Shrieks and Screams

Call me Mother of the Year.

I realize that Halloween is nearly here, which would therefore suggest my title. However, the shrieks and screams I'm referring to have nothing to do with ghosts and goblins and everything to do with a preschooler and a newborn. And a frustrated mommy.

There has got to be an easier way to do this. Where the heck did I put the children's owner's manual? I'm certain they came with one. Didn't they? No? Drat.

I'm currently trying to redo Peanut's task schedule. Every day, every task must be explained step by step as though he's never gotten dressed, brushed his teeth, etc. And when I wait for him to accomplish these tasks without verbal prompting, he stands there waiting. Because Peanut is a boy who needs routine, and the prompts are part of the routine. Mostly I understand this, but it's infuriating that I have to tell my brilliant son every single morning how to put on socks. He knows what he needs to do. He knows how to do what he needs to do. So why does he need me standing over him telling him how to do what he needs to do? A deep breath, a quick smile, and we're on for another day. And tonight, Peanut didn't have to be told to pick up his clothes. It's a start.

It should be noted that this is not made better with sleep deprivation. While Tula is a delight (as is Peanut when I'm not completely frustrated), she is still up in the night. And colicky. I really hate colic. I hate knowing my child hurts and there is nothing I can do to ease her pain. That's where Boomer comes in. He takes her, rocks her, walks with her and somehow breaks out Daddy Magic and gets her to sleep... all while telling me to freaking go to bed already because he's got this. Now I know why there's a two-parent system in this house.

This too shall pass. I will sleep more than three hours at a time. I will not have to repeat myself day after day. I will, however, still be on the lookout for that manual. I'm sure I've seen it. Somewhere.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Mutiny!

Call me Mother of the Year.

So Peanut is still completely enamored with his Tula. He begs to hold her every chance he gets, constantly talks about her and to her, and does his level best to hold her hand and shower her with stuffed animals. That's the good news.

The bad news is Peanut has a cold. And Boomer and I are desperately trying to keep it from Tula. We're also trying to explain this to Peanut. That's the bad news.

In our attemps (so far successful- fingers crossed!) to keep our faithful big brother from his adored little sister, I've been sequestered in my room while Peanut keeps his run of the house. The downside is Peanut gets less of my time and attention. This is bad. Really bad. For one thing, I miss hanging out with my son. For another, Peanut has been breaking out quite the attitude. I thought I had a few more years, but let's face it, this is my kid we're dealing with.

After a week straight of time outs, temper tantrums, and my going hoarse from yelling, Peanut and I finally had a meeting of the minds today. I realized that the issue was a lack of attention on my part, and he realized that I seriously do not like punishing my son. Tonight went better after I took a few deep breaths and he actually listened to me. For five whole seconds. Beggars cannot be choosers.

I'm taking comfort in the fact that as bad as this has been, at least Peanut never took his bad mood out on his little sister. This could have been so much worse. I can deal with bad moods (mostly) but if Peanut raged against Tula, I don't know how I'd cope.

Right now, though, I'm hoping the worst of this cold is over. I want to hang out with my son again. I want to revel in the joys of both of my children. I want the preschooler mutiny to end so I can finally remind Peanut that he is not in charge. Boomer and I are. Repeat as necessary. And, most importantly, let my son teach his little sister some of his tricks. Some, not all.

Call me Mother of the Year.