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Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The day my head almost popped off my body

Drop Crazies off at preschool.
Go grocery shopping.
Drop groceries off.
Drive to mall.
Return a few things.
Browse Ann Taylor Loft.
Don't buy anything (mark your calendars...that rarely happens).
Make the 20 minute drive back.
Stop and get a Starbucks (did you know that the white mocha frappucino is actually WHITE??  Gross!!).
Wait outside for preschool to end.
Wave to the kids as they were taking their walk.
Pair my new phone to my car (so technically advanced, ain't I?).
Go inside to pick up Crazies.

Mrs. W:  They had a good day.  When we were taking our walk, Matt kept yelling at Hailey.  He'd scream, "COME ON, HAILEY!!" from the front of the line.  That girl doesn't get a break, does she?

Nope...no she doesn't.

Walk out to the car.
Put Hailey in the car.
Yell at Matt 3-4 times to get out of the snow and into the car.
He finally comes.
I get him in the car and go back around to Hailey's side to buckle her as another mother wanted to put her kids into the car and the spots are impossibly small.
Buckle Hailey in.
Other mother still isn't done with her kids, but moves aside enough so I can wedge myself in to buckle Matt.
"Look Mommy!  I wrote on your car with my orange crayon."
"You did WHAT??"
"I wrote on your car with my orange crayon...isn't it pretty?"
"You did not do that."
Push my sunglasses up to see the full picture.  Holy shit...that little shit wrote on my beautiful car...my first brand new car ever in my life...with a fucking orange crayon!!!!
Grab crayon.
Slam door.
Smile at other mother like my head wasn't about to explode.
Get in my seat.
"Why did you write on the car?"
"I thought you'd would like it...it's pretty and orange.  I love orange."
"WE DON'T WRITE ON THE CAR WITH CRAYON.  WE DON'T RUIN OUR NICE THINGS BY WRITING ALL OVER THEM.  WE JUST DON'T DO THAT!!!!!"
"Mommy, I wanna snack."
"Fine...here's a wipe.  Wipe your hands and I'll give you your snacks."
"Matt, take the wipe and do your hands.  If you don't do it, you won't get any snack."
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1.  Fine...no snack." 
Let the seat kicking commence!
"Stop kicking my seat."
"Stop kicking my seat."
"Stop kicking my seat."
"Stop kicking my seat."
"If you kick my seat one more time, you'll have to go to your room when we get home."
"I want a snack."
"Well, Mommy's driving right now.  You had your chance and you wouldn't wipe your hands, so no snack for you."  
That's how I channel my inner Soup Nazi.
Plus, you little shit...you're still fucking kicking the back of my seat...in the car you just ruined...my beautiful first brand new car ever in my life.  Screw your snack.
"I. WANT. MY SNACK."
"NO."
Kicking.
Kicking.
Kicking.
"You'll be going to your room when we get home because you're not listening."
Ear splitting screaming
Kicking.
Screaming.
Kicking.
Screaming.
"Is Matt going to his room when we get home?"
"Yes, Hailey...he sure is.  He's not listening and he's ruining our things.  He needs some time alone to think about this."
"Okay."
I'm pretty sure she was fucking psyched because she didn't feel great to begin with and he was a royal pain in the ass.
Screaming.
Kicking.
Screaming.
Kicking.
"Mom, there's a dump truck."
"Mmhmm."
WTF???  Who gives a shit about a dump truck right now?  You've ruined my car and I want to rip your goddamn legs off.
The screaming and kicking continued until we got home.
I got them both unbuckled and tried to get inside where I could really lose my shit.
Hailey got out without a problem.
Matt refused.
Oh really?
I think not.
I got Hailey safely inside while Matt was still corralled in the car.
She immediately lays down on the couch.
I go back outside to find that he has put his arms through the straps of the car seat again like we're going somewhere. 
I don't fucking think so.
I pull him out of his car seat and tuck him under my arm like a huge, loud, drooly, wriggly football.
Me, my small frame, and my high heeled boots hightail it into the house, up the stairs, and drop him on his bed where he continues to snot, cry, and scream all over himself.  
Oh, and did I mention the drool???  
The drool is fucking disgusting!
"I don't wanna go to my room!!!!"
"Well, you did something bad AND you're weren't listening.  We all need a break.  You're staying in here for a little while."
Honestly, if I don't get a break, my head will literally pop off my body.
Kick the door.
Open the door.
Close the door.
Scream some more.
Open the door.
Drool.
Drool.
Drool.
Put a movie on for Hailey.
Cover her with a blanket.
Call Husband.
Vent to Husband.
Promise Husband I wouldn't kill Matt.
Go to talk to Matt.
He has no fucking clue why he was in there or what he did wrong.
When asked to think really hard, he gives me a blank stare and starts yelling at me about some ripped picture he found in the garbage.
Holy fucking shit...I did NOT get 1.5 Master's degrees to deal with this shit!
Take him downstairs.
Check on Hailey.
Her fever is back.
She looks miserable.
I need to make lunch.
"Do you guys want macaroni and cheese?"
"Yes."
"NO!"
"You don't need to scream at me.  What would you like instead?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
"Take one...don't scream at me.  How about peanut butter & jelly?"
No answer...
I'll take that as a "yes."
I call them in for lunch.
Neither one moves.
I call them again.
I turn off the movie.
They both collapse into puddles of toddlerness.
Ugh.
I don't really remember what happened next, but suddenly, I was carrying Matt to the table and he was kicking and screaming.
I can only assume that my head really DID pop off of my body because I have no conscious memory of what prompted me to lift him up.
It's all a blur of yelling, nasty faces, and insolence.
I plop him on his chair.
"It's lunchtime...time to eat."
And he punches me in the chest.

Stay tuned for Part II coming tomorrow...anyone want to predict what happens from here on out?  Does my head pop off again?  Or does it stay attached with calm and reassuring words for my troubled son?