This morning, early, I walked past the pile of towels waiting to be folded, kicked aside the toys that littered my path, said adios to the dirty dishes from last night (this is neither the time or place to mention the couch pushed askew, the floor that needs vacuuming, most desperately, and the orange—yes orange—ring around the toilet bowl) and left the house with a sobbing Little Guy over my shoulder.
It seems there was a cavity to be filled (it turned out to be two but who’s counting?) though this was not the reason for the Little Guy’s tears. In fact, he had so much fun at the dentist that I will never be able to snarl “You had better go brush your teeth, young man, or there’ll be another trip to the dentist!” Because of this first oh-so-positive tooth filling experience, that threat, so cherished by mothers all over the world, has been denied me.
But Mr. Drill is beside the point. This is about the Little Guy, his crying, and how He Who Can Do No Wrong has become Mr. Lack O’Focus. Mr. T.V. Addict. Mr. Weep E. Petulant.
Ever since the Little Guy has had to be at school and alert by 8 AM, he can’t seem to do anything, pre-academia, but sit in front of the TV totally unresponsive, eyes glazed, his mouth slack so that the cereal he manages to maneuver to his mouth every three minutes barely makes it to its hot-saliva demise. (I know what you’re thinking but Spongebob must sing in the Little Guy’s ear or there is no wakefulness whatsoever.) My efforts to get him moving fast enough to arrive at school before the bell rings has reduced him to tears more than twice, er thrice. Who am I kidding? This is the 4th week of school and he cries over something/nothing almost every morning.
Prior-to-school sobbing makes me testy (“if I made my kid cry than I must be a bad mom” --it’s just too early in the morning for that nonsense) then he gets tantrummy (Mom made me cry so she must not love me!) and our once harmonious relationship is reduced to something that resembles his soggy, uneaten Fruity Pebbles. In a word, gross. (Or there’s always this: if the early morning drama won’t do my kid in, the Fruity Pebbles will so why worry?)
Clearly, the child needs more sleep (and, oh my, so do I!). Since, all of our children have had sleep problems I am far from uninformed on the available strategies. However, the Little Guy has resisted each and every one of them. Eventually, the scales will tip, balance will be restored and the Little Guy will fall asleep earlier and wake up more capable of human behavior. In the meantime, I’ll be spending the pre-dawn hours (okay, so 6:30 just seems pre-dawn to me—or is it Breaking Dawn? Or Breaking Wind? How could Stephenie not see that one coming?) at Starbucks having a stiff cup of hot chocolate.
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on Wednesday, September 17, 2008
at Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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The many avenues of domestic torture
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