The Dawning of the Age of Defiance
So for the past couple of days, I have been wondering where my son went. The normally cheerful, bright, and enthusiastic young man I have come to know and love has been replaced. Replaced by a snivelly, whiny, drama king.
We had the Raffi CD on, like we do all the other six days of the week, and usually he and I sing along together. Along came Hubba-hubba into the room and decided to join the chorus. Immediately, Mr. Personality's face scrunched up, turned an alarming shade of purple, and the fat tears began to flow instantaneously. If I hadn't been so taken aback, I would have admired the speediness of the transformation. He managed to choke out, "DON'T SING! I'M SINGING!" Hubba-hubba stopped immediately. This however, did not put an end to the drama, and Mr. Personality sobbed into my pajamas for a good five minutes that his father so unfeelingly wanted to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with him.
He has taken a shine to demanding things that he wants, and in his mind, the decibel level should match the level of desire. So he is constantly screeching that he wants something, and with that kind of pleasant request, gets denied the object in question. Thus the decibel level rises, the purple shade makes a reappearance, and the face strikingly resembles a raisin, so contorted it becomes. (You see, this is how much he has gotten to me, I am sounding like Yoda and thinking it sounds good)
Tonight became the showdown over the baked chicken. Now mind you, this child has eaten this chicken dozens of times, and likes it. I gave him some choices for dinner, and recieving no reply due to his concentration on his new Bob the Builder DVD,* I chose for him. I warned him several times that when dinner was done, off went the TV. Dinner came and off went the TV. He became so angry that he actually tried to pinch me. The screams of "NO CHICKEN, NO CHICKEN" reverberated through our small house. For twenty minutes he refused to eat, and I was darned if I was going to let him go to bed hungry and wake up at midnight wanting something to eat. Because that is exactly what would have happened. Finally, after promising he would get some apple juice (which he rarely gets) after eating some chicken, he managed to eat bites between his shaky half-sobs.
Part of me wants to melt when he does things like this, because who likes to see their child cry? But then I realize I am being manipulated by a master, and I mentally square my shoulders and gird for battle. This is the boy who is coming into his own small self, testing the boundaries, looking for any chink in the armor that will help him advance his cause.
Luckily, dinner was a rather cheery affair after the initial resistance, and bath and bedtime went smoothly. For most nights out of the week, I am without the assitance of Hubba-hubba, so I always breathe a sigh of relief when Mr. Personality finally falls asleep. I need the time to myself to calm down, regroup, write a bit, read a bit, and finally go through my own bedtime routine. Tomorrow I am attending a bridal shower, so I will actually get a much needed break.
I have two words of advice for Hubba-hubba, "En garde!"
*He had already watched the video twice, so it wasn't like I was turning the dang thing off and he didn't know how it was going to end. Oh, and did I ever say that I was wishing Bob and Wendy would get together? This DVD is actually a live show that they did in England, with singing and dancing and all kinds of goings on. Anyway, at the ending number, Bob sings something to Wendy like, "You're kinda cute" and "Don't you know your're the queen of my yard?" Suddenly I felt cheap. Then Wendy responds with a hip thrusting move and a refrain of "I'm just a blond in a hard hat" and "Don't try to make a monkey out of me." I wanted to take a shower, it was just so wrong.
We had the Raffi CD on, like we do all the other six days of the week, and usually he and I sing along together. Along came Hubba-hubba into the room and decided to join the chorus. Immediately, Mr. Personality's face scrunched up, turned an alarming shade of purple, and the fat tears began to flow instantaneously. If I hadn't been so taken aback, I would have admired the speediness of the transformation. He managed to choke out, "DON'T SING! I'M SINGING!" Hubba-hubba stopped immediately. This however, did not put an end to the drama, and Mr. Personality sobbed into my pajamas for a good five minutes that his father so unfeelingly wanted to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with him.
He has taken a shine to demanding things that he wants, and in his mind, the decibel level should match the level of desire. So he is constantly screeching that he wants something, and with that kind of pleasant request, gets denied the object in question. Thus the decibel level rises, the purple shade makes a reappearance, and the face strikingly resembles a raisin, so contorted it becomes. (You see, this is how much he has gotten to me, I am sounding like Yoda and thinking it sounds good)
Tonight became the showdown over the baked chicken. Now mind you, this child has eaten this chicken dozens of times, and likes it. I gave him some choices for dinner, and recieving no reply due to his concentration on his new Bob the Builder DVD,* I chose for him. I warned him several times that when dinner was done, off went the TV. Dinner came and off went the TV. He became so angry that he actually tried to pinch me. The screams of "NO CHICKEN, NO CHICKEN" reverberated through our small house. For twenty minutes he refused to eat, and I was darned if I was going to let him go to bed hungry and wake up at midnight wanting something to eat. Because that is exactly what would have happened. Finally, after promising he would get some apple juice (which he rarely gets) after eating some chicken, he managed to eat bites between his shaky half-sobs.
Part of me wants to melt when he does things like this, because who likes to see their child cry? But then I realize I am being manipulated by a master, and I mentally square my shoulders and gird for battle. This is the boy who is coming into his own small self, testing the boundaries, looking for any chink in the armor that will help him advance his cause.
Luckily, dinner was a rather cheery affair after the initial resistance, and bath and bedtime went smoothly. For most nights out of the week, I am without the assitance of Hubba-hubba, so I always breathe a sigh of relief when Mr. Personality finally falls asleep. I need the time to myself to calm down, regroup, write a bit, read a bit, and finally go through my own bedtime routine. Tomorrow I am attending a bridal shower, so I will actually get a much needed break.
I have two words of advice for Hubba-hubba, "En garde!"
*He had already watched the video twice, so it wasn't like I was turning the dang thing off and he didn't know how it was going to end. Oh, and did I ever say that I was wishing Bob and Wendy would get together? This DVD is actually a live show that they did in England, with singing and dancing and all kinds of goings on. Anyway, at the ending number, Bob sings something to Wendy like, "You're kinda cute" and "Don't you know your're the queen of my yard?" Suddenly I felt cheap. Then Wendy responds with a hip thrusting move and a refrain of "I'm just a blond in a hard hat" and "Don't try to make a monkey out of me." I wanted to take a shower, it was just so wrong.
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