There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
she had so many children she didn't know what to do...
I can't remember any other lines of that rhyme, but pray tell, what did she do??? I am finding that "too many children" is one 2 year old. What do you do when 1 is the limit and child #2 will be taking up residence in your house in a matter of weeks with or without your consent?
It is 10:30 AM and I am done for the day, ready to tuck Silas into some safe padded space with his blankie and some snacks and head out alone somewhere far far away. To be fair, we started the day with a few strikes against us: jetlag, being 2 years old, no diapers in the house, an unshowered, frizzy-haired mother.
And so, at 8, after coffee with Ben, we headed to Target. The soundtrack of our trip sounded something like this:
"I want go to da park, mama."
"what you do?"
"what he do?" (random shopper)
"what he say?"
"I want thomas toothpaste"
"i need dose goldfish"
"I want go beach, mama"
"what you doin?"
"I want cereal now"
"I throw dis"
"I throw dis on floor"
"I want dat"
"I don't want diapers!"
"I DON'T WANT DIAPERS!"
"I throw this?"
"Where she go?" (child shopper)
"I WANT GO TO DA BEACH!" (crying)
"I kick dis"
"I kick cart"
"I kick car" (referencing kicking front seat of car, which I'd said all morning not to do)
"ready go, mama"
"I NEED CHOC-LATE!"
"I NEED CHOCOLATE! I NEED CHOCOLATE!" (huge melt down with tears -- down the check out line and all the way out of the store).
You know it is been a bad trip when you have ducked into a nearby aisle (again) to escape the Small Madness dominating your cart and are gone long enough to overhear a stranger say, "Well where IS your mommy? Let's go find her," at which point you have to gallantly step out of hiding with a confident smile and reclaim your child. And you know you've probably crossed a line and should remove yourself from people when your impulse is not only to throttle your age-appropriate-mannerless son but also the nearby shopper who asks you if you've seen swim diapers anywhere.
When I got home, I did the only thing I know to do these days when I am on the brink, which is to retreat not to a shoe, but to a hot shower, in hopes that the impatience will burn off and the tension will melt down the drain. Silas, all of the sudden oh-some-complying, asked to take a nap right when we got back, and though it was 10AM, an hour of napping that puts the rest of the day at risk, I did not hesitate.
Now I am clean, I have vented, I have eaten my 3rd meal of the day, I am dying for a soda -- the only can of anything in my fridge is a V8 that is literally 3 years old -- and the small voice in my head is telling me it's time to wake him up so the rest of the hour isn't shot... So off I go. Wish me luck.