My grandson, the precious one, being an overachiever has decided to go through his terrible twos a little early.  He is driving his mother nuts.  He is practicing the fine art of “no, don’t, stop, and mine.”  He has perfected his pout, and can throw the best fit ever to be seen for one of his size.  He was sick this week and so his mother was home with him for two days.  The first day he was too sick to be really cranky, but the second day he made up for the first day.

Actually his malaise set in late Saturday of last week.  He got a little cranky and we chalked it up to a late night and perhaps teething.  His father had a cold, but we just let that slide.  The little charmer is subjected to colds day in and day out at this daycare and we didn’t suspect that dad’s was anything new, but by Sunday he was full on ill.  We took him to the pediatrician on Monday…we being his daddy and me, and they said he had an ear infection, sore throat, and asthma.  They gave him a nebulizer treatment which sent him into an absolute hissy fit.  This fit lasted for the better part of six or seven minutes (I made daddy hold him…I’m not stupid) and then he immediately went to sleep afterward.  The next day he stayed with mommy.  By day two mommy was calling, “I can’t make him happy.  He cries when I hold him.  He cries when I put him down.  Nothing pleases him.  He doesn’t want me in the room and he cries when I leave the room. He’s crying for you, and I haven’t had a shower since Monday morning.”  “Well, I was going to say you guys could come over here and I would help you out, but A) it’s really cold outside, B) he doesn’t need to be out in it, and C) you haven’t had a shower since Monday morning.”  “Gee Thanks.”  I could hear the little monster screaming bloody murder in the background.  I asked what the problem was now, and was told that Cars was currently not playing and that was his problem.  We talked above the din for awhile longer and eventually hung up.

As those of you going through or having gone through menopause know sometimes it comes with insomnia and that night I got a whopping dose.  After finally giving up on sleep I got up to do something else, and went back to bed at about five o’clock in the morning when my meds kicked in.  At nine o’clock in the morning I heard a gentle rap on my bedroom door.  “Emmy?”  Eyes blind with lack of sleep led me to the door and a brain comatose from the same unlocked it and there in his golden haired glory is my grandson.  Screaming.  “NO!  Bye-Bye!  Bye-Bye Mommy!  Bye-Bye!”  My non-vag daughter has the most beautiful big brown eyes and she turns them on me with pleading and asks the question, “can he stay with you today?” and someone in the room says, “Yes.”  I assure you, it wasn’t me.  She hands me the screaming bundle who immediately starts wiggling and twisting like some thirty pound night crawler and grabbing for his mother who is backing out of the room as quickly as she can.  “Mommy!  Mommy!  Bye-Bye Mommy  Bye-Bye!”  “I think he’s gotten spoiled to being with you.”  Yup that sounds like me.  “Well, maybe I should stay till he calms down.”  An hour later she leaves anyway…Bitch!

The morning goes pretty well.  We watch five episodes of Mickey Mouse Club, read every book we have…and by read I mean play “what’s that?” “it’s a ball.”  “what’s that?” “it’s a mouse.”  “what’s that?” “it’s a cookie.” and so on.  Then we have lunch, which consists of anything he will eat and not just let roll out of his mouth and onto his shirt…and then a nap.  He is pretty good about a nap.  At least about the sleeping part.  When it comes to the waking part he is a bear.  He wakes up crying and when I walk in the first thing he does is shout “No, Mommy!” at me.  Super.  I go over to pat him on the back.  “No, don’t Emmy!”  Okay, I lay down on the bed beside him.  That’s wrong too.  The phone rings, and when I get off the bed to answer it that irritates him.  It’s mommy.  “What’s wrong?”  “He wants you!”  “Aw, I’m sorry.”  “No you’re not.  you got your day at work.”  She actually laughed.  Finally, I just got him up anyway.  I figured if he was going to cry he could cry downstairs just as well as upstairs.  Forty-five minutes later….were you paying attention?…forty-five minutes later he stopped crying, but before he was through I called his mother.  “What did you do to make my grandson hate me? When he left on Monday we were friends, but today each time I look at him he howls and screams mommy bye-bye.  I have assured him that as soon as you get here you will indeed go bye-bye.” Still laughing she says “maybe he has a headache.”  “Well, I don’t know about him, but I have a doozie.”  She tells me she’ll be here by five-thirty and to hang in there (WTF?) and I swear I hear glee in her voice as she hangs up.  An hour later she walks in and my house is turned absolutely upside down.  Every toy is out.  Every treat is out of the cupboard.  There is a throw in the floor of the family room with a milk bottle on it, three different sippy cups each with a different type of juice, an apple, mandarin oranges, crackers, cookies, and a chocolate bar that he wouldn’t even try because it wasn’t completely chocolate, and Bob the Builder blaring away on the television.  We are blowing bubbles in the kitchen, an exercise that has been expressly forbidden in my house forever. “MOMMY!” he screams and runs for her.  I don’t care.  I need rest.  I need my house back.  I need my sanity back.  I need my television back.  I need my life back.  I almost want to shout and run to her too.  “Buddy!” she says and picks him up.  “NO! Mommy don’t,” he says and starts wiggling out of her arms and reaching for me.  “Look little dude, I love you to the moon and back but you are going home.  I don’t care if I have to carry you out to the car and put you in the car seat myself. ”  I’m really glad my non-vag daughter understands. 

Anyway, they left and I looked at my house which is normally fairly clean and I straightened the chairs.  I put the things in the refrigerator that had to be put away.  Then I went and laid down on the couch amidst the clutter and had a nice two hour nap.  My husband came in several hours later.  He kind of took in the disaster area and looked at me, “yeah I know…he was kind of a terror today.  In fact, he wore the horns off this old billy goat.  I’ll deal with this crap later.”  And I did.

When my kids were little I didn’t keep a real clean house.  I was lucky if I was able to keep things sort of picked up…I remember why.   I also remember why I spanked my kids.  I told my mom about the day I spent with my grandson and she said “Well, maybe they should take him to the doctor.  Maybe the doctor could give him something for those fits he throws.”  The doctors should give him new grandparents because we’ve spoiled him rotten she and I.  Spoiling is easier than listening to that assault on the ears, and I knew that when I was the parent of toddlers.  Those particular toddler’s behavior reflected on me, his does not and quite honestly I would have let him shave a cat if I thought he would have shut up for fifteen minutes.  It’s becoming clear with time that perhaps I am not grandmother material, but I make a helluva great aunt.

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.