Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I have to remember that he's two....

(The boss just called... at 2pm... to tell me he was staying home for a water filtration system replacement event... boogity boogity I thought it would be with news about the extension. Silly me. Onward...)

So, yes, two. The age of my son. The number of parents he has trying to get him to eat breakfast in the morning. Also the number of hours it took to get him to eat.

Let me preface this by saying my kid is REALLY well behaved most of the time. The teachers at daycare all love him, he's really cooperative and helpful, and he only sort-of acts out at the end of the day (and don't we all?).

He's totally figured out the whole good-cop/bad-cop thing, and I'm the bad cop. He tends to behave better (read: efficient) with me at breakfast, because Daddy lets him sit on his lap, or sit on the floor, or change chairs three times, eat cheerios with a fork one at a time, etc. We figured this out a few days ago when it started taking longer and longer in the mornings if Dad was the one doing the breakfast routine. So, we changed the rules, and Daddy is trying not to be a pushover ;-) Which, of course, is totally our fault and totally unfair, etc etc. I'm trying to have Hubs do the routine a few more times so that N. can realize that it's not time to play, especially when there's a bus to catch. The result? The child refused to eat this morning. Crying, hugging, tantrums, screaming, etc. Wanting everything else besides his cherrios (which he loves). And then he wanted pepper on everything... maybe I should've let that one go through, just to see how he would react...

I tagged in after about 40 minutes and once Daddy disappeared, and we wrestled through getting dressed, N. sat down and ate. Quietly. And was a happy angel on the bus and at daycare once we arrived.

It's fascinating, and a little scary, how quickly a child's behaviour can spiral if you let them have free reign. I don't claim to be the best smartest parent at all, but I'm kind of glad I can see this, at least in our house. And I have to keep reminding Hubby (and myself) that N. is two. There's a reason they call it the terrible twos, and it's not just because of the catchy alliteration. Here's to hoping tomorrow morning will be smoother.

On the knitting front - one repeat of the main pattern in the flower basket shawl... I'm already planning my next shawl, of course... which is not good. not good at all. Must. knit. from. stash.

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