They suck our souls dry of energy, like a sweet, sweet nectar.

I would have written an actual post, but this monster wore me out today.

Seriously, there are some days when I have nothing left after the five million and sixth high pitched scream. I just want to bang my head against the wall and wonder, “Why, oh why, did I ever procreate?”

I have to look at cute pictures that make me remember what a love-munch he can be and then go to sleep, and hope for a better day to follow.

What do you do to stop from popping the little head off your tantrumer/screamer/brat?

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Car tantrums – the gift that keeps giving.

So nice to be home
but soon we will leave again -
holiday travel!

I feel like I need
a good trip to a Spa to
get over last trip.

Anyone want to
buy me a massage, facial?
I didn’t think so.

Getting to spend time
with family is worth it…
but DAMN, the drive sucks.

Was thinking of a
larger family car soon…
growing family.

But now I’m thinking
a cab with divider glass
is the way to go.

At least I can buy
a set of earplugs before
we leave this next time.

And maybe also
a large bottle of some nice,
groovy, sleeping pills.

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Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies…

Right now, it’s Sunday afternoon, I’m working on The Internets and John is watching football. It’s relatively quiet, because Braden is taking a nap. I actually just made John turn down the TV so that B wouldn’t wake up early.

That’s right. I do not want to see my kid sooner rather than later right this minute.

I miss my cute kid when he’s sleeping, but I DO NOT miss the screaming and tantrums. Helllloooo, he has been into the terrible 2′s since he was about 17 months old.
Now that his actual 2 Year Birthday is about 2 weeks away, he’s ramping it up, BIG time. He has taken to being really angry at the drop of a hat lately. Like how, without notice, he will scream in my face.

He is lucky he is so damn cute. I swear, if he had, like, a second, troll-like head growing out of his neck… or maybe a talking wart in between his eyes? I would definitely keep him locked up under the stairs and feed him bread crumbs.

Okay, okay, that’s not entirely true. I love him too much, and besides, there’s no ‘under the stairs’ place here, so he’d have to just go in the closet. And he’s become far too wise for that – every time I pick him up and head towards the closet now, he screams and kicks and bites me until I drop him. Damn quick learning. I mean, I swear I’m only taking him over there to get his jacket so we can go outside. (shut up, it’s not hot here, shhh.)

The thing is – Braden has just entered a phase where he is REALLY FUN to be around! He says so much now (and, HAI! we can understand him!) and he’s funny. He dances around, makes cute jokes, and does amazing things. Did you see my video brag on him? Oh, you missed it? Well here’s a new one!

(By the way, feel free to tell me I’m a show-offing bitch, because I absolutely know I am. I never meant for that to happen, really, but F It. I’m proud of him! Neener.)

He knows all his letters, though “J” confuses him, and he knows 1-9, but “7″ catches him off base. Clearly “J7″ is his nemesis. And colors! Green, red, blue, yellow, orange, purple, pink, white, and black. Is he a genius? I hope so. I want him to get a job soon and start contributing to the family income.

Anyway, the point is that he is highly entertaining and much easier to get along with WHEN HE’S NOT BEING AN ASSFACE.

That’s the other thing – he is spending significant amounts of time being AN ASSFACE. And he has really, really elevated his level of Assfacieness. It’s the kind of stuff that makes you want to rake your fingernails down your face. Know how some things make you want to do that?

Never? Hm. Really? Ok, let’s just move on and pretend I didn’t say that.

What I want to know is, how long does this “I’m A Super Effing Brat” stage last? (And God Help You if you tell me, “Oh, Lotus, mine is 16 and he never stopped being AN ASSFACE!” because I just might hunt you down and cut you.)

In other words? LIE TO ME.

TELL ME LIES. SWEET.LITTLE.LIES.

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Yes, I am a dumbass. Now let’s pretend this isn’t over a month old.

Here’s a story I never shared with you… b/c I forgot to post it. Wow, can anyone say, “dumbass?” Well, would you still like to read it? Hope so!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the spirit of reveling in the good, the night I was writing this post, I decided to take Braden to the park the next day, watch him run around, and just generally enjoy being outside.

Does it sometimes seem like just when you’re trying to turn the corner on depression, the shit rains down on you?

Braden had a horrible night sleeping that night. I was just saying to John last Tuesday night that Braden has been sleeping so well for some time now, and even though his sleep habits used to be awful with crying and carrying on all night, now he does wonderfully!

News flash: JUST DON’T EVER SAY THINGS LIKE THAT OUT LOUD!

The very next night (the night I decided to be all happy and travel to the park the next day) he took hours to go to sleep. I had to hold him 3 times and spend over an hour in his room after his original bedtime, to help him go down. Then he got up at 2:30 and decided it must be morning.

WHAT THE HELL? He never does that!

Oh, hai, did I mention that I had not gone to bed yet at that point (yes I’m an idiot)?

I tried taking him to my bed when he wouldn’t go back to sleep in his. For an hour and a half we played the, “Sleep For 10 Minutes, Then Play for 15 Minutes” game over and over again. As cute as it was, by 4am, NO ONE IS CUTE TO ME IF I’M STILL AWAKE AGAINST MY WILL. So I took him back to his crib.

Luckily, he only screamed for a little while.

The next morning, I was shitasstired.

I reminded myself to be grateful and to go enjoy the day anyway. So we did breakfast, and I packed up things we would need at the park. My face only dragged on the floor 93% of the time while I was rounding things up.

Coffee is good, but it does not work miracles. Drugs are bad, but I would have snorted cocaine that day.

It seemed like everything was going very well. Braden was fed and dressed, I was fed and dressed. The bag was packed. Suddenly, I realized it was hot out and I needed to pack water for the boy.

I put the diaper bag in the car, and came back to get water. Braden rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw the door to the garage open. I closed it. HE DIED A SLOW AND HORRIBLE DEATH.

It was LOUD.

Time-Out was had.

During time out it was LOUD. I stood in the kitchen and tried to remember not to curse hatefully.

I also tried to remember not to wish I was dead. Or deaf. One letter, either way, it would be quiet.

Once that episode was over, I took the water and the child and we got all situated, snapped, and buckled into the car. While I was buckling Braden into his seat, he pointed to the dome light and gleefully exclaimed, “Iiiiiiigggghhhhttt!!!” Aww. How cute!

I hopped into the front seat and strapped myself in, slamming the door shut.

Key in ignition. Turn.

Nothing.

Blank stare.

Key turn.

Nothing.

Extreme restraint of desire to say pissfuckshitdamnhellmotherfuckercuntlickercocksuckerWHORE!

(And, while I have potty mouth, it’s really not usually that bad.)

From the back seat, “Iiiiiiiiiiggggggtttt!!!” (gleefully)

I looked at the dome light. All the doors were closed. It was still on, dimly. Guess who had GLEEFULLY exclaimed about the light the other day when we were getting OUT of the car, slapping at it and messing with it? Oh, hai, that would be my child, who must have switched it to the CONSTANT ON POSITION right before we got out of the car, unbeknown to me.

Hahaha. I can has dead battery? YUP.

So, jumping way ahead (past me whining on the phone to John) and the AAA guy shows up. He was there in no time, he was polite, he juiced my battery in no time. (John, don’t read the next part.) It did not damage my day that he was a really super-hot hispanic guy with a dazzling smile.

(I might kill the car battery on purpose next time? KIDDING! KIDDING!)

The rest of the day was lovely. The park outing was beautiful… even though I forgot everything but the water the second time we loaded up. It didn’t matter. We didn’t need any of it.

We ran and played in the grass. The sun shone down on us.

The world did not end. It went on, and it was even fabulous.

Even though I’ve felt the need to vomit out all that crap up there on you? (Thanks for letting me do that!) I’m choosing to focus on the good stuff, this time.

More baby steps.

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18 Months

Dear Braden,

April 16th, 2008. This was the day you turned 18 Months old. Officially A Year And A Half.

Where has the time gone, I ask you? But you don’t know. You just keep running ahead at full steam, with your daddy and me trying to keep up.

One day into your 18th month, Momma & Daddy finally found a decent house for us to live in, and signed a lease, and then moved out of Mold House. You have not been sick since.

You gave your approval to the stairs in our new home right away, climbing “up!” like a rockstar. Wow. Momma had no idea you could do that, little champ! We had to install gates at the top and bottom so you wouldn’t fall and bust your fivehead open.

Right around the same time we were moving into our new rental house, you decided that you would no longer be cooperating with us on the whole “eating healthy foods” thing. You used to adore green beans, peas, and carrots. Veggies now = SATAN. If Satan was on your food plate, you would flick him away. As such, all vegetables are flicked away.

If a piece of vegetable accidentally goes into your mouth (you were feeling generous and decided to humor me? more likely, you were just teasing me) you spit it out, and thenflick it away. Niiiice.

You are lucky the Easter Bunny still decided to visit such a naughty, vegetable flicker.

You had your first Easter Egg Hunt this month.

You were DELIGHTED to find that these fun colored little thingies you kept finding? Had this stuff in them that you had never before seen… but it tasted SO good, and holy cow, Mom, what IS this awesome stuff? Choco-what? Chocolate? Oh.

OMG, CHOCOLATE.

Halfway through your 18th month, you had a particularly bad day of never-ending splatter poops (how on earth you were able to fill a diaper that many times in one day is BEYOND me, but I dub thee Doo-Doo MASTER), and another of the Mega Rashes you were still getting so often sprung up.

While I was cleaning you and you were thrashing about in a shrieking/crying fit, with tears streaming down your face, I vowed to fix it. I gave you NO dairy for the next 24 hours. The next day, you had another splatter poop. I DREADED the impending pain you were about to suffer as I took off your diaper and started wiping.

But you were silent. And motionless. In disbelief, I cleaned you up and felt more relieved than I have in a long time.

Through research and trial with you, I discovered that you are lactose intolerant. The undigested lactose you were passing was fermenting in your colon, exiting as an acid, and then burning the skin on your precious biscuits. You now only consume lactose free dairy, and so far, you have not had one single rash. Score one for Momma. (FINALLY.)

Of course, you always make sure that no matter how many things we get “under control,” life remains interesting.

You love the little guitar that Daddy’s “Caglehead” friends gave you when you were still in Momma’s belly. You like it when Daddy plays it, and you are joining in with him more and more. Instead of just banging the strings with your hammer, now you actually strum at them.

Daddy is so proud of your interest in all things guitar.

Although, I have to tell you, he is kind of afraid you’re going to pee on his guitars sometimes.

And speaking of peeing? You are showing more and more interest in doing that in the potty. I LOVE THAT. Now if I could just get you to start it off in the potty instead of on the floor or the couch? That would be AWESOME. Just sayin’.

We stayed busy doing fun things this month, like the zoo…

Adam & The Couch Potatoes Concerts (where you were mistaken for a girl yet again)…

And the Lake Beachat Anderston Rd.

I’ve got to say, I have really enjoyed it. I think you have, too. It should be warm all the time, shouldn’t it? I mean, “owsigh” is still like your Crack Rock, isn’t it? Yeah. Mine, too. At least I know where you got your obsession from.

Oh, you know how I mentioned that you get mistaken for a girl (even when you’re wearing totally boy clothes, like above)? I guess your hair has a lot to do with that.

But I was thinking that you have a really sweet face. Almost feminine, because your sweet, chubby cheeks make it so soft. So I did, um… a little experiment.

And you really do make a cute girl.

Will you forgive me?

I sent that shirt to your girlfriend, Amy, in Australia. Maybe she will send us a picture of her wearing it. Then you can kiss her picture and prove how manly you are again?

Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find many ways to get back at me. You’re smiling now just thinking about it, aren’t you?

Yeah, I knew it.

I might as well mention here that you seem to have stopped shrieking so often… this is probably because you are talking better as time goes by. And also because you have started replacing the solitary Shriek with tantrumming.

You are a force to be reckoned with.