Archive for the ‘grrr face’ Tag
November 17 2009
Oh, balloons. The timeless symbol of childhood whimsy. Carefree, floating in air. We have a love/hate relationship, don’t we?
love: my kids’ abundant smiles when they walk into a room full of you.
hate: the snotty tears I have to deal with at bedtime when they must leave you.
love: a festive, helium inflated bundle of birthday fun.
hate: your sad, deflated remnants in every blasted corner of my house.
Maybe I’ve grown cynical in my old age, but you’re not what you used to be. See, it’s my son. He cried and cried and cried because of you. When he was supposed to be in bed, asleep. Anything that messes with my kids’ bedtime is no friend of mine. Me and you, balloons, we need to have a few words.
I know, it’s Buzz. I can’t blame you entirely. It also didn’t help that my husband picked the absolute worst time to begin the tragic act of popping a few of your multi-colored diminished brethren. But that night at bedtime, you should have seen my son’s face. It was like we shot his puppy.
The next morning, Buzz’s face returned a smile again when he noticed the rest of you were all still here. No, my husband couldn’t do what he was supposed to do and discard of you while my son was sleeping. So now, I have to deal with you all over my floor, in every step I take, for yet another day. You’re everywhere, balloons. It’s like you’re mocking me.
So I’ll deal with you for another day. Do you hear me, balloons? Just one more. Enjoy yourself while you can, because tonight we’re done. Kaput. Over and out. Until the next birthday, anyway.
November 04 2009
I’m not very good at discipline. My bark is much worse than my bite, and my bark isn’t even taken seriously. I need to work on my follow through, because it’s apparent that my kids have caught on.
Although at this point, I don’t even know what to follow through on.
We do time out in their room, when needed. I would like to find a more suitable time out location, but this house is dinky and there really isn’t one that wouldn’t be in the way. That said, the only one who I can fully discipline is Jedi. Abby just wouldn’t get it at 15 months, and I would have to sit with Buzz while forcibly holding him down and that sounds much worse on myself than anything he would get out of it.
Not that anyone really gets anything out of it, anyway.
It’s a losing battle, one that I don’t even have much energy to fight anymore.
I could yell and scream until my face turns blue and they’d just find it funny. It’s impossible to count how many times I tell Buzz “NO” in a day and he just laughs. It’s like talking into thin air.
We go around and around and it accomplishes nothing.
The same bad behavior the next day as the day before.
Obviously, I’m doing something wrong. Or, they’re doing something right. That is if they’re trying to overthrow the regime, because god damn, they’re wearing me down. They have worn me down. I’m a stump. Just call me Stumpy.
November 03 2009
20 things more fun than dealing with a child in the throes of a screaming fit in the backseat of a car:
1. driving through Chicago during rush hour
2. screeching nails on a chalkboard
3. trying to find pants that fit
4. explaining why girls have girl parts and boys have boy parts to a 5 year old
5. the swine flu
6. waking up at 6 a.m.
7. running out of Skittles
8. peeing in front of a crowd of 3 little people
9. period piece dramas starring Keira Knightley
10. being kicked in the head
11. a rousing game of football
12. weird PHP errors in WordPress
13. migraines
14. paper cuts
15. picking up a room full of Hot Wheels cars
16. drinking expired milk
17. eating brussel sprouts
18. jamming a fork in my eye
19. an endless conversation about tomatoes with the neighborhood loon
20. writing this list
It’s safe to say tantrums of any kind are bad, but those in the backseat of a moving vehicle are an especially horrendous form of misery. Especially when one really dislikes and panics when driving in the first place. I may have even found myself ineptly threatening, “don’t make me pull this car over young man.”
October 21 2009
The perfect autumn weather is good for a myriad of different treats. Rolling around in leaves, pumpkin patches, wearing sweaters. Most of these I’ve already listed before in an I LOVE FALL! type of post.
What I failed to remember is that fall is also when ladybugs attack.
Holy crap, all the ladybugs!
While a swarm of ladybugs flying right at my face isn’t high on my list of a good time, and I really hate having them in my house, pinging against the walls, their silhouettes playing behind my curtains, flying in dizzy circles… Wait, what was my point? Oh yeah, stupid bugs.
Buzz, however, is all boy and can’t get enough of these insects. Whether it’s a fly or an ant or a Pixar movie about bugs. And now, the ladybugs. He points at the gangly group converging on the outside window screen, like some bad made for TV horror film. Think The Birds, only much, much smaller.
“BUG!”, he squeals in giddy delight.
“BUG!”, as he notices an intruding ladybug’s polka dot armor roaming our carpet. He kneels down and studies it’s beady body. He pokes it, prods it, flips it over on it’s back. Luckily he has yet to fully squash one in his fingers.
“BUG!”, he repeats, mesmerized.
I pick it up gently and set it free outside. A task I’ve already accomplished numerous times. Mommy, ladybug rescuer. Buzz follows close behind. “Bye bye, BUG!”, he waves, as 10 more swarm inside in it’s place. Stupid bugs.
October 20 2009
J is in charge of most bedtime routines, whether this entails baths or brushing teeth. I’ve tried before, but frankly he’s just better at it. I’m fine with this, as it usually means I get to sit down for a minute.
A very quick minute.
The boys have Power Ranger style electric toothbrushes that stand on a shelf by their base. There is a specific area in the medicine cabinet meant just for these toothbrushes. On the end, past their water cup. This isn’t new. It’s the same spot as it’s always been.
For some reason, however, J can never put them back where they belong. Instead of saving me the aggravation, he finds it easier to place these toothbrushes in the middle of the shelf. Before the cup. Cluttering our various other bottles and sundries in the process.
Every day, I take an extra few seconds to reorganize and replace these toothbrushes to their proper home. Every night, he moves them back. Every morning, I huff and sigh and curse him under my breath.
“Why can’t you put the toothbrushes back right?”, I ask.
“I do put them back right”, he says.
We’ve gone around and around. He’s set in his way and I want to stab bristles in his eyes. If a few misplaced toothbrushes (and maybe some stray socks) are all I have to complain about after almost 12 years, though, then we must be doing something right.
