Yep, It’s Another One Of THOSE Days

Quick piece of advice for all prospective parents out there:

Invest in a comfortable set of ear plugs.

Trust me.

Anger Management

Son . . . I know you’re too young to get this yet, but as soon as you can, please take a page from your Uncle Andrew’s advice book, and realize that if you push the matter . . . any matter . . . to the point where the parent/caretaker/teacher/etc. becomes angry, one way or the other, you have already lost, usually in the worst way possible for you.

(There are other pages in that book that I’d rather you not read right now, but I’ll have this one framed for you, if you like.)

At Least I’m Sure Now

I’ve made no secret of the fact that this week hasn’t been easy on me.  Truth be told, I’d be hard pressed to tell you off-hand the last time I even had an easy week, and when I sat down to write this, I was honestly not sure why.

Then in the course of trying to clear my head and find a topic to write about, I heard L. having no fewer than three emotional meltdowns, all of which culminated in Lala sending him to his room for a time out (which doesn’t exactly make the household any quieter, you understand), and the answer just sort of came to me.

We’ll get passed this stage, son, we really will.  To hear Mom tell it, I wasn’t a complete joy to be around at three either, so there’s a certain justice in all this . . . but I’m starting to realize just how much I’m in need of a little mercy here.

But I Was Just Kidding. I KNOW How My Family Drives

At this point I would say that L. has mastered number recognition barring one . . . unexpected exception that I just learned about over the weekend.

We were out driving, and his mother pointed to a speed limit sign and asked him, “What does that sign say?”  (It said 45 MPH.)

L. looked at it, then grinned and said, “Sixty.”

In the shocked silence that followed I felt the need to observe, “He gets that from your side of the family, you know.”

Okay Then

Over the past few days, those of you skilled at reading between the lines, as well as those simply skilled at just reading, probably concluded this has not been an easy week for me.

You concluded correctly.

And while I can see the edge of the woods from here, I’m not quite out of them yet, so I’m going to need to keep this brief today.  With that in mind, here’s an exchange I overheard this morning between Lala and L.:

Lala:  (After L. said something particularly clearly.) You’re getting this enunciation thing down pat.

L.:  No, I’m not. (Said with flawless enunciation.)

My WTH Moment Of The Morning

L: What the heel happened?

Me: *blinks, then realizes that he’s looking down at the Band-Aid on his foot* I think you mean “What happened to your heel?”.

I’m Tired Of This Answer

I want you to know that it’s my fault, not yours, son. I knew I was letting you stay up too late, but you were having so much fun playing with your “grandmama,” and since she’s only visiting for a limited time, I thought, “Why not?”

At one o’clock you answered that question for your mother (as well as your grandmama).

At two o’clock you answered that question for your mother (as well as your grandmama) again.

At three o’clock you answered that question for your mother, your grandmama, me, and the puppy.

Consider the questions answered, son, and let’s not do this again at four o’clock, okay?

Crisis Counseling

I can see someone without children thinking parents were insane for their definition of “crisis,” but it creates an instant bond between parents, particularly of toddlers.

– Lala’s response to my informing her that L. and I were in the middle of a “minor crisis” due to some missing train track pieces.

A Memo For My Son

Regarding your recent request that you be allowed to implement a “Don’t ask, just yell” policy:

Request denied.

And This Is No April Fools’ Joke

Son, I know you’re three, but to be frank, lately you’ve started to abuse the privilege.