Sometimes I wonder why I even bother pretending that I am smarter than the 2 year old. I swear we should just quit our day jobs and dedicate our lives to fulfilling every single nutty demand Chunko can dream of. Just when I think we've managed to out maneuver him, he goes sprinting past us, laughing, to destroy our well thought out plans. We need to buy jester hats to complete our new persona.
Okay, so maybe I'm being a smidgen over-dramatic... likemaybethismuch
Chunko thought it was so great to take my car keys, unlock the doors and climb in the driver's seat. He would shut the door and give me a kiss goodbye. He learned how to turn the key so the battery would come on and he could listen to his jams. I thought it was super cute. Then he started my car and locked me out! Thankfully, he was more interested in the radio than the gear shift. Then I realized that with his height and new found skills, my 2 year old could probably steal my car! Needless to say, he's not allowed to touch my car keys anymore.
I know that I am incredibly lenient towards him but I find myself questioning every parental choice I've made. I had a firm set of parent guidelines that I believed in and chose to follow. I will spank my kids and smack their hands. I yell when I am mad and I use timeouts. I use more emotional and psychological tactics with my oldest because he psyches himself out more than I ever could spanking him.
I feel that lately, that isn't enough. Actually, I feel more that it's good for my oldest but that it's not right for Chunko. It's not the best way to approach our bull child. I spank him, he spanks my nephew. I take the toy from him and he takes a toy from my niece. I throw a snack pack for my husband (not at him, but for him) and Chunko thinks it's okay to throw everything across the room.
I am becoming frustrated with our lack of control of the situations and Chunko... We're trying to find our footing and I can't help but to feel unprepared.
We're finally, finally, finally getting into a great rhythm of getting him to go to sleep and stay asleep. We've had a month of only one wake up per night and we've had a week of no wake ups. We still have battles over when it's time for bed and if we don't read ALL of the right bedtime stories, then we get screaming nightmare child. Thankfully our nighttime battles rarely take longer than an hour and then he's down for the count. It's almost as if he hadn't used up all his energy for the day and had to expel it somehow.
Most restaurants have banned us from coming back. Even fast food ones. Okay, not really but we've personally banned eating out for a bit. If it doesn't have a play place, we smile sadly as we drive by. Chunko doesn't fit in highchairs anymore so we can't buckle him in with any hope of keeping him still.
Admittedly we realized that we have been smacking Chunko more often than not and we decided to try other forms of discipline...Some nights it ends up looking like a poor version of The Three Stooges. Chunko throws his lego at the TV, I smack Chunko, Chunko smacks me back, I smack Chunko, he smacks me back, I smack Chunko, he smacks his brother, his brother smacks him back and his dad smacks Chunko.... On and on until someone gets their eye poked out.
I was at the end of my rope on Friday and so instead of smacking him, I put him in the corner for a timeout. He walked out of the corner and laughed at me. I put him back into the corner and he kicks the wall and walks away. Rinse and repeat for 10 minutes. I get his chair and put him in the chair in the corner. He pushes the chair back and walks away. I pick him up and put him back in his chair. He gets up and walks away. Rinse and repeat for five minutes. I storm out to the garage, grab a bungee cord and bind him to the chair in the corner. He giggles and gets up and walks away. End scene with me saying that 20 minutes of fighting over him being in the corner counts as a timeout... It does, right?
Chunko goes and brings his chair to his sister, makes her sit down in it and straps her to the chair. Then he pushes her over to the corner and makes her sit in timeout.Then he does the same with Brother. That means he gets the point but not the idea. Or that he gets both but he knows who wears the pants in our family (actually he doesn't wear pants at all but not my point).
We're still trying to find the right balance between having a toddler that we have to warn people about before they come over and "accidentally" feeding my kid to the tigers at the Mirage (Those tigers are still there, right? They have dolphins, too, right? Those will work).
August 26, 2012
August 19, 2012
Raising Godzilla
You know that parent that is whispering poor judgements about your parenting as your child screams and thrashes about on the floor while you calmly sit at the table ignoring everything but the ice cream cone you are eating? That used to be me. I judged you and it wasn't kind. I expected your child to cry but then I expected you to discipline your child into calming down. Period. There was no reason for your child to scream or kick and if they did, then you were to remove them from the area. If you had the poor parenting audacity to actually offer the child a sweet treat or a bribe to quiet them, oh well then, you were Satan.
I understood tantrums, or at least I thought I did, and I understood that the best way to end them was to walk away. The child would see that you were no longer standing in fascination of their performance and come running after you, sniveling apologies for being a brat.
I wasn't inexperienced when I made these judgements of you. I had already had my first child and he was an angel. I didn't fully appreciate his angelic nature until I had Chunko... or Godzilla Baby as we like to call him while he destroys our house and surrounding areas.
I AM SO SO SO VERY SORRY!!!
I cannot even begin to apologize enough to those I judged. I know that a very small fraction of the people I judged deserved it and I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the mom that hasn't slept 7 straight hours in 4 years and is trying to read a book and eat a hot meal for the first time since giving birth. I'm talking to the mom trying to finish the grocery shopping while dragging her screaming 2 year old behind her like a dust mop because it's the only way to keep them from running away. I'm talking to the mom at the mall who keeps offering the baby cookies to keep her in the stroller and out of the display cases.
Chunko lies down in the middle of the floor and refuses to move, not caring one bit if it's in the middle of a busy walkway. He tries to jump from the moving shopping cart and tries to scale the aisle shelves. He thinks clothing racks are fortresses to be stormed. Straps and leashes are a joke. I'm sure it must be a riot to see my 2 year old flip himself over in the stroller and then crawl off still strapped in the stroller. When I walk away from his floor pounding tantrums, he just gets up and follows me. His screams become more panicked and he starts grabbing for me, trying to climb up my leg.
To make my struggles even more difficult is his size. Wrestling an angry 40 pound 2 year old is the same as trying to rope a greased pig while wearing oily rubber gloves.
I ask now for what I could not give before. I ask for understanding. I don't ask for help and frankly, say what you will about my parenting. I ask that you keep your snide comments on mute until I am past you. I can hear you over the screaming child and if I don't, my older kids can. Then they ask me why you're such a witch and I have to find the proper words to nicely explain your rudeness.
I ask that you look beyond the situation and know that you don't know the circumstances. You may see me struggling with an ill tempered 4 year old, but I'm actually struggling with a just barely turned 2 year old. He's allowed a little leeway behaviorally, I would think. I shouldn't have to walk around explaining to every passerby that he's only 2.
I know that I am getting what I have given for years and that is why I don't say anything back to the looky-loos. I just smile and walk on by or smile as I give Chunko another cookie. That's right, look at my "terrible" 2 year old, go home, and thank the heavens your child "never would act like that."
I understood tantrums, or at least I thought I did, and I understood that the best way to end them was to walk away. The child would see that you were no longer standing in fascination of their performance and come running after you, sniveling apologies for being a brat.
I wasn't inexperienced when I made these judgements of you. I had already had my first child and he was an angel. I didn't fully appreciate his angelic nature until I had Chunko... or Godzilla Baby as we like to call him while he destroys our house and surrounding areas.
I AM SO SO SO VERY SORRY!!!
I cannot even begin to apologize enough to those I judged. I know that a very small fraction of the people I judged deserved it and I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the mom that hasn't slept 7 straight hours in 4 years and is trying to read a book and eat a hot meal for the first time since giving birth. I'm talking to the mom trying to finish the grocery shopping while dragging her screaming 2 year old behind her like a dust mop because it's the only way to keep them from running away. I'm talking to the mom at the mall who keeps offering the baby cookies to keep her in the stroller and out of the display cases.
Chunko lies down in the middle of the floor and refuses to move, not caring one bit if it's in the middle of a busy walkway. He tries to jump from the moving shopping cart and tries to scale the aisle shelves. He thinks clothing racks are fortresses to be stormed. Straps and leashes are a joke. I'm sure it must be a riot to see my 2 year old flip himself over in the stroller and then crawl off still strapped in the stroller. When I walk away from his floor pounding tantrums, he just gets up and follows me. His screams become more panicked and he starts grabbing for me, trying to climb up my leg.
To make my struggles even more difficult is his size. Wrestling an angry 40 pound 2 year old is the same as trying to rope a greased pig while wearing oily rubber gloves.
I ask now for what I could not give before. I ask for understanding. I don't ask for help and frankly, say what you will about my parenting. I ask that you keep your snide comments on mute until I am past you. I can hear you over the screaming child and if I don't, my older kids can. Then they ask me why you're such a witch and I have to find the proper words to nicely explain your rudeness.
I ask that you look beyond the situation and know that you don't know the circumstances. You may see me struggling with an ill tempered 4 year old, but I'm actually struggling with a just barely turned 2 year old. He's allowed a little leeway behaviorally, I would think. I shouldn't have to walk around explaining to every passerby that he's only 2.
I know that I am getting what I have given for years and that is why I don't say anything back to the looky-loos. I just smile and walk on by or smile as I give Chunko another cookie. That's right, look at my "terrible" 2 year old, go home, and thank the heavens your child "never would act like that."
August 12, 2012
I Never Get What I Want
I thought that he understood my level of thinking but now I'm wondering if I was horribly wrong.
We went out (alone with no kids!!!!!) to see Ted (<---- so very wrong, but so very very very funny) and as we were standing in line, I brought up my desire for a new acquisition....
Me: Honey, I want a taxidermied pony with wings like a Pegasus
My Love: What????
Me: *large dramatic sigh* I want a taxidermied pony with wings sewn on like a Pegasus
My Love: What the hell???
Me: I'm assuming it can't be more than $800
My Love: That's so much better but I don't understand
Me: The Bloggess bought a pony and it has wings like a Pegasus and I want one!
My Love: Hell no!
Me: But it's a pony...
My Love: You want to kill a pony and sew wings on it?
Me: No, I want an already dead pony with wings already sewn on it. It's dead and stuffed and we don't have to feed it or pick up it's poo. Fart Bone will love it!
My Love: No... No... No.... No
Me: What is the issue? I didn't get the giant metal rooster (like Beyonce) I asked for and I think this far more appealing than that and the HOA can't complain because it'll be in our house, not in the yard.
My Love: No.... No.... No.... No
Me: I want it and I think I deserve it
My Love: What on earth would you do with a dead pony?
Me: Well, actually I'd be totally creeped out by it and probably end up dancing around and poking it with a stick until it got a bald spot. Then I'd put it in the playroom so the kids could break it and I could blame them for the bald spot. I might even be able to use it to punish Fart Bone. You know? As in, be good or you'll have to touch the Pegasus...
My Love: No... .No... No... No.... No.... No....
Don't worry.
No animals were harmed in my quest for a Pegasus.
Cause my husband told me No and he doesn't understand me at all.
Annnd I didn't get the giant metal rooster either.
Boo
I mean, seriously, how can you possibly say No this this slice of awesomeness?!?!?!?
Ps, The Bloggess struggled to convince her husband, too and still was able to obtain one so there is still hope for me. I see it as an "Everybody Wins" kind of deal
August 5, 2012
Quitting Isn't Always Losing
I have made a few rather difficult confessions on this blog, but this... this has to be one of the hardest ones. My battle with being skinny nor the admittance of our bankruptcy is comparable to this.
After five years of trying, my love and I have decided to quit. We have tried all that we can imagine and now the only thing we can offer is time.
I'm talking about his oldest daughter, of course.
Five years of anger and aggression and five years of a father and a daughter not talking (or at least, not nicely) has worn us down. He has tried calling, texting, emailing and even snail mail letter writing in hopes of rebuilding something of what they used to have. I even tried a few times to reach out only to be slapped back with silence. The silence, I think, is far more brutal and harsh than a simple "Not ready" or a "No thank you" or even a "Frack off." It adds the element of hope that the answer will come soon and then it never does. No news is not always good news. The absolute lack of answer is much more hurtful than a rude one because it says that he's just not worth it to her.
It seems that about every six months one of us will get the itch to try again. Maybe there was a pleasant conversation or a good phone call. Maybe there's just a father worried about his daughter and wanting to let her know he's there for her. But we can't keep doing this to ourselves. There has to come a time to stop and say "When she is ready, she will call." If that is never, then we'll have to accept her wishes, even if we don't agree with them.
We talked about this for a very long time and we realized it has to end. We are torturing ourselves over this and it's just been far too much for way too long. He tried one last time and got the usual lack of acknowledgment.
Neither one of us wanted to accept that this is the path we have to take. It's upsetting, even a little infuriating, to have to decide this. We had to understand that it is our loss but it is hers, too. I hope someday it can be different and far better but until then we have to step back and move on.
And now we are done.
After five years of trying, my love and I have decided to quit. We have tried all that we can imagine and now the only thing we can offer is time.
I'm talking about his oldest daughter, of course.
Five years of anger and aggression and five years of a father and a daughter not talking (or at least, not nicely) has worn us down. He has tried calling, texting, emailing and even snail mail letter writing in hopes of rebuilding something of what they used to have. I even tried a few times to reach out only to be slapped back with silence. The silence, I think, is far more brutal and harsh than a simple "Not ready" or a "No thank you" or even a "Frack off." It adds the element of hope that the answer will come soon and then it never does. No news is not always good news. The absolute lack of answer is much more hurtful than a rude one because it says that he's just not worth it to her.
It seems that about every six months one of us will get the itch to try again. Maybe there was a pleasant conversation or a good phone call. Maybe there's just a father worried about his daughter and wanting to let her know he's there for her. But we can't keep doing this to ourselves. There has to come a time to stop and say "When she is ready, she will call." If that is never, then we'll have to accept her wishes, even if we don't agree with them.
We talked about this for a very long time and we realized it has to end. We are torturing ourselves over this and it's just been far too much for way too long. He tried one last time and got the usual lack of acknowledgment.
Neither one of us wanted to accept that this is the path we have to take. It's upsetting, even a little infuriating, to have to decide this. We had to understand that it is our loss but it is hers, too. I hope someday it can be different and far better but until then we have to step back and move on.
And now we are done.
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