Written yesterday. Published today. Because it took me a full day to be able to semi-laugh about it.
I cannot tell you how much this morning sucked. Hazel cried and whined all. morning. long.
She also hit me.
So, she had a timeout in her room. Where she did even more whining and crying and FREAKING THE EFF OUT.
(And here's where I should admit that since we discovered that our house was about to burn down for the last, oh, year because of a faulty breaker, we have had to turn off the power to my bathroom and her bedroom. So, even though I opened the blinds in her room, it's not light. Not dark, but not light.)
So, there's that.
And that makes me the mom that puts her kid in a room that doesn't have light... because the only other option is to go all wolf spider on her and eat her just to stop the MOTHER LOVIN' WHINING.
And Millie - or Re-Run as I'm now calling her - has to do whatever her sissy does. And apparently, no one cries in Millie's presence alone. So... you can imagine the cacophony of whining and crying at the house this morning. It was really something. Really. I think I made a great impression on the neighbors. Once again. Which is why the windows remain closed at our house even in the summer.
Benny says they whine because I respond to it. Which is totally true. And I know it. And it's making me miserable. Because I was really getting the hang of having a 2-year-old, and kind of enjoying being able to Love and Logic her to get what I want. But now? Now she's turned into a master of insubordination and outright defiance at anything and everything I say or do. Last week? I was told not to whistle. BY A TWO YEAR OLD. Two days ago, I was told not to touch my hair while I was driving her to school. BY A TWO YEAR OLD THAT I BROUGHT INTO THIS WORLD. A two year old who I would die for without a second thought told me to stop touching my hair. Because it was somehow offending her two-year-old sensibilities of what is permissible in her world. And in her world, she is apparently in charge of EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. And DON'T TOUCH YOUR HAIR, MOMMY is a totally acceptable request. And if I'm unable or unwilling to execute that order, the tantrum that I have just asked for is End of the World-worthy.
Which is why we've started gently reminding her to use nice words like please, thank you and 'YOUR HAIR LOOKS PRETTY, MOMMY... and that Mommy is in charge. And sometimes Daddy is in charge. But mostly, it's Mommy.
To that end, I'm also miserable because the insubordination and an overall failure to remember who is in charge around here when it comes to most things often leads to timeouts. And I really hate the timeouts because... OMG, 2-year-olds in timeouts are total you-know-whats. And then you feel like an even bigger you-know-what because you put them in their room with no light to turn on... but seriously, that temper tantrum thrown on the floor of the living room or kitchen is not only unacceptable, it's also dangerous. At least the room has carpet and a soft bed for her to throw herself onto with a reasonable expectation of not busting her head open.
So, today I practiced the art of not losing my mind while they both whined and cried ALL UP IN MY GRILL while I was trying to get ready for work. I practiced the art of stepping over each of them as they lay on the ground, kicking their feet in the air and screaming at the top of their lungs for no other reason than because I made the 2-year-old eat off of an orange (oh the humanity!!) plate this morning, rather than the pink plate she wanted. You know, the one she only wanted after she saw the 1-year-old eating off of it. I gracefully made my way around them as they (yes, plural) sobbed uncontrollably because I didn't put the 2-year-old's strawberries in the blue bowl and OMG... what am I trying to do, KILL HER WITH THE PURPLE BOWL?
So, yea... I just ignored it, thinking it would stop. And with Millie, it did. She eventually got distracted by her thumb and a few well-placed Cheerios on the ground (cuz I cheat that way). But, Hazel... I mean, she can't whine and cry forever can she? CAN SHE? And if she does whine forever, won't that mean eventually, she'll be someone else's problem? Someone who gets paid to put up with this? Like an orderly at a mental institution? Because if this keeps up, one of us is gonna end up in a mental institution. And honestly? Not sure if I care which one of us it is...
But I digress. After the tantrum had gone on for a few minutes, I decided to time it to see how long it would last before she cried herself out and went on about her day.
Thirty minutes in the house and then the 15 minute drive to day care. FORTY. FIVE. MINUTES. Cried the entire time.
The. Entire. Time.
The. Entire. Time.
But - and this is why I
think know she's got my number - as soon as we pull up to day care,
she stopped crying, put on a happy face and acted as if the morning NEVER. EVEN.
Mother of all that is unholy in my life. I just got punk'd.