I took the boys around the neighborhood three times today. Mikey was on his bike and Pierce was riding his Plasma Car—which I highly recommend for anyone who has a child 2 to 8 years old, it’s a very cool toy both indoors and out. Actually I lied about going around the ‘hood three times, it was more like 2.25. Pierce was pushing himself along like one of the Flintstones, and Mikey was pedaling his bum off, but you can always tell when they are starting to get tired. The bicycle rider falls A LOT, even WITH training wheels, and the other one decides he wants to do something different from the rest of the group. Basically, he tried to exert his independence by squawking and partaking in a tug-o-war with me over the direction of his plasma car. Eventually, I picked him up screaming, and carried him like a football on one side, and then scooped up the car with my other free arm. Thankfully the toy isn’t heavy…unfortunately Pierce is…and frankly, I don’t really want to carry the screaming, dead weight…someone might think he’s with me. I put him down to make him walk back to the house, meanwhile Mikey is in sight on his bike but I’m getting stressed watching for cars, dealing with a tantrum and keeping an eye on Michael—he’s pretty good at obeying me outside, though. I ultimately walk off with MY plasma car, and leave Pierce to follow me—only he doesn’t. I keep going trying, to make it sound like I’m off to have a really good time, but I’ll catch up with him later—no cigar… I guess I’m going to have to own the fact that the naughty little imp is mine. I set the car down, go back and grab him, as he sits in the middle of the sidewalk with tear-stained cheeks and a pitiful expression—like I have abandoned him in his time of need. Seriously! I think I was the one abandoned when I needed him to coöperate! He was irked while I toted him and the car back home, where Mikey awaited us lying in the gutter at the foot of the driveway—yep, he fell again, but sympathetic mom had long since left for the tropical oasis somewhere outside her resentful mind. We did get into the house with little incident other than the continuation of the tantrum.
We haven’t done much for fun, really since right after Christmas because Mikey is back in his “I never have to poop again phase. I can just eat and eat, and somehow it will all miraculously evaporate from my intestines. Yay, me!” Or what has probably happened is that he has stacked a sky scraper of crappy corks working backwards up his colon. He keeps telling me he’s going to go, and no matter what we give him from either end to make it easier, he still holds it—he’s full of S#!t on so many levels. I normally would welcome comments on my posts, but in this case, I would venture to say that we have tried everything short of the emergency room. We’ve tried positive reinforcement, rewards, revoking of privileges, any number of laxatives, enemas, suppositories, hollering, begging, threatening, even scaring, and I am sure there are more, but I’m tired. It all started with a mild bug between Christmas and New Years. I gave him Tylenol regularly for about a day and a half, and I think that along with a lousy holiday diet slowed his whole system down. Now he’s ruining our lives, AGAIN! Hopefully he’ll crap his pants! That’ll learn ‘im!
This afternoon, Pierce, my picky eater, wanted some cereal. The kid practically exists on Bolthouse Farms protein shakes and fruit and vegetable smoothies—but the latter I have to sneakily get the bottle and quickly pour it, while he’s not looking, into one of his colored cups, because he pretty much hates anything green that’s food. Anyway, I gave him some dry cereal, and I caught him running into the kitchen, scooping up a couple small handfuls and hauling butt back to my bedroom. Big NO NO—contrary to what I told Michael the other night, I did NOT have the old carpeting put back in while he was sleeping; so, food in the bedrooms is off-limits. I went and told him; so, as he was coming into the kitchen for another bite, I re-iterated how he was not to take any into my bedroom. I watched as he strolled empty-handed by telling me “Okay, mommy, okay, of course, of course, mommy.” True to his fancy new words, he wasn’t sneaking cereal into my room, but by that point I was too busy going through my memory to see where he learned this placating response. Yeah…oops…
We’re only half way through the day…what next?