And you expected what?…

Today I was brave.  Today I had the day off due to T’s daycare apparently having a brain fart, and deciding that today would be a great day to close instead of Friday.  You know, when the rest of the world seems to be off work.  Okay, I’m not really that upset because – HELLO!  I had all day off and somewhere to drop the hellion off for the entire day.   I was also okay with taking a vacation day today since I didn’t have anything pressing that would require me to be present Monday.  Oh darn, another 4 day weekend, whatever shall I do?

Aaaannnndddd…. cue Murphy’s Law.  Thursday AM I was reading Attorney B’s calendar when I noticed an initial meeting on a new case I had been assigned.  Trying to cover my bases (ok, cover my ass, really) I emailed Attorney B to just to make sure he knew we didn’t have any medical records on the case yet, and in case they were sitting on his desk somewhere, get him to pull his head out of his ass long enough to give them to me.  Sure enough, I get an email to contact the doctor’s office manager right away to get the records ASAP.  Oh yeah, they’re going to love that phone call.  “Sorry, my boss just now realized that we have nothing to meet with your boss about on Wednesday.  Would you mind stopping everything and sending me a copy of the file.  Now.  Pretty please?”   But even that turned out to be not as bad as it could have been.  They actually did have the records copied and waiting for us to pick up.  Except that they are 2 hours away from our office and we had no idea the records were waiting for us.  But they agreed to fax the records. (FYI, I HATE faxed medical records.  Let’s take something that is sometimes difficult to read anyway & make an even worse copy. Great idea.)   Thankfully, it was only about 60 pages, so big deal.

Here’s the part that totally screws up my Monday off.  Attorney B is meeting with this client on Wed AM.  At the client’s office, 2 hours away.  Which means I will not be seeing him on Wed AM to get the records to him.  He’s also out of the office Tuesday afternoon for another meeting.  So that would leave me with just Tuesday AM to get everything together and to him.  I spent a few hours this weekend organizing and summarizing the chart, and doing some preliminary medical research on the issues.  That’s fine, but I really need to get make labels, 2 copies of the records and print everything out.   Ideally, I probably would have considered going into the office on Saturday or Sunday to finish.  Nope, I decide it’s a really great idea to take Mr. T., aka the Hellion, to the office with me for an hour or two on Monday to finalize everything. 

And that’s where the title of this post comes in.  Making labels and 2 extra copies of the chart in notebooks is usually not a difficult task.  Except when you’ve got a 3 year old rummaging through your desk drawer, using that White-out tape stuff to decorate your desk and insisting he sit on your lap and play.   Oh yeah, and finding the black Sharpie in your pen holder.  I had packed him a bag to bring with snacks, juice boxes, monster trucks, extra Pull-Ups, and his new hand-held electronic game player.  He’s obsessed with the game player lately, but do you think he’d sit still and actually play with it when I wanted him to?  If you have kids, or have even spent any time around them, you already know the answer to this is, “Are you flippin’ crazy?”  He had no interest in his game player until about 10 minutes before I was ready to leave.  Naturally. 

And Murphy’s Law struck again.  When you really, really, REALLY need to be able to make some copies and scan records quickly, the main copier will be down.  Yep, I was stuck using our incredibly slow, rinky-dink, back up copier.  Which sucks hairy camel nads.  And doesn’t 3 hole punch.  And guess what else?  Since it had been so long since I had used that copier for multiple copies in a while, I forgot that you have to tell it collate.  So I’m trying to make copies as quickly as I can, and hoping that Mr. T keeps his cute little butt inside my office.  I had thought about taking him with me, but 3 year old’s don’t stand still very well.  Their volume level is always incredibly, skull-shatteringly loud, as well.   At one point, I looked over and could see the top of my office door was now open.  I ran over and expected to see him peering out, but he WAS.NOT.THERE.  I barely had time to panic, when I heard something behind me and turned around to see him in an empty cubicle right out side my door, standing among boxes stacked about as high as he is.  I didn’t even have to say anything.  I glared at him, and he replied, “Mommy, I was waiting for you here.”  Yeah, sure kid.  Way to think on your feet, though.

We got out of there in about 2 hours.  I took him to McDonald’s for lunch and to let him get the wiggles out on the playground.  Then he pitched a ROYAL fit when it was time to leave.  Despite a discussion and lots of warnings and threats about doing so before we even got there.  He continued to show his butt all the way home and when I tried to put him down for a nap.  Or at least “rest time”.  Actually, the rest time is for me.  Also, so I don’t have to post bail or explain why I’ve stuck him beside the road with a sign reading, “Free to Good Home.” 

Seriously, I know he’s got a bad kid.  But DAMN.  3 year olds will exhaust you.  It was really my fault for expecting too much of him.  He really wasn’t too bad at the office, it was the aftermath at McDonald’s and on the way home that did me in.  I should have known that keeping him cooped up for 2 hours and then expecting him to willingly and happily leave the McDonald’s would be too much.  We were pushing the limits on nap time, as well.

But, the cutest thing ever today?  When we walked into my office, he said, “Where are the toys?”   He really expected toys to be there.  Really, doesn’t EVERYBODY have toys everywhere they go?  I really hope someone overheard him say that because I’d hate to have been the only one to get a chuckle out of that. 

Really, I will be happy to get back to the office tomorrow.  God only knows what little surprises T has left for me around my office.

Wanted: 3 year old tamer & potty trainer

Work has mellowed out (a teensy bit) this week so I’m back to worrying about my son and how he’s not potty trained.  And how he’s dead set on pushing all of my buttons.  At once.   Once upon a time, I was so excited that he was moving on from the “terrible two’s”.  It was so close I could taste it.  Then somebody said, “Oh, wait until he’s 3.  That’s the worst.”  Whuck?  Why do people wait until you’re at the end of the 2’s stage, and think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, only to tell you, “Guess what?  That light is a Mack truck & it’s carrying a ton of bricks!  Have fun!”   Yeah, yeah, I know.  Every kid is different.  But seriously, I know a ton of people who complain about the 3’s.  Some mean, rotten person even told me that 4’s were no fun either.   C’mon, we barely got into the 3’s and you’re telling me it gets worse?  Just stab me in the heart and get it over with already.

In all honesty, I really don’t worry about what other people say.  Mr. T is going to do whatever it is he is going to do, and I’ll deal with it.  But, damn, if he isn’t acting like a typical 3 year old lately.  Case in point:  Driving home the other night, he starts whining and says, “Mommy, I wanna go hooommmme.”  (Long, drawn out and whiny.  Did I mention whiny?)  No problem, for once we’re doing what he wants to do.  “Okay, good, because that’s where we’re going.  We’re going home.”  Mr. T took 2 seconds to digest this and then starts, again with the whiny, pathetic voice, “No, I wanna go to schooooolll.”   Super.  Since we’re doing what he said he wanted to do, now he wants to do the opposite.    We’re working with him on the whining, telling him to just ask nicely, and “We can’t hear whining.”   It works once you remind him, but dear Lord, why is whining the default setting on 3 year olds?  Is there an override for that? 

The potty training is simply a battle of the wills at this point.  He’s not willing to do it, so it’s not happening.  And I’m not pushing him.  I know he’ll do it when he’s ready.  Then I get all concerned that maybe I’m not doing enough to get him there.  That’s one of the great things about being a Mommy: you usually worry no matter which course of action you take.  Am I pushing too hard?  Am I not bringing it up enough?  One day he’s asking to use the potty (although not actually going once he’s on it) and other times he wants nothing to do with it.  Nope, totally content to wear Pull-ups.  *sigh*  Seriously, I’m willing to pay someone to potty train him at this point.  Is there a “potty whisperer”? 

(Warning: Rant ahead)  Don’t even get me started on the teacher’s aide who asked me Monday if he had any siblings.  Now, let me say this:  Monday was a particularly bad day, complete with a total meltdown once we got to daycare.  Oh, what fun that was – screaming, pushing, throwing himself on the ground, etc.  I can’t even tell you what he was upset about.  I took him in the bathroom to have a private chat, which then he decided was a great opportunity to throw a plastic footstool.  Awesome.  Needless to say, that was another day that I did NOT get to work in a timely fashion.   So when I picked him up that afternoon, I was greeted with that question from the teacher’s aide.  No, Mr. T doesn’t have siblings.  And he’s not going to have any.  What I should have asked was, “Why?”  But I didn’t.  Even when she said, “Oh, that’s what I thought.”   At the time, I was frazzled, tired and just wanted to go home.  T was running around like a wild hyena and all I wanted to do was corral him to the door & go home.  Once I got in the car, I started thinking, “What the hell did she mean by that?”   Then I started getting pissy and of course, I’m assuming that her thinking T was an only child had a negative connotation.   Screw her, my kid is great.  Yeah, he’s 3 and he likes pushing the limits lately.  But he’s polite, sweet, smart, charming, funny and the cutest frickin’ kid you’ve ever seen.  How many kids say “Excuse me” and smile sweetly every time they fart?  He’s been around other kids on a nearly daily basis since he was 8 weeks old.  He shares, hugs friends when they are upset, and loves playing with his friends on the playground.  He’s also happiest when you’re reading him a book or showing him how to draw shapes.  He’s not missing on anything by not having a sibling and he’s certainly not spoiled.  I’ll be damned if I’m going to have “one of those” kids.  So, Ms. Teachers Aide Who Only Has Known My Kid for a Month, SUCK IT.  (Gee, do you think I’m a bit touchy about it?) 

But he did the coolest thing tonight.  He tried to draw a T for the first time!  And he did an awesome job!  Okay, so T’s aren’t exactly the most challenging of the letters, but I was proud of him.  He said, “I can’t do it, Mommy.”  And then, he did it!   Then he drew a monster truck (of course) and for the first time I can think of, it actually looked like something vaguely resembling a monster truck and not scribbles.   Then he flipped the page and drew a pumpkin – with a smiley face!  So, having a 3 year old isn’t so bad after all.  Maybe I should tape the pumpkin drawing up in my car somewhere to remind me it’s not all whining and meltdowns.

No rest for the wicked

Sometimes, it seems parenthood is like an endurance test for your nerves.  No, wait, it’s more like some twisted, fucked up SAT test that you have no idea how to prepare for or what to study.  Or that the test is even coming.  

“You may begin the test…now!”  Question 1: It’s 10:00 at night and you’ve already gone into your whiny 2 year old’s room at least 4 times, and hollered at him through the door to “LAY DOWN!  AND GO TO SLEEP!” another 3 or 4 times.  Now he’s half way sobbing and mumbling barely audible, incomprehensible answers when you ask, “What’s the matter?  Why don’t you want to go to sleep?  What’s wrong with your bed?”  All you can make out is something about the floor being scary.  Or the ceiling fan is flipping him out.  Can’t figure out which.  You and your spouse try to reassure him, rock him back to sleep, anything you can pull out of your feeble, tired brain to get him to lay down and just Go. To. Sleep. Already.   

After an hour of these futile attempts, do you:  A)Put him back in his bed, despite the flailing and crying, mutter sweetly “Good night, sleep tight!” and run for your life?  B)Keep rocking him and pleading desperately with him to please go to bed until you both collapse in an exhausted heap? (Actually, you’ll probably collapse in an exhausted heap, and he’ll sit on your stomach and play with his Buzz Lightyear doll)  C)Strap him into his bed with 3 yards of duct tape, turn off the monitor and blissfully fall into your own bed to sleep?  Or D)Bring him into your own bed, hoping against hope that he might actually lay still and sleep? 

I failed miserably at last night’s pop-quiz parenting quiz. I don’t know what the right answer is, but I considered all of them. Despite everything I’ve ever said, thought, or believed, somehow I decided that D was the correct answer.  WRONG!  I think it’s one of those trick questions, where there is no right answer and you have to make up your own shit as you go. 

Needless to say, I am operating on less than 6 hours of disjointed, broken sleep, which was punctuated by me growling, “Lay still!”  “Go to sleep!” and “For the love of God, if you don’t quit flopping around like a dead fish and be still, I’m going to strap you to the lawn furniture on the porch”.  Okay, I didn’t say that last one, but I was thinking it. 

In my sleep deprived and desperate brain, I thought he might actually cuddle up in the bed between us, and I’d drift off into sweet slumber.  Yeah.  That didn’t happen.  Experienced mommies would be laughing their ass off at me.  Instead, every 10 seconds, he would roll over, shift positions, or actually do a 180 where his feet were on the pillow.  Then, just for fun and to make sure I didn’t actually fall asleep during this, he would roll over onto my head.  Or lay sideways, with his head digging into the sore spot on my back that I didn’t even know I had until he drilled his hard little skull into it.  I have no idea how long that lasted, but I think it went on for about 2 years.  Or maybe an hour.  I don’t know, it’s all blurry.  At one point, I think he was asleep, but then Hubby started snoring, and the flopping began anew.  I could have strangled them both at that point.   And why do I have to be the recipient of the flopping and burrowing and drilling and smothering?  Why can’t he bug the shit out of Hubby?  Hubby, by the way, had rolled over on his side so his back was to us, and he was probably out in about 30 seconds.  Eventually, T did fall asleep.  And then at some point, the flopping started over again.  It felt like I had only been asleep for 5 minutes when Hubby’s alarm went off.   And the flopping, and whispering “Mommy, I want to watch TV”, and “Mommy, where is Daddy going?” started over again.  I finally gave up and decided I’d just have to get an IV bag full of coffee, insert it into my vein, and carry it around with me today. 

Oh, I almost forgot the best part.   About ½ an hour into the flopping and smothering, my cute, adorable little son actually perfected the “dutch oven”.  You know, where someone coyly lets off an insidious, stinky, God-awful fart under the covers, and then pulls the covers over your head?  Yeah, he did that.  Oh. My. God.  I didn’t know whether to gag or cry.  Or both.  Then he proclaimed proudly, “I pooted!”.  Yes, son, I already know.  Thank you for taking ownership at least.  It’s a good thing I love that kid.