September 9, 2008

First Day of Preschool…

…and he didn’t even cry.

I did.

I sobbed, and sobbed.

I don’t even know why.

My baby is not a baby anymore.

Why can’t he stay little for awhile longer?

June 30, 2008

Because I Said So

I’m sick. It’s laryngitis, I think. Thanks to WebMD, I was able to determine why I have had a sore throat and raspy, almost non-existent voice since last Wednesday.

I honestly thought it was just a looming cold, but it’s not. Then I thought it might be seasonal allergies, but anti-histamines do nothing to relieve my symptoms. I’ve made an appointment for later this morning, and hopefully my doctor won’t be an asshole today.

Last night (or rather, this morning?) I was wide awake until 4:30 a.m. with no logical explanation as to why. I wanted to go to sleep, because I was truly tired, but my body wasn’t having any of that pesky sleep. My golly, it had better things to do; such as watch bad T.V. and read magazines and blogs until the birds began chirping outside my living room window. WTF is up with that?

And Dawson. Dear sweet, devilish Dawson. He is driving me Capital C-R-A-Z-Y. And I can’t take it anymore.

This child is testing me. I swear he is saving up all his energy to drive me batty. The constant whining. The screaming like a girl - it’s a blood curdling scream, too.

Yesterday he let out a shriek and I honestly thought he stepped on a nail (we were outside). It was enough to make my heart stop. Turns out he stepped in dog poop. Fresh dog poop that Murphy left right next to Dawson’s sandbox. Had I known it was there, I would have scooped it up right away.

And this boy of mine will not leave Murphy alone. He insists that he’s just “loving him” and he pulls on his ears and pinches his fur and drags him by the collar to wherever he’d like him to go. My poor pup clings to my side and the look in his eye says, “Please, woman! Keep that little Lucifer away from me!”

I’ve tried to separate the two of them, and it usually results in tears and whining. “But I LOVE him!” Dawson will say. Yeah. It shows. Leave the dog alone, goll’ dammit!

I refuse to kennel Murphy when Dawson is in these destructive moods, because I don’t want to punish the dog for being so tolerant of that 3-foot person.

I’ve given Dawson several time outs, but he just doesn’t seem to understand what he’s doing wrong — because he goes right back and does it again.

Oh, and we’ve entered the Why Stage. I can’t take it. Everything I say results in Dawson asking, “Why?”

Dawson, please throw your garbage away. Why? Because that’s where it belongs.

Dawson, it’s time to come in the house. Why?  Because it’s getting dark outside.

Dawson, your shoes are on the wrong feet. Why? Because you put them there.

Dawson, leave the dog alone!!! Why? BECAUSE I SAID SO!

And then I realized I’ve become my mother. Something I thought would NEVER happen. But after my husband counted how many times I said, “Because I SAID so!” (18 in one day), I realized it’s inevitable and I’m not going to fight it anymore. I’m too tired. And maybe that’s how I got laryngitis. Or why my voice has left the building.

May 8, 2008

Why Getting My Workout Isn’t Working Out

Over the last few months I’ve been slacking when it comes to my exercise regime.  You may recall that my family has joined the YMCA and for the first three months I went to aerobics, yoga and Butts ‘n Guts classes religiously.  Then I got terribly busy with work and life, caught a terrible cold, and let my routine lapse.

In the last week, I’ve made it to the gym every day but Sunday, and now that the weather is nicer, Dawson and I go on many bike rides and walks.  As much as I love to being outside, nothing compares to the rush of endorphins I get from 60 minutes on the elliptical.

My only problem is that lately I can only go to the gym when Doug is home to watch Dawson, because my son has decided he hates Adventure Alley, the childcare room where kids go so their parents can work out.

Dawson used to love playing with all the toys and climbing the ginormous play structure, complete with slides and tunnels.  Now he screams the second I leave the room, and my first instinct is to tell him to “Stop acting like a baby and go play goshdarnit!”

I’ve tried to reason with him.  Before we even leave the house I do my best to prepare him for what is going to happen.

“Dawson,” I say, squatting down to his eye level.  “You and Mommy are going to the YMCA.  Mommy is going to go downstairs to the Fitness Center and work out, and you are going to have SO! MUCH! FUN! in Adventure Alley.  You get to play with the other kids and do fun things!  And when I’m all done, I’m going to come back upstairs to get you.  Okay?”

“NOOOOO!  NO!  I don’t wanna go to the Y!  Dawson wants to stay home with Mommy!” he shrieks.

“Dawson, why don’t you wanna go to the Y?” I ask.

“I’m too scared.  I’m scared of those kids.  I wanna stay with Mommy.” he tells me.

It’s so frustrating.  I want to console my child and help him get over his fears, but he’s been to Adventure Alley so many times before.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m home every day that Dawson has become so clingy, or if he really is scared. Is he afraid to interact with other children?  Is he just overly shy?

Whenever we go to the library or the park, Dawson mostly keeps to himself.  Other kids try to play with him and he just does his own thing.  Most of the time there are several other kids his age following him around while he plays.  In my head, he’s a leader and not a follower, but I worry that he’ll never make new friends.  Right now, he only plays with kids he knows.

I don’t want to push him to do something if he isn’t ready, but I can’t stop feeling somewhat furious.  As a mother, I think it’s important to have time to myself, and I love going to the gym.  I feel like Dawson is preventing me from doing this, and I don’t think I should make special accommodations for him just so I can work out.

I hate feeling like I’m being held hostage, simply because my almost 4-year-old has a delayed case of separation anxiety.  I’m at a loss, here.  I don’t know what else to do, and if Dawson continues to act this way, he’s going to be a bear when he realizes I’ve enrolled him at the YMCA preschool this fall.

What I find intriguing is that Dawson wants to do things by himself more often these days.  He’s showing progress in the Independence Department, except when it comes to this situation.  What gives?

Any suggestions for helping a preschooler get over his fear of socializing with other kids?

May 7, 2008

Attack of the Pod Preschooler

It was bound to happen. I should have expected it. No sooner than I wrote this post, praising my adorable, loving child did he turn into the spawn of Satan and launch a direct attack on his mother, in the form of a full force temper tantrum.

It was a meltdown to beat all other meltdowns. Nothing I did seemed to please him. And I suppose it was I who triggered this grand tantrum. My offense? Saying “no” when Dawson demanded to watch another episode of Spongebob.

I’m well aware of the fact that this absorbent, yellow, porous fellow is child crack. I understand how much Dawson loves him. But I couldn’t take it anymore. After he made me replay the same episode for the fifth time, I put my foot down and told Dawson he had two choices. He could go outside to play with his Momma or quietly read a book in his room

“MOMMY! I WANT TO WATCH SPONGEBOB AGAIN! I WANT TO WATCH SPONGEBOB, AGAIN, MOMMY!” he yelled and threw himself to the floor.

And then the Earth shook and a huge crack in the ground swallowed me whole. Or so I wished. Anything would have been better than what ensued after I said the awful, horrible, infuriating N-word: NO!

As my precious one continued kicking and screaming and throwing toys, I held firm. I ignored him. I left the room to let him vent. He followed me from room to room, making damn sure I knew he was having a fit.

Tears streamed down his face, his eyes were as red as tomatoes and he was beginning to hyperventilate. Could Spongebob be sending secret messages to my child? Is this like Helter Skelter all over again? If I play the DVD backwards will Squidward proclaim, “Paul is dead?”

Ten minutes into this insanity I lost my shit. I blew up. I said a naughty word. I took the Lord’s name in vain. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s ENOUGH, goddammit. If you don’t shut the funk up, I’m going to jump out the fricken window! Do you HEAR ME? Your mother is going to kill herself and Daddy will marry a very mean woman who will become your step-MONSTER! And if you think I’m so awful, wait until she makes you clean the chimney and wash the floors with your spit!”

The screaming continued until I myself was in tears. All this? Over freakin’ Spongebob? I grabbed Dawson by the arm and dragged him into my room and tried to reason with him.

“Dawson, sweetie. Mommy can’t take it anymore. Let’s lay down and take a nap.” Another awful N-word.

“NO! I….(sniffle)…don’t…(sniffle)….wanna….(sob)…NAP…(screech, sniffle sob)!”

It was at this moment of weakness that I began to curse myself. It’s all your fault. You spoiled him by letting him watch cartoons so you can get work done. You’re a bad mother. You created this monster. And then my husband came home from work.

“Dawson, why is mommy curled into a ball on the floor?” Doug asked.

“Daddy! I wanna watch Spongebob and Mommy said NO!” Dawson whined.

“You want Daddy to take you outside to play baseball?”

“O-kay.” Dawson said reluctantly.

I couldn’t believe it. I offered to go play outside with Dawson, but that wasn’t good enough! What the hell?

I could have dwelled upon this all evening but instead I put on my workout clothes and drove to the YMCA. An hour on the elliptical might do me some good. Maybe I could sweat off all the craziness.

It was just what the doctor ordered. No screaming kids. Just an exercise machine, my iPod and me. It was heaven compared to the hell I had experienced just moments before.

When I got home an hour and a half later I was shocked to see Dawson in a great mood; as if no tantrum had happened that day.

“Hi Mumma!” he ran over to hug me. “How was your Y, Mumma? Do you feel better?”

Argh. How can I stay mad at such a cute little smarty-pants?

“Yes, I feel better.” I said. “But the real question is, who are you and what did you do with Dawson?”

———-

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