cruel baby

We're sitting on the couch watching the Coal Bowl.

I reach over to give Andy a kiss in the general vicinity of his ear.

"Stop it Mommy! You're ticking me off!"

Ouch.

EDITED on 9/29 to add this:

Andy was drinking out of a bottle of water and he spilled some on his leg. Shawn couldn't help but laugh.

This enraged Andy and he puffed up like a chicken and yelled, "Stop it Daddy! You tick me off!!!"

'tude

Last night we were playing in Andy's room before bed. He was clean and in his jammies and has recently discovered how much fun it is to hide under his crib. There's a bed skirt so it's like a little cave where he can hoard his Hot Wheels in private.

Shawn and I were talking while Andy rolled around under there and suddenly, in a quiet moment, we heard the him say, "It's a bad attitude."

I said to Shawn, "What in the world?"

He peeked out from under the bed skirt and said slowly, "It's a bad atti.....tuuuude!"

wildness

humiliation, party of 2

I suppose it was inevitable that the airport incident wouldn't be the last time my child embarrassed me in public, but I didn't expect it to be so utterly and totally degrading when it did re-occur.

Molly and I decided to take our boys to McDonald's for lunch. It's a fun treat for them and it solves both the lunch problem and the need for a daily outing, while at the same time clogging their arteries and setting a poor dietary example right from the start. We always enjoy it.

Today, though, not so much.

I picked up Andy from school and we headed to the restaurant. It was lunch time-ish, so the crowds were starting to gather. (Keep this in mind; it's a key factor in the whole humiliation experience. Nothing like an audience.) I ordered him a Happy Meal and a chocolate milk. If you've read this blog in the past you know of Andy's dire need for mass daily quantities of chocolate milk, and how I'm okay with it because it still puts calcium on his bones.

So the chocolate milk was sitting on the tray, but the french fries were not quite ready. So we were asked to step to the side while the next customer in line ordered. Andy, however, had both heard me order his milk and seen it placed on his tray, and got antsy. As I talked to Molly while we waited I was conscious of typical toddler blather in the background, the stuff you hear them repeat over and over and over until they are both acknowledged and satisfied with that acknowledgment. I am sure he was requesting his chocolate milk.

But of course I had a tray of food and more to come, and the chocolate milk was sealed and required a straw, so I simply couldn't give him his milk. Moreover, I can't and don't give in to toddler demands in those situations. I told him to wait, that it was coming.

They put the rest of the food on our tray. I picked it up with one hand as best I could and reached out to grab his little hand with the other. He wailed about his chocolate milk and I said, simply, "Come on, Andy, let's go sit down and open your milk."

He lost it. I don't know if my message was unclear or if he was angry that the milk wasn't already being siphoned into his stomach, but he lost it. However, it wasn't a tantrum in the traditional sense. He didn't shriek or cry. He simply sat down.

Then he lay down. On the floor. In front of the register. At McDonald's. In front of the entire line of customers.

My child lay on his back on the revolting McDonald's floor and stared up at the ceiling with big tears rolling down his cheeks. The crowd had to part and one man had to step over him to get to the counter and place his order. I did not have the courage to look anybody in the eye. I bent down, still balancing a tray of food and drinks, and tried to get him up. He went as limp as a squid and fell back to the floor. The poor man trying to order stepped on the tip of his pinky finger. I tried again and he wailed, "I want my chocolate milk!"

This is my nightmare. He was THAT kid. The bratty kid lying on the floor in some public venue uttering those horrible words, "I want my......". How could my child do that to me? That was all that ran through my head. My child was the one on the floor causing a scene.

I had to suffer the extreme humiliation and awkwardness of pulling him up off the floor by his arm and solidifying his jelly legs while at the same time holding on to our tray of food. The whole of the restaurant simply stared at us. I did not bother to hold my head up as I dragged him off to our booth. I hung my head in parental shame.

For the next five minutes the man who'd had to step over Andy kept looking in my direction and trying to send me reassuring smiles. I could barely bring myself to nod. Finally he received his food and as he was walking out the door, he called out, "It gets better!"

Does it, sir? Does it really get better? Because this was bad.

And then, to top it all off, when I told my husband about this incident, his oh-so-brilliant words of consolation were, "Well I would have put him in time out."

Oh yeah, Shawn? You'd have put him in time out? Where?

"Andy Roberts! Get off the floor and go sit over there by the fryer for five minutes! You're in time out! Don't you move, mister! That's right! You stand right next to that bag of frozen patties and think about what you did!"

Or maybe I should have tossed our lunches and taken him to the car and put him in the Naughty Chair I carry around in the trunk.

I will never show my face in that McDonalds again.

banished

The other day Andy was running his cars up and down the square, drywall column in our new basement.

Suddenly there was a shriek and the cars fell down to the carpet. He was enraged and picked them up and hurled them in fury.

I asked him what was the matter and he told me, "Make me angry. Put the wall in time out, Mommy."

So if you come to our house, don't talk to the load-bearing column on the south-facing side of our basement. It's in time out.

potty time

We're working on the potty thing. It's slow. I can't push him because it'll backfire in my face. He has to want to sit on the potty himself. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn't.

Every night we put him in the tub and every night he pees in the tub...like fountain shooting up out of the water. He cracks himself up. So now I always strip him down and ask him if he wants to sit on the potty first. Usually he's so excited about the tub that he says no, and I leave him alone.

Last night I got his clothing off and said, "Andy, would you like to sit on the potty?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want to."

So I took off his diaper and went around the corner to drop his clothing in the hamper. When I came back 2.5 seconds later, there he was, smiling, staring down at the carpet as he peed wildly all over it.

Dang, man.

a wuppin'

Andy: "Mommy's bum."

Me: "What about Mommy's bum?"

Andy: "I want to kick it. I want to kick Mommy's bum."


Okay. Who'd he hear it from? 'Fess up.

woof

For Andy's 2nd birthday, his Aunt Lynnette bought him a most obnoxious thing. It's a toy Cadillac Escalade truck with speakers all over it. When you push the button the speakers thump and it plays "Who Let The Dogs Out".

As you can imagine, this is a really irritating toy. But Andy loves it and he loves it when I sing, "Who let the dogs out? Woof woof woof!" to him and he dances.

As I was typing the "meanie" entry, Andy was over at his train table singing, "Who let the Squirt out? Ooof ooof ooof!"

meanie

Andy is sick. He's caught a doozie of a cold, probably from school. In addition, he's getting the last of his molars - the upper 2-year molars - and his mouth is bloody and sore. So you can well imagine his current mood this week.

He was so stuffy today that I gave him some Benadryl to help him sleep during his nap. He had a nice long one but the antihistamine really made it hard for him to wake up, and he was extra grumpy. I didn't hear him wake up until after Shawn was home, and I sent my husband up to retrieve the lad from his bed.

I heard him upstairs crying and I heard him say, "I don't see Mommy! She needs a hug."

They came down the stairs and into the kitchen, and as soon as he saw me, Andy pushed away from his father and said, "Mommy, I need a hug!" As he reached for me, Shawn said, "Squirty, don't I get a hug?"

I said, "Andy, hug your father."

Andy clung to me and said, "I don't like you, Father."

Poor Shawn.

this is not happening

Andy: "Mommy! My bottom hurts!"

Me: "Oh no? What's wrong?"

Andy: "Kiss it!"



I didn't, by the way.

moo

Yesterday we took Andy to his first Belmont County Fair. He's a bit young for the rides, still, but the 4H section of the fair is perfect for a 2-year-old. We did the greasy food thing and then found us some chickens. He enjoyed them until a rooster let loose with a big round of "cock-a-doodle-doo" and then he said, "Scared of rooster!" We left that barn.

So we moved on to the turkeys. Which he liked until they started to gobble hysterically, and then he said, "Scared of turkeys!" We left that barn.

Then it was the pigs. Big swine, they were. He was pretty much terrified of them right off the bat. The wet snouts, the deep grunts and snorts...I can understand that one. We left that barn.

The cows? Scared of them. The horses? Scared of them. (Have I mentioned the two-year-old fear phase? I think it's here.)

The goats, though, must have a special place in his heart, because he voluntarily touched one. I showed him how nice they were and he stroked it's back and said, "That's an awesome goat."

So, I guess we should put that farm down-payment on hold and just get a goat for the backyard.

sweeping

I was sweeping the sycamore leaves off my front porch and stairs this afternoon. Andy decided to help. So he got into my pile and started tossing the leaves and dirt over his head, right back onto the porch.

I asked irritably, "Andy, what are you doing?"

He said, "Building a mess."

hack

Andy was coughing hard.

Me: Andy, are you okay? What's in your throat?

Andy: A cough.

misinterpretations

Playground this afternoon.

Andy was in a tunnel crawling around. Another little boy, roughly his age, approached from the other end of the tunnel. They met in the middle. Andy looked at him and then looked at me.

I said, "Andy, honey, please say 'excuse me' and get out of the way."

So Andy looked at this little boy and said, "Excuse me. Get out of the way."

ew

Last night Shawn and I were cleaning up the kitchen whilst Andy piddled around. Shawn was doing the dishes and I went into the living room for some reason. When I returned, Andy had vanished. This is always scary for me, even in the home, because the two main options were the stairs or the vicinity of the very valuable, antique, glass, family china cabinet.

I ran in there. No Andy. I ran up the stairs, afraid he was about to tumble down them and crack his skull open. No Andy. Okay, this is getting scary.

I ran back down to the kitchen and called frantically, "Andy! Andy! Where are you?!?!?"

From under the kitchen table I heard a little voice nonchalantly call , "Eating cat food."

He was. I said, "You're eating cat food!?!?"

He said, in a deadpan impression of me, "Oh great."

school days

This morning. 7:15am.

Me: "Good morning Andy."

Andy, rubbing his eyes: "Hi Mommy."

Me: "Can I get you out of bed and get you ready for school?"

Andy: "No thank you."