Raising small children isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.  But it can be very easy to idealize that time when they are little…so innocent and trusting;  it is the time of handholding, bedtime stories, tricycles and parks, wagon rides, popsicles and hide and seek–precious indeed.  My kids are always asleep by 8:30pm, little mouths open and hair plastered to their sweaty foreheads.  I sneak into their rooms and smell the air, and watch them as they dream.  Sometimes I even lie on the floor next to the toddler bed and just listen.  Such peace and purity.  My husband and I look at our children and dread the day that they move out from under our roof and join the world at large.  Maybe we can convince them to go to college nearby.  Maybe they’ll still come over for dinners once a week.  Right now we are eachothers’ everything.  But those days won’t last.  Just to give myself a little perspective I have decided to write about what happened this morning.  If I get too misty, I’ll just come back and read this.

This morning was shitty .  Quite literally.  My oldest was bein’ a NUT from the moment she came down the stairs.  When she gets that nutty, we always tell her to “Go Poop!”  Man does she get mean when nature calls.  Quite literally we spent an hour and a half telling her over and over to GO POOP!

“I don’t have to!!” was the vehement response.  Stomping feet, angry face, furious tears.  What the HELL, we wondered, is her problem??

Later in the morning she and her brother were wrestling on our bed, and she was sitting on him when she SHOVED her face into his.  He asked her to stop.  She wouldn’t.  So he obviously put both his hands on her face to push it away.  And here’s the remarkable part.  “STOP PUSHING ME!!!!” shouted my oldest as she thrust her full body weight, via her face, onto her brothers hands.

Sigh.  Needless to say, I did mention to her that he was only pushing her because she was pushing him.  I explained the obvious: that he was trying to stop her from irreparably joining them at the forehead.  I peeled her off her brother and put her on the floor where she continued to flail like a possessed flamingo.  I grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her, kneeled down and asked her, “What is WRONG???”

“Nothing is wrong Mom, I was just mad because he was pushing my face away.”  Huh.  “Do you have to poop, kiddo?”  “No!!  I already told you no!!!!”

Fast forward.  About to go out the door.  “Hold on, Mom, I’ll be right back!!!”  Turns out she did have to poop.  All said and done the event took like 20 minutes.  Antibiotics can do a number on a little tummy.  It wasn’t that awesome.  So when I am the bewildered mother of the door-slamming, weepy and hormonal teenager I can remember that every stage has its challenges.  The little cherubic kindergartner can be absolutely maddening.  She totally had to poop.



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