snapping, here

Andy is pushing every button he possibly can right now. It was like the third birthday arrived and the next day he was evil. Well, more evil than age 2, I mean. He was evil before. He's evil-er now. In fact, he's on the couch right next to me whining his way through the leftovers of his most recent tantrum.

He asked for a Capri Sun and I got him one. Of course I took the damn little straw and punctured both sides of the drink. So I had to regroup and do it again. I gave it to him and he chugged for a while in silence.

Whenever he's done with something, out of habit he hands it to me and expects me to put it away for him on the shelf or the counter or the end table or wherever. But he's 3 now, and I'm sick of it. He has legs and arms and all the appendages that the rest of us possess, if we haven't lost them in some sort of toddler-flogging accident or something, of course.

So I told him to put his own drink on the table. And of course the response was the ever-predictable "No!" Followed by whining..."Mommy, I can't. You put it down."

I'm at the end of my rope today and of late in general. So I said firmly, "Andy, do it yourself. I'm not doing it for you. You can put your own drink down." (And I bit my tongue hard before any obscenities flew out.)

And he came back with, "No Mommy, I'm too sick to put it down. I can't even burp!"

******
Updated to add: Then he said, "I don't say excuse me when I burp. I just burp."

new names

Today Andy announced that his right foot shall henceforth be known as Mr. Foot.

His left shall be known as Sgt. Foot.

That is all.

not-so-happy birthday

Today is Andy's third birthday. I can't believe it. Feels like yesterday. Anyway.

We had great plans for him today: A trip to Caldwell, Ohio, to visit his great-grandparents and witness the annual Fireman's Festival, which he loves. We put off his birthday party until next weekend in order to have this special trip.

Alas, the microscopic world of germs ruined our plans, as Andy developed a fever yesterday. The poor kid is miserable and has had two restless nights. We're keeping him full of Tylenol and Motrin, but he's sick enough that he wasn't even interested in driving up to ColdStone Creamery for his free birthday cone. In addition, the weather is supposed to be violent this evening and Pap is having upcoming heart surgery and doesn't need to be exposed to any illnesses. So, poor Andy is having a miserable birthday.

This morning he was lying pitifully on the couch with big tears rolling down his cheeks as he experienced his first headache (at least, the first one I was able to diagnose as such). I asked him what he needed: Water, food, blanket...all no's.

I hugged him and said, "Andy, I just don't know what I can do to make you feel better."

He looked up at me with his flushed cheeks and said, "Maybe some cake would make me feel better Mommy."

that's what i thought

Andy, whining: How about we watch Dora?

Me, sick of Dora: How about we don't?

Shawn, trying to pacify: How about we watch Looney Toons?

Andy: No! I want to watch Dora!!

Me: How about we watch nothing?

Andy: How about we watch Looney Toons?

close enough

The other day I took Andy to get his hair cut. The barber shop is on the back side of the building where I used to see a chiropractor. Once or twice I didn't have a babysitter and had to take him with me on a visit to have my spine adjusted.

As we drove by searching for a place to park, Andy squealed, "Look Mommy! There's the pirate-quackter!"

obvious or oblivious?

I really shot myself in the foot when I originally dealt with Andy's interruption problem. I explained that if he needed us when we were talking he was to say, "Excuse me, I have something to say."

Well, you can imagine how that unfolded. I'd be talking to Shawn about something and Andy would be hopping up and down saying, "EXCUSE ME I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY EXCUSE ME I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY EXCUSE ME MOMMY I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAAAAAYYYY!" And when I'd stop talking to Shawn and ask him what he needed to say, it was always, "Um......uuuuuummm......I see a bird."

Yeah. It totally backfired.

So the other day in the car he was being so rude that I had to remedy the situation. After 5 minutes of trying to carry on a conversation with my husband I gave up and turned to Andy in his car seat.

"Andy", I said. "You don't seem to understand about this interrupting thing. It's not okay to interrupt grown-ups to say any old thing. You need to respect us when we're talking and wait until we're finished."

Then, for some reason, I added, "The only time it's okay to interrupt is if you get hurt. Then you can say, 'Mommy, excuse me, I'm hu--'"

And then he interrupted me, saying (you guessed it),"Mommy! Excuuuuse me! Mommy I'm HURT!"

Shawn laughed his ass off and asked me why I hadn't seen that coming.

okay, maybe i don't

After my chiropractic appointment today, I was driving home with Andy, who wanted to chatterbox incessantly. I wasn't saying much because I'd had quite a workout in physical therapy and my head was pounding like a sledgehammer.

"Mommy, I want you to talk to me!" he whined.

I said, "Andy, I'm sorry but I have a bad headache."

"No you don't Mommy. You're fine."