Pushing my buttons

I have one offspring whose defense mechanism is button-pushing. When he is angered or disappointed or frustrated about something...ANYTHING, as a result of me (no matter the innocence of the crime), he lashes out with 4-year-old-version hatefulness.

Whoops.

I just gave away the offender. Yes yes, it's Sullivan, my sometimes-sweet 4 year old. Sullivan does not enjoy feeling badly himself. He wants others to feel badly. Only fair, right? I get it. I really can put my littler brain inside his brain (no joke - I legitimately thing that boy has a bigger capacity for intellect than me... he's gonna be a freakin whiz) and observe the world the way he does. That is, if I try hard and take the time to, I get Sullivan.

Here's the scoop:  When he doesn't get to take a shower after a swim at the gym pool (as we normally do), because the showers are all taken and I am not interested in waiting in line, he says, "You mean, Mommy." When I let him know that we are not going to be able to finish a puzzle or game until later, because we have to leave to pick up Jackson from school, he says, "You're cheating Mommy." Sometimes this emotional response includes a hit or an air fist. And then, sometimes, he'll add a demented snicker... like he's un-touched by whatever is going on. He fake laughs to cover up the fact that he is truly hurting. And if I get quiet and have an authentically melancholy reaction to the way he is treating me/the situation, he sometimes adds "Gotcha!" with a finger point. Like getting me to feel icky was what he was aiming for.

When I use my good, healthy parenting skills and either  a) calmly explain the situation further so he understands that whatever I am saying he doesn't want to hear is not personally designed to alienate him, or b) calmly explain that his reaction to disappointment needs to be adjusted, then the following comment is made (while crossing arms and deliberately avoiding eye contact by looking out of the top little corner of his awnry little eyes, "Not listening, Mom. Not listening."

I know I am making my son sound evil. But if you have a Sullivan in your home, you know what I am talking about.

I don't like it. Clearly, I don't like it. Even if I get it, I don't like it.

But I've been letting him do it. Let the kid say what he wants to say. He's gonna do it anyway (cuz that's the kind of kid Sullivan is), so give him freedom of speech and then let's go about our business. His disagreeable-ness wears off pretty quickly, anyway. So what's the harm? Right?

Until yesterday.

I was treating him to a Frosty, which was a reward for having read these little preschool books a certain number of days in a row. Anyway, he had been talking about it and was excited about it. I was excited about it, for goodness sakes. He was so faithful about checking the little days off the chart at home and had been talking about his treat for days. We pull up to Wendys and he smells the stale yet yummy smell of grease. And his mind goes instantly to chicken nuggets, french fries, and dip. It was lunchtime, after all. Chicken nuggets and french fries and dip were not in the lunch plans. We had swung in the drive thru for a frosty. For a FROSTY ONLY. His hunger and his confusion and his excitement were all swhirling when I said "no" to the request for more than the frosty.

Thus began the rampage: Fit, "you mean, Mommy," "You cheating, Mom" (cheating is not really something Sullivan knows the definition of... it's used pretty much whenever he's mad.)  "I'm not listening!" Then, quiet the rest of the way home.

When we arrived in the garage, Sullivan busted out a whole new level of button-pushing. He crossed a new line.

He said, "Mom, I am not going to love Jesus."

Freedom of speech, my ass.
This. means. war.
3

I hate the bats, I mean fruit flies, hanging from my ceiling

I looked up this morning in my kitchen, and immediately felt the motherly instinct to swoop up Anderson for fear that my bat-sized fruit flies may just carry him off like To-to was by the flying monkeys.

I am so stinkin done. I have done the vinegar trick. Caught a few. Others seemed to grow larger while laughing in my face. I had one other infestation a few years back, and the cidar vinegar totally whiped them out in days. This brood is highly evolved, too smart to fall for traps, and is telling its friends and family members that the Arthur kitchen is a happening place. And, by the way, - the damn things say - bring your suitcase, cuz this party's gonna last awhile.

And, don't ya know, the woman way back in 2000 who gave me my first lesson on how to run them out of a kitchen (I had been house-sitting for their family while they vacationed and I had slowly observed the haze of life everytime I turned on the faucet... but I did what I do when problems arise I don't know how to solve : nothing. And when this family returned, Deanne sweetly took me under her wing to present the ole vinegar-in-a-shallow-bowl-with-holes-poked-in-lid trick. I felt embaressed and enlightened all at the same time) is visiting us from out of town THIS VERY WEEKEND.

She's gonna think all I've done over the past thirteen years is raise kids. And fruit flies.

Lord may they smell tastier fruit or be lured by trickier vinegar traps in someone else's kitchen before Friday. (the flies, that is, not my kids) (although that would be fine, too).

Moon moment

We have two lime-green chairs in our front lawn which spent the first year here on Grenoble Rd mostly vacant. But this past summer, we've been loving us some adirondack lounging. Tonight, once boy #1 (#3) was put to bed, I plopped right on out there with a blueberry lemonade smirnoff (#2) while #2 and #3 were playing, #s 1 and 2 (ok, now even I am confused). I am amazed at what happens when I plop. I initially think to myself, "Hmmmmm. I'll be out of this position lickity split... cuz something else will call to me and there isn't much 'to do' here." Then all at once I realize just how hard it is to let my phone be. all. by. its. lonesome. On the arm of my lime green adirondack chair. (Cuz, after all, we have a thing-to-do attached to ourselve s at all times now... I shall name mine Frystone the Iphone) By the way, I've now been sitting for 15 seconds.

And then it begins: the let-the-world-pass-me-by-ness sets in. Tonight I was on that chair for about an hour. And here is what passed me by: 

** Neighbor boy, middle school aged or so?, rides bike back and forth with his buddy... he on a tandum bike with noone on the back and the buddy on his own bike. I think tandem bikes are awesome, so I shouted as such. He gave a polite reply. I wonder if secretly he is punkish. I wonder if his friend is punkish. Will J and S and A be punkish? How do you keep your kids from being punkish? Wonder why the friend just doesn't join on a tandem? Is it too dorky to ride tandem with another boy? Is it like 2 men sharing a couch or maybe love seat? 

** They are gone.

**Guy catty corner across street waters lawn. He is adjusting sprinkler. Lawn looks awesome. I shout as such.

**Boys come outside and drag a big fallen branch to center of yard. An obstacle course hath formed. Boys look like Patrick Swaze in Dirty Dancing crossing the famous log, except with shirts on and much cuter. 

**Next door neighbors head out for walk with darling lil doggie. Mom and just-got-his-drivers-license son. Their nightly ritual. I wonder if we'll have a dog by then. What a bonding time for Mom/son. Captive moments to talk about life. Having a dog = I bond with my sons. We need a dog.

**Empty nester directly across street leaves for 2 mile power walk. He had knee replacement surgery a few years ago and look at him go! Wonder what he does on his walks? No ear plugs. No dog. Kids moved out. Think about all that cleared up head space! And no music/sounds going in! He probably is solving the world's problems one night at a time.

**Other next door neighbor, Chris, checks her mail and I yell congrat to her, since her daughter just found out today that she got a job she'd applied for. This to that. That to this... and before you know it she is showing me the squid hats she just bought for her daughter and she to wear while volunteering at the zoo in the touch-pool area. Get it? I love this woman. Boys take picture with hats on. Chris shows boys "liken" (sp?) on said fallen branch, which basically is the mossy greenish crusty stuff on the outer bark. Boys loved squid hats better, but munch on liken information for a bit. Chris's husband pulls in the driveway with dinner. He points out full moon. I knew I was feeling awnry. Chris and hubby head inside.

**Boys revved up about moon. Hard to see with trees in way. Barefooted offspring convince me to let them get "closer" (someday I'll have to explain where the moon lives). I say yes. But a new tree keeps blocking moon-view each time they move beyond the tree that was blocking it. They are half-way down street with said shoelessness. I am shoeless too. And on my chair. 

**I humor their moon search. But then I get into it. Not only do I meet them on the sidewalk a few houses down, I likewise find myself angling for a better view.... which happens to be in the middle of the street. 2 boys, one mamma, and a bottle of Smirnoff (#2) staring at the full moon in the middle of the street with no shoes on. 

Now that is just Norman Rockwell. Yes?

So, if there is a point, the point is that having no deliberate goal of passage of time can really get you somewhere...It can get you shoeless, in the middle of the street... And a solution for how to ensure quality time with your future punkish pubescent boys (as a refresher: get a dog to walk). And knowledge about fungal tree growths. And some really funny shots of oversized squid hats on boys' heads to send to Dad. And a bunch of other stuff. It can get you now-ness. Which is now technically then-ness. And nowness gets ignored a lot these days. Tonight wI was perfectly aware of the beauty of that nowness. Lovely.