Captain Nudie-butt

That's what the Princess has started calling Bad - and she's chasing him around the house trying to dress him by force. I'm afraid to intervene.

Ring Ring!

Phonecall 1

Hubs: Hello?

Me: I can't find the ground turkey! I think I'm losing my mind!

Hubs: What? (At least he didn't need to ask who was calling)

Me: I thought I took it out of the fridge, but I can't find it!

Hubs: Did you look IN the fridge?

Me: Yes!

Hubs: There's a lot of crap in there....did you look behind the crap?

Me: Yes! I took almost everything out!

Hubs: Did you look in the freezer?

Me: Yes! I thought maybe you put it there...

Hubs: Did you maybe put it in a cupboard or something, when you were looking for something else?

Me: I've looked in all of them! It's not there! It's not on the counter or the table, or in your office....it's disappeared!

Hubs: Well, there's not much I can do from here. We'll find it tomorrow when it starts to stink.

Phonecall 2

Hubs: Hello?

Me: Bad had it. He was taking it for a ride in his dumptruck.

Is it me?

I just got off the phone with Hubs and he's feeling all pissy because I mentioned that Bad went to the Princess's school wearing her tights under his shorts. I thought it was funny, Hubs patently did not. He intimated that I let the boy get away with murder, and when I didn't respond he came out with the "maybe it's my fault for not being involved enough". Whatever. Bad's 2. He wanted to wear shorts. I wanted him to be warm. I said he could wear tights under his shorts, and although I was joking he thought it was a great idea and put some on. I didn't care - and I needed the laugh. So....am I an overly permissive parent? Scarring the boy's psyche for life? Or, heaven forbid, could I possibly be in the right?

Farewell, sweet smile.

She's always been self-conscious about the gap in her teeth, but I loved it, and am I ever going to miss my baby's smile.

Then again, this big girl has a pretty cute grin...and I'm really looking forward to getting to know her.

And then light shone down from the heavens and the angels sang....

So. That last post was a wee bit negative, wasn't it? (Thanks everybody for your supportive and encouraging words!) I wasn't a happy camper, and I let that mood follow me around for a long time. This week, however, I had an allelujah moment. Bad's been on the waiting list for a speech assessment since his 2nd birthday (11 months ago!) and on Monday the clinic called me. They'd had a cancellation for Thursday, and did we want the appointment? YES we did. On Thursday morning I used all my evil mommy powers to trick Bad into wearing matching, season appropriate clothing. (Gotta make a good impression!) We dropped the Princess off at school and headed off to the speech 'doctor'. (Boy loves doctors, go figure.) While we were sitting in their toy-filled wonderland of a waiting room, I spied the following title on their bookshelves:






The title caught my eye, because when I try to explain Bad to people, I always say "his spirit is just too big for his little body to control." And the subtitle on the book? A Guide for Parents Whose Child Is More Intense, Sensitive, Perceptive, Persistent, and Energetic - MORE. That's what Bad is! He's MORE. I plucked it down and started reading, and wow. I managed to read the introduction, and skim through some of the chapters before being called into our appointment, and just that little bit has helped me reframe his behaviour and deal with him more effectively. I am going out to buy a copy today.

And his appointment? He's got a lateral lisp and some articulation issues, but he scored in the 98th percentile for his language skills. The speech pathologist couldn't believe how well he did (the test she used is for 3-6 year olds). He's going to start articulation therapy next week, and as were leaving she said, "Karen (the therapist he'll be working with) is just going to eat him up." I've always known he was awesome, but I'll admit that the preschool incident really shook me up, and having a stranger recognize his charm and potential really helped me shake off the blues. I'm should be back to my regularly scheduled crazy in no time.

Ugh.

On Tuesday I posted "Happy happy me!" on my Facebook page. I hate to follow that up with "I'm not getting back out of bed until July" so I guess I'll bitch and moan here instead. Bad got kicked out of nursery school. I'm miserable.

Here's the thing. The nursery school is wonderful. It's right across the street, and it's owned and run by a couple that are (were?) our friends. They had a baby at the end of August and we were thrilled for them. They'd hired a wonderful teacher to cover the maternity leave, but because they live above the school we knew they'd be around a lot, and it really put our minds at ease.

We're idiots that way.

Bad's first day was great. They were amazed at his colouring - hey, I'm his mom, he comes by his talent naturally! Ha! They were all, "He did GREAT! We have no worries about him." But then it started to go downhill. He started crying for me, and they had a hard time engaging him. The thing was, as soon as I picked him up he was cheerful, and he'd talk happily about school and his friends. When the Princess was having a hard time at her first daycare, that distress carried over into her behaviour and disposition in the evenings and weekends. With Bad there was none of that, I wasn't really worried about him, because when he was with me he was his usual happy self.

Then one day they called me to pick him up. At 10:00. After barely 45 minutes of school. We brainstormed ideas. (Well, I brainstormed ideas and typed them up into a very polite letter.) We switched him from full days to half days to help him transition. And then. Yesterday. I dropped Bad off in his class and as I was leaving, one of the couple, let's call him Dick, pulled me into the kitchen and said, and I quote, "This is it. If he doesn't snap out of this after Friday that's it. We can not tolerate him any more." Excuse me?

You can't tolerate my child? I'm not saying he's perfect - his nickname isn't Bad for no reason....he's stubborn and willful and wild, but he's also smart and funny and talented and affectionate and wonderful. And it's not like he was hitting or biting the other children - he was crying for his mommy. He's TWO.

So. I've been crying for 36 hours. I'm angry and sad and my feelings are hurt. I'm defensive and confused. And really? There's nothing I can do. I can't rant and rave at these people, they live right across the street and I have to pass their house twice a day taking the Princess to school. Unless I take a ridiculously long detour, I pass their house going to the grocery store, the coffee shop, and the post office. Plus - I like them. I get that they're tired and sleep-deprived with a newborn, and I'm sure I'd get sick of listening to someone's child cry all day too - but here's the thing. I don't run a NURSERY SCHOOL. I don't get paid to do that. They do.

And make no mistake. They are the ones that failed Bad - not the other way around. And they are the ones that will ultimately lose out. But in the meantime? This is crappy, and I kind of hope their baby is colicky and cries for the next 3 months straight.

Underwear.

He's not completely there, but wow does he want to be.