Raindrops Falling on His Head

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm finding myself at war with my toddler and his fear of raindrops. This is a new one.

After a day of no less than ten temper tantrums (no doubt brought on by a new thought on potty training), I was thrilled when Boomer came home early. He's terrific about taking over so I can get a break as soon as he walks through the door. He spent an hour trying to combat Peanut's latest way of avoiding potty training (which, for a three-year-old, isn't bad) and then it was bedtime. Let me just say that Peanut despises bedtime because he's convinced that he'll miss something good. Like my nervous breakdown. As it was raining, we found our excuse. An hour later, Boomer and I were still attempting to put Wonder Toddler to bed because of his cries that he was sorry that it was raining.

As a girl who's still uncomfortable around big thundery storms, I can relate. Sort of. But seriously, it's RAINDROPS. Not like that's going to hurt anyone or anything. Even the coward dog is good with rain. Maybe it's the sound of rain being blown into the window that gets him. He finally gives in when I sit with him, and life is good in his world again.

I, on the other hand, am frustrated to the point of screaming. Not conducive to sleeping toddler.

Once again, I'm forced to admit that I'm not in charge. And that's no fun. My days and nights are constructed at the whim of an increasingly cranky toddler. I know it's only a phase, but it's a phase that's infuriating.

For now, however, I can take comfort in the facts that my son is sleeping peacefully, my husband will give a back rub at my request, and the dog will be cowering at my feet. The day hasn't been a total loss after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.