CootieBoy was a PILL this morning. I let him sleep as long as I could, then when I did wake him up he refused to cooperate getting dressed because he didn’t want to wear red shorts. Dude, just put on the shorts! I finally got those on him and he protested the shirt. I told him too bad, so sad, and put on his socks (the only item he DIDN’T complain about). Then he refused to come downstairs unless he was carried. Never mind the half-dozen or so items I had in my hands. So rather than argue I carried him downstairs. I told the kids to get cups so they could have a drink on the way to school. Well, CootieBoy got mad when he saw me pouring juice into the cup CootieGirl chose – turns out he wanted it. Nope, I said, pick another cup – look there’s another Bob the Builder cup you can use. FULL. ON. TANTRUM. On the floor, kicking and screaming, face beet red, snot everywhere, fists pounding the tile.
So I took the other Bob the Builder cup, poured his milk into it, and closed it up. When he refused to take it, I put it in the fridge, which caused him to go ballistic. So I took it out of the fridge, put it on the counter and walked out of the room. He continued to go nuts in the kitchen, and CootieGirl and I grabbed our things by the front door. I opened the front door and CootieBoy freaked out. He ran to the door, yelling, “Come IN, Mama. Come IN!” and grabbed my hand so I couldn’t go outside. I told him to go get his cup so we could leave, and he refused. I told him again to go get his cup, and once again he refused.
“CootieBoy, you need to go get your cup or we’re leaving it here. I’m not messing around.”
He stared at me with his watery blue-green eyes for a second or two, then burst into sad tears. Not tantrum tears, but sad tears. So I calmly put down my stuff, took his hand and walked with him back to the kitchen, where he picked up his cup, and then (finally) we went outside to the car.
TOTAL. DRAMA. QUEEN.
I warned daycare that he might be a bit of an emotional handful today given his theatrics this morning. Hope he doesn’t bite some kid’s leg off.
So after I drop them off at school it’s 8:45 a.m. and I’m absolutely late for work but running on empty with no gas in the car. I stop at one station only to find they were out of gas. OUT OF GAS? How does that happen? Is it the 1970s again all of a sudden? Did I time travel and not even know it? So I drove to another station and paid way more than I wanted to for gas.
It’s a miracle I was only 15 minutes late for work. It helped that traffic was light and there were no cops out (I was trucking pretty fast at some point).
If you liked that post, read on...
Still No Sleep on April 8th, 2005
I'm Off The Hook on August 20th, 2008
VBS Bound on June 2nd, 2010
Productive Day? Not Quite! on June 29th, 2009