanation...
Just so you know what's coming... Thirtenn is soooo much worse.
HA HA! Amy,
I have one of those, too (a 13 yr old) and a 12 yr old.
LOL!
Makes for a very interesting house!
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