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.