Is This Three?

I don’t talk about my kid much on here, but, guys, I am majorly mom-failing. Well, I am not going to say “fail” because what really is a passing grade vs. failing in mommy talk? I think if your kid doesn’t turn out to be a psycho killer maybe you’ve passed? But even then…

Let’s just say, it’s been rough. Jack has been three for a little over a week and somehow the devil has managed to take over his body and transform him into a monster that likes to torture me and then laugh incessantly as said torture commences. What the hell is wrong with this kid?! I guess this needs to be said – or else the mommy mafia will come after me – I love him to pieces. I miss him when I’m not with him. I watch him while he sleeps, trying not to kiss his gorgeous little cheeks. I want to squish his face and eat him up some days he is so stinking cute, and then some days, I give up.

I am not going to give you tips or tricks, I am not going to suggest methods and I am definitely not going to tell anyone how to parent. I am just here to say, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH KIDS SOMETIMES!? Let me paint you a picture. This past weekend, we are killing time in Best Buy and Daniel decides that he hates me for some reason and goes to the restroom – all is fine. The second Daniel is out of sight, Jack (demon in question) takes off in a dead sprint in the opposite direction. Ladies and gents, when this happens you have two options – 1) Let the kid run. Maybe he will miss you after a couple seconds and then he will run back into your arms, never to part from you again OR maybe he will run out the doors, get hit by a car or try to help a suspicious man find a puppy… I choose the latter to believe. Better safe than sorry. Option 2) Run after the kid. I am not a “fit mom.” I try to exercise once a week, but that’s a lot to ask and by exercise I mean take a leisurely stroll for 45 minutes to an hour – maybe a half hour of that is actually drinking a margarita, but semantics. So when my kid decides he’s going to take off, that means he’s going faster than a bottle of wine at a kid free mommy date and how can I keep up with that? I “run” after him and eventually grab his arm. I sternly tell him through my teeth, “you have to hold my hand now the rest of the time we are in here” and he decides this does not fit into his plan of ruining my life, so he goes full cold fish. Just limp. So I ended up dragging my whining three-year-old across the floor through the refrigerators, past the DVDs and into the printer section of Best Buy. Mother of the Year.

But it gets worse. I guess I don’t get out much, but Best Buy has these (new?) digital price tags that I don’t really understand, but they are huge and just so big and easy for a toddler to grab. After I gave my child some minor rug burn from dragging his lifeless-like body across the store, he wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. He stood up and decided to pull down on one of these huge price displays. Next to it sat a neat little stack of about 50 cards promoting something that I can’t even remember, and in slow motion I see it unfold. Imagine O Fortuna from Carmina Burana blasting as the scene unfolds: He pulls down on the display tag, and as he lets go, all of the cards go flying everywhere. Do you know what he does next? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DOES NEXT!? He gets down on the floor on his stomach, and starts spreading them everywhere laughing maniacally.

What’s a mom to do? My gut reaction was to pull him up off the ground and demand he pick them all up, but that just made him fall to the ground and start making more of a mess. I wanted to smack the crap out of this kid. And for that I am ashamed. I didn’t but I SOOOO wanted to. It was like I didn’t even know who he was. He was possessed and that wasn’t Jack, not my sweet boy… but it was. Just as I was about to cry in the middle of Best Buy, Daniel comes around the corner and becomes my back up. The three of us picked up the cards and quickly left the store. I told him how disappointed I was in him, that I expected him to act better than that. Who knows if it really sunk in. It felt horrible. Have we not instilled a sense of responsibility to keep his shit together in public? And more importantly why does he always want to piss me off? Was he just tired from his fourth birthday party of the week? (We celebrate separately with everyone). Is he a spoiled brat!!? That’s my worst fear.

I have no answer. I am in the trenches of life with a toddler and while I love my life and my little family most days, some days my little boy is a devil-possessed, shithead terror. Yeah I said it! (sorry Daniel for calling our son a shithead) Maybe one day we can exorcise the demons that seem to hate mommy, but in the meantime I have to laugh (and cry!) through it all and depend on my husband to back me up, just hoping I am doing a decent job. Maybe one day there will be a moment when I know I’ve actually passed this test of motherhood (or definitely failed), but for now, there are margaritas and tears… and then more margaritas and more tears and hopefully, one day, a little bit of karma for our kids when they become parents so I can then lay on the ground and laugh like a maniac too.