The Fiesty One

Fierce, a photo by here we wander on Flickr.

Yesterday Xander was in rare form. He was opposed to absolutely everything that we did.

The good news is that his aide told me he had a good day and was cooperative for her. The bad news is that cooperation ended the minuted he climbed into my truck after school. And it was Tuesday, which meant we had a busy afternoon to get through.

First was speech therapy directly after school.

All the way there, he kept telling me "No speech! No Shanna!" His therapist, of course, is Ms. Shanna. "No speech! No Shanna!" It was forceful. And repeated.

Speech itself was probably the least productive session we have ever had. He was angry and uncooperative. He spent more than half of the session sprawled across the floor telling us "No!" to whatever we were trying to do.

"No cards!" for the flashcards we use to work on categories.

"No story!" for the book we were trying to read.

"No game!" for the board game, though he did eventually warm up to a game called "Ned's Head."

Let's just say there were a lot of "no" moments during speech.

After speech was not much better. He did cooperate long enough to eat dinner at Cracker Barrel. Pancakes were the only yes of the afternoon. We'll overlook the fact that pancakes have gluten, just this once. It was a hard enough day without trying to find a GFCF dinner at a restaurant on the south side of town.

Our next stop was the baseball field for Connor's first game of the season. We've had lots of practices the last month or so, but this was his first actual game. As soon as the fields were visible a little voice piped up from the back seat.

"No baseball." Again it was loud. And forceful. And repeated.

We stayed for just over an inning, long enough to watch Connor to make it up in the batting rotation.

On the way home, he decided he wasn't ready to go home. We were taking our normal exit off the highway when he offered his standard "No thanks!"

He also offered a random "Xander swim!" as an alternative. There was no context, as we weren't even close to one of our usual swimming pools, much less the indoor one that we frequent.

I explained it was time to go home, because we needed to take baths and get ready for bed.

Can you guess what I heard?

"No bath! No bed! No thanks!"

Yes, it definitely a day for no. And for clearly voicing his opinion on everything.

Have I mentioned he's the feisty one?

Attitude

Tired & Grumpy, a photo by here we wander on Flickr.

Please tell me what happened to my cute and cuddly little boy. Because all he's been lately is smart-mouthed, defiant, and down right mean.

I think part of it comes from summer. It's less structured for all of us, so he's starting to get a little restless. He's also been home for quite some time now, instead of off on his usual one-on-one adventures with grandparents where he is allowed to be spoiled and selfish.

It apparently also is just in his nature. He is the big brother, so I expect some teasing and taunting. That comes with the territory, right? But the last few weeks, he's just been mean. And he's been in trouble more than not.

Let's see ... his first major offense was locking his little brother in the closet. Yes, one morning I woke up to loud banging. When I got up to see what was going on, he was perched on his footstool right in front of his closet doors, sitting there holding them closed while one of his little brothers banged and screamed from inside. I cannot tell you what big brother would have done if I had locked him in there, in the dark, by himself. He would have screamed the house down if he were the one trapped.

There's also the mouth. His mother certainly knows a thing or two about sarcasm (I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa at the lake are chuckling as we speak). But the boy has taken to a whole new level. Shouting. Storming off with heavy feet. Slamming doors and knocking things over. Angry. Smart-mouthed. Not using the manners we KNOW that he knows - yes mam, no sir, please, thank you.

Sigh.

Now, let's talk about the many (many, many, many) time outs he has to have from the new back yard pool. This one is hardest to understand, because the boy absolutely loves the pool. How can he constantly keep doing things that get him taken out of it? The twins have not enjoyed it nearly as much since he came back home from his adventures. Getting constantly sprayed in the face with water will do that for you. And this kid of mine is awful. He looks - actually looks - to see if anyone is watching him. And if he thinks they are not, he purposefully goes over to one of his brothers and sprays them in the face with a water gun or using his hand to splash water right at them.

Clearly he has not learned that I can see through the windows in the house out to the pool, otherwise I would not be in the house at all while the boys are in the pool. The first few weeks I made them all potty at the same time, but I've learned to trust that they will not drown each other if I hurry one brother in to potty or if I step inside to grab juice or snacks for them to enjoy on the patio (both places are right next to windows over looking the pool area).

The boys gets three warnings - THREE - and still loses privileges. On the third warning he has to get out and get dressed because he is done for the day. The last time I caught him spraying his brother in the face, the very next day after being forced out early and also losing computer priviliges for the next two days, I took his water gun away from him and threw it in the trash can. He broke down in tears, but clearly the other methods are not having the appropriate affect.

Sometimes I want to bang my head against the wall. Sometimes I want to bang HIS head against the wall.

So if anyone sees that cute and cuddly boy, please send him back my way. I'm ready to trade back now.

It's A Hard Life ...

Three Brothers, originally uploaded by cheryl.

It's tough to be them, let me tell you.

The day started with doughnuts. There were cartoons and cereal and milk. A trip to the park complete with Gatorade (even though part of it was spent taking baseball photos - see below). Pizza for lunch. A favorite movie (or two). A few hours in the backyard on the play set, with chalk and bubbles and icees, too. And then the lightning drove us inside. Where they watched another movie. You know, on the new flat screen television in their very own play room.

It's a hard life, they say. But someone has to live it. 

A Fast One

Silly, originally uploaded by cheryl.

Though I can't be positive, of course, I am pretty sure my oldest son pulled a fast one on me today.

Yesterday, when I picked him up in car line at school, his teacher mentioned that he had not been himself and to keep an eye on him, as several of his classmates had been out sick recently and something was definitely going around.

Ominous words, those, for a mother with three school-aged children.

We made it home, and his cranky disposition reared it's ugly head. He was sent to his room for hitting one of his brothers, with no apparent provocation other than he happened to be standing beside him. And once in his room, he promptly fell asleep. And stayed that way. From about four o'clock yesterday afternoon until just after 6:30 this morning when I went in his room to see about school for the day.

Of course, you can't tell how well a child feels when you have to wake them up (after 14 hours of sleep, no less). With elementary school starting so early, there's no chance of observing behavior, you have to make an instant decision.

This is where I made my mistake. I asked him, "Do you feel any better? Do you want to go to school today?"

He skipped over the first question and just answered the second one.

It took several hours to realize this fact, but eventually I did. He was tired, and still a bit crabby, but he doesn't appear sick. His low-grade fever that I thought he had this morning was probably a result of too many covers, not an actual fever. Though lazy and lifeless the first few hours awake, the rest of the day he's been eating and drinking and bouncing around like a wild child.

So he may have gotten one over on me today. But he's going back to school tomorrow. I've learned my lesson, I'm not even going to ask. If he's sick, I'll just get a phone call later in the day. But the funny thing about that is on the days when he's complained of not feeling well and not wanting to go to school, I've never gotten that phone call. I'm pretty sure I won't get one tomorrow either.

Sneaky big boy.

Not Homework!

Like This, originally uploaded by cheryl.

It's a special kind of torture. It's not enough that he has to get up early - really, really early, if you ask him - and go to school all day long. And all day is really, really long if you ask him. To add insult to injury, the poor kid actually has to do homework, too.

Every night he has sight words and an easy reader, usually with a library book, too. But tonight Daddy went one step further. Connor's letters are not particularly clear when he writes, so Daddy had him practicing his letters at the table while we were making dinner.

Torture, Connor says. Pure torture.

Wake Up, Connor, It's Time for School!

It only took a matter of months’ for Connor to be over the adventure of “big kid” school. He went from telling everyone the name of his school and how he was going to be in “big kid” school to complaining about it in every breath he takes.

He hates school. He hates getting up early. He hates homework. He hates sight words. He hates having four (or three or two or even one) more day of school before every weekend. He hates Chinese. He hates work. He hates writing his letters. He hates it all.

Are we seeing a pattern?

Every single morning, I have to practically drag the kid out of bed. It starts with a fun “Wake up, Connor, it’s time for school!” This started out as a little joke we’d talk about at bed time, how I would see him in the morning and tell him this to make him excited about school. He thinks it’s funny at bedtime. Not so much at 6:35 in the morning. His standard response is always a very short, clipped “No!” that doesn’t even sound like his little voice. It’s angry, abrupt and mostly still asleep. He curls himself into a tight ball and burrows deeper under the covers. He complains the light is hurting his eyes and pulls a pillow over his head.

Every. Single. Day.

Clearly, a morning person he is not. And I honestly have no idea where he gets that from. Really.

It takes quite a while to get him up and moving. I’ve even resorted to making him brush his teeth right after he goes to the bathroom, because I can’t be certain he’ll finish breakfast in time to brush his teeth before we have to leave for school. Most days he ends up with dry cereal and unfinished milk in the truck on the way to school. He’s too busy sulking on the couch about being awake early to bother with eating while we’re at home.

Then there’s the issue of his milk. He announced a few weeks back that he doesn’t like white milk – that it’s disgusting. He has proceeded not to drink it at all. He asks for chocolate milk. Then he begs for it. And when he doesn’t get it, he drinks water and complains about not having chocolate milk.

And then he complains again when it’s time to go. He complains about putting on his jacket. He complains about carrying his backpack. He complains about the cold. About the dark. About the rain. About anything and everything he can possibly think of.

But once we start driving, his better nature returns. He’s suddenly Mr. Chatty. He starts talking as though he’s breathing. He asks a thousand questions between our house and school, you know, the 15-minute drive.

Why do you have your lights on? Whose house is that? Why are there trees? What are flowers for? Why does it rain? Why do we have to stop? What’s the traffic light for? Can you walk here? Can cars crash into trees? Into houses? What happens when you crash? Do you flip over? Why is that light flashing? Do you have your seatbelt on? How much further ‘til we get to school? Why can’t I ride the bus? Why don’t brothers start early like I do? Why do brothers still have on their ‘jamas? How come they get to wear their Crocs? Did you remember my Box Tops? What about my library book? Where’s Daddy? Why is he at work? Why is fire school over before my school? How much longer ‘til Spring? How much longer ‘til school’s over? When am I gonna play baseball again? Do you remember that swimming pool with the big slide? How come we haven’t been there in a while? I’ve never been to Poppy John’s (his version of Papa John’s, which he’s confusing with Pizza Hut where his book it certificate gives him a free pan pizza).

And on and on and on ….

And then it’s my turn to be crabby. I’m tired. I’ve been forced to wake up at least one, sometimes three, sleepy boys who need to be forced to go to the bathroom, who need some sort of breakfast and milk, and who need at least shoes and jackets to leave the house.

I, too, am not a morning person. I’d rather have the sulky kid back there than the chatty one. I can’t play one thousand questions at 7 o’clock in the morning. I just can’t.

And so it goes, round and round, every school day. Sigh. Just twelve more years to go, right?

Life Isn't Fair ...

Pitiful, originally uploaded by cheryl.

You have no idea how often we hear about that in our house these days. I'm not sure where Connor picked the phrase up from, but it's one of his new favorites.

Life isn't fair. That's not fair. It isn't fair. Or some other variation, but you get the idea.

Yesterday in the snow, wanting to throw that large chunk of ice, I was told how unfair life was that he couldn't throw it at me or his brothers. Yes, indeed. Keep in mind that while we tried several times to make a snowman, the snow was too fine to pack. And yet there he held this giant clump of hard ice covered on the outside with snow, wanting to throw at someone.

Today, Connor wanted to play video games. Never mind that his brother asked first and is just not settling down to a game. Never mind that he never thinks to ask first, that he only wants to play after his brother has made the request. When you tell him he's going to have to wait for his turn, well you can guess what he tells you.

This weekend is a long weekend off from school (maybe really long if this stupid snow doesn't melt), but it's at least supposed to be a three-day weekend. Connor knows this. And do you want to know his first question once he spies the three days off on the calendar?

"Where am I going to go?"

Yes, my have suitcase-will travel child really asks us this all the time. And he naturally assumed he was going somewhere. The beach. The mountains. The lake. Somewhere. Anywhere but home. What kind of people are we, anyway?

Life is not fair.

Connor and his brothers get some candy for an afternoon snack. Everyone gets the exact same amount - two pieces of Starburst. Connor wants more. They all probably do, but that's all they're getting. He asks for more. He even asks nicely (and that's been an issue we've been working lately - none of this "I want" or just reaching out and taking). But we haven't had dinner, which I explain as I refuse.

That's not fair.

This morning at breakfast, we had cinnamon rolls. There are eight in the container. There were four of us (Daddy was at fire school). That meant everyone got to have two.

It's not fair.

No, of course not. Everyone needs at least three or four cinnamon rolls just to himself. Sawyer certainly would have eaten more. Xander probably would have passed. But really? Two whole cinnamon rolls, after snacking on dry cereal and a cup of milk, with lunch only an hour or two away. Really?

Life is not fair.

It's tough to be six, let me tell you.

Attitude

Does the picture not say it all? Do you not hear the sharp "Anhh!" that goes with that look? Because I do, just looking at the photo makes it echo in my head.

The last few days I've found myself wondering if a bad attitude were reason enough to keep one little boy home from school. I honestly feel bad dropping him off at school, knowing just what his teachers are going to be in for. It's one thing for me, to have one fussy little guy out of three. But one fussy one with twenty others? It just seems wrong.

But off to school he's gone. The teachers have had to physically carry him in the last two days, kicking and screaming the whole way. One of those proud Mommy moments, I assure you. I'm told that he calms down, eventually.

We're all having trouble getting back into our routine, with the boys being out sick (legitimately so, with a stomach virus) several days last week and then the national holiday (and early start work day) this week. Not to mention being trapped inside on these cold, rainy days.

Always my sleepyhead, Xander got a little too comfortable with the afternoon nap. And it's thrown him off. So he's been having a rough week. Lots of tears and angry outbursts, more so than even normal for my feisty twin. He apparently went to bed about 6 p.m. last night, was up from midnight to about four this morning, and then was not at all happy to get back up at 10 a.m. this morning.

Fun times.

Bad Habits

You would think it would take more than a week to pick up a really bad (and annoying) habit. You would be wrong.

Grandma and Grandpa like candy. They always have a lot of candy. Fruit slices (jelly candy coated with sugar). Little candy bars in assorted flavors (think at least five kinds, if not more). M&Ms. Assorted holiday candy (chocolate covered raisins, chocolate peanut clusters, peanut brittle, etc.) You get the idea.

So after every meal (and sometimes in between), the kids got to pick a piece of candy for dessert. And now that's all one little (big) boy can think about. Candy, candy, candy.

Most of his meals this week have been on the light side, as in he eats about half of what he normally eats. And then he looks up, smiles and says to you:

"I ate all my food, now I have a candy!"

You look back at him. Because even if we're going to have candy, and that's a big if, this is not an appropriate way to make the request.

"I ate all my food now. I a good boy. I have a candy now? Please?"

That's a little better. It works some of the time. For now anyway. We're slowly weaning the kid off the candy. It's been a bit ridiculous.

The Good & The Bad

The holidays are here. Part of me loves them, and another part of me hates them. Strong words, I know, but completely true. The holidays tend to be busy, stressful and pretty chaotic. None of those things are good for small children, especially our particular children. Order and routine mean more in our household than most, and this time of year just turns it all upside down.

Take last night, for example. Connor was not having a particularly good night when it came to listening or to behaving appropriately. It was really frustrating, having to constantly remind him of what he was supposed to be doing. The list is long . . . not talking while others were talking, not playing while we were listening to the story, using our inside voice while playing at the library, saying "please" and "thank you," sharing with others, and answering people when they asked questions of him. He had a lot of transgressions last night, as you can see. The other three boys were models of good behavior. They each had their little moments of maybe talking out of turn or needing help sharing, but on the whole, they were well behaved. My son, not so much.

Part of me really wanted to just pick him up and take him home. It's what he needed. But another part of me didn't want him to miss out on the last Book Club meeting of the year, especially the holiday one. And I didn't want to miss it either. It's a fun group of moms and kids, and we only get together about once a month. It's one of the special things Connor and I do together, so it's important. But his behavior was awful last night.

We had a pretty quiet ride home. He kept trying to talk and joke at first, but I didn't respond. I was thinking. Simmering, actually, because I was still disappointed in his behavior and trying to figure out what was going on. He's usually better behaved, especially on our one-on-one adventures.

And that's when it hit me, driving home in total silence. The kid was chattering, or trying to until I gave him "the look," just as he always does when he's trying not to fall asleep. He was exhausted and fighting every minute of it.

It started Thursday on Thanksgiving, with our twelve-hour day that included nearly five hours of driving and trips to two different unfamiliar places with lots of strange (at least to the kids) people and food. The very next day we packed up and headed to the lake for an overnight visit that included another two-hour drive each way, not to mention non-stop running and playing with his cousins who were also down visiting. Sugary drinks and sweets fueled the early mornings and late nights. And again on Sunday we traveled, spending almost three hours in the car to drive up and back to visit an old college friend and her little boy who live in another city. That's a lot to pack into four days.

The "normal" school week hasn't fared much better. He went to school early Monday, still dragging from the weekend, only to be picked up and taken out for lunch and some Christmas shopping. A few hours of play time at home and then it was off to birthday dinner in a nearby city with Grammy, Pappy and Grandma JoAnn. Tuesday morning included a play date with his best buddy from preschool, and then today has been school followed by lunch with Mommy and Daddy (a rare treat).

No wonder he isn't behaving very well. There's the excitement of Christmas and Santa, which means more to him this year than any of the previous ones. And there's so much going and going that he's not getting much down time. And, truth be told, he's really not getting nearly enough sleep either, between early morning wake-up calls (Sawyer and school days) and late-night bedtimes (traveling, celebrations and get-togethers). He is exhausted.

So, while I was not at all satisfied with his behavior last night, I do see where part of it is coming from. It hit me as we were driving home in relative silence for a change. And it helped me calm down enough to talk to him in the car before we went inside last night. We talked about all ways his behavior had fallen short, and how going to do fun things was a privilege that you get for being a "good boy" who is polite and who behaves the way he is supposed to behave. There were lots of tearful "Yes, M'ams" and "No, M'ams." And there was even a big hug to remind him that even when you're disappointed in the behavior, you still love the big boy.

And now Mommy has to work on her part. I have to remember to balance the fun things with the down time that the boys really need, especially this busy time of year. And I also have to be willing to follow through. Next time we're out, and the behavior continues to be unacceptable, we make our apologies and we go home. Even if that means I have to give up something I want to be doing, too.

Jekyl & Hyde

One minute he is the picture of innocence . . .



And the next he is a (very nearly) five-year old terror with a lot of attitude . . .



Two of my favorite photos this week (and both contenders for Snapshot Sunday), but I decided to use them today. I like the one I'm saving for tomorrow even better!

It's Hard to Be Me

It's hard, coming back home after being spoiled since last Wednesday. Here is Mr. Pitiful at the end of our day, playing outside just before time for bed (early, if you're wondering). Trust me, after the day we've had, we both needed that early bed time.

Here's just a sample of the attitude I heard from him today.

"I still tired. It's too early." You know, at 8:30 this morning when I was trying to get him up and dressed so we could get him to school at 9.

"We never do anything. I haven't done anything ALL WEEK!" Upon being told he would not be playing video games today.

"I'm just gonna quit! I not gonna walk anymore!" As he attempts to stomp and fuss while simultaneously riding his Big Wheel around the block. He was tired, you know, five seconds in to the walk and wanted to "rest for a little while."

"I not gonna do it!" He says defiantly, to his mother who's already making him stand in the corner for being mean to his little brother. Rest assured, he did do it. He turned and faced back to the wall and screamed bloody murder while doing it. When he stopped, I let him sit down and have dinner with his brothers after a few tearful "Yes, ma'ms."

"It was Xander." A little white lie, when I asked him how the Lightning McQueen trucks made it all the way downstairs from their storage (okay, hiding) spot on the third floor. You can probably guess his second and third lies (Sawyer and Daddy, respectively). We faced the corner for lying too, if you're wondering.

There was also fighting with his brothers over the swings (meaning he tried to physically push them off so he could swing). There was hoarding of toys, in which he wouldn't let his brothers have ANYTHING to play with. There was whining for candy every five minutes (note to self, buy Halloween candy much later next year). There was complaining about the DVD selection of the afternoon. There was constant begging for computer game playing. There was constant disobedience and smart mouth responses.

Sigh. It's been one of those days.

Hopefully a good night's sleep does us both some good.