| Even in Florida He Whines | | Date Created: Mar 29, 2007, 01:25 PM |
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Well, I didn't go to Florida. James was really sick and throwing up and George and John were not very mindful of the extra need to be good and kind of quiet. I figured if Will were the one going out of town and I was left by myself with all that mess I would feel pretty overwhelmed and possibly tempted at some point to walk out the door and not come back. So I stayed. And James stayed sick for days. He wanted attention the whole time he was sick, but attention on his own terms. I would go upstairs to his room to comfort him when he would call and I would curl up next to him and rub his head and after about 45 seconds he said in a clipped tone, "I'm done now." And I was like, hunh? And he said, "I'm finished" [with Momoe]. Luckily by Sunday he was feeling a little better and we had my grandparents and Will's parents over for chicken on the grill that afternoon. Of course the other guys were delighted to have everyone outside and have the chance to run around and play. James didn't want to go outside. I told him that was fine. He could do whatever he wanted while everyone else was outside and I was doing stuff in the kitchen. He didn't want to have fun, but he didn't want anyone else having fun either. Fortunately those having fun outside couldn't hear him inside sitting on the floor of the TV room grunting, "Somebody come take care of me. Somebody come take care of me. Somebody come take care of me."
I'm so sick of him right now. Yesterday he went to time-out maybe 10 times before we left for school in the morning. Will had to close James' bedroom windows so the neighbors wouldn't hear him screaming at the top of his lungs, "Let me out!" as if we were locking him in his cell and leaving him bread and water once a day. Not that that wouldn't be more efficient than carting him up and down from there 16,000 times a day. It always goes in phases. He can go a couple of months being the nicest kid you ever knew. And then it's as if the devil takes over and you worry he'll never have friends. Never have fun. What kid doesn't like the park? James. We went twice this week, Tuesday and today. Tuesday I can sort of understand because James is very sensitive to bug bites and the bugs were biting. But he wouldn't put any bug spray on. They'd all wanted to wear their crocs, but that ended up being a bad idea. John and George would pretty much stop and dump the bark out of their shoes themselves and go on with whatever. James would fuss and whine. "There's stuff in my shoes! The bugs are bothering me! It's wet!" Wanh wanh wanh on and on and on. Today I thought it would be better--it was breezy so no bugs. We went to a different park that has a big open field behind it. John and George had a great time. They climbed up parts of the playground sets they'd never been able to do on their own before. They wanted to try everything. If it was something pretty challenging, I showed them how to do it and then held their hands. There was a balance beam pretty high off the ground that wiggled, an arch of bars to climb, and even a small-scale climbing wall. George and John were everywhere at once. James went down the one slide that was wet. Luckily he had on very quick-drying nylon pants, but this was no comfort to him. I tried to get him to try some of the toys John and George were playing on. I finally got him up on the balance beam and I was holding him with both arms when he said, "I think maybe this not a good idea. Maybe when I'm a little bit bigger." Then George and John and I went to the field and ran around. James fell down on purpose and then wouldn't get up. I let him sit there and scream while the three of us ran around. To anyone else it probably looked like child abuse but from my point of view it's mother abuse. "I want to go to lunch! I'm hungry! Let's go! Come back!" Wanh wanh wanh. After the running around, we found a patch of dandelions. It was almost one of those magical mother moments you suspect perfect families of having, with a few glaring exceptions. James couldn't (wouldn't?) blow hard enough to get the fluff to fly off and got more than a tad frustrated and then kept picking weeds that weren't even dandelions and so of course didn't even have fluff and that was even more frustrating. I told the boys to make a wish before they blew the fluff off, but how to explain what a wish is? I think they must think it is like a blessing of some sort. George leaned over his dandelion reverently and said, "I love you, Momoe," and then blew off the fluff. When he took the dandelion stem back down he had half the sprouts of fluff stuck under his nose in his thick green snu. Then he picked another dandelion and walked a little ways away from the rest of us and whispered very quietly into the dandelion only the word "Stripsey" (his stuffed zebra). It was really really sweet. Except for the dandelion fluff that this time was also in his mouth and stuck to his tongue. John's wish was, "I wish to cozy up with you, Momoe." That is really really sweet. But a touch unnerving. John has been head over heels in love with Will and me lately. And I mean love. He crawled in the bed with us this morning and put his face right up to Will's a just stared at him with glazed eyes. Then he told me he wanted to curl up in a ball with me. A few weeks ago on a Saturday morning, he followed Will and me everywhere we went. To take showers, go to the bathroom, go outside to get the mail, go in the kitchen to fix breakfast. When he is 13 and locking himself in his room and playing scary music and not talking to us I will have to remind him how he once couldn't get enough of us! When it was time to leave the park because I couldn't listen to James complain any longer, George had a fit because he didn't want to go. I said we could come back soon and John said, "After lunch?"
Needless to say we won't be going back to the park today. None of the boys have taken a nap, so I need to go get them out of their rooms. If there is any strength left in my body, I will resist putting in a DVD for them and instead let them play and then fight over toys and then hurt each other "on poipose".
Postscript: When I went to go get John out of nap he didn't have a poop in his pants for the first time in two days, so I ran him to the potty and after 20 minutes sitting there he pooped! Yay! Now they are all running around and James is crying because he says George hit him with the fire rescue phone and I am sitting here typing because I just don't want to deal with fire rescue phones right now...
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