Monday, December 11, 2006
Not a Good Day for the Mother-of-the-Year Committee to Stop By
Unless, of course, they're overwhelmed with candidates, in which case, come on in! I can help you cross one more name off the list, no problem!


Jacob is just being very extremely overwhelmingly two today. I find myself eying the various boxes we have around the house, to decide which is the best size to ship him off somewhere. Anywhere. As long as it's somewhere else.

He started the day with a sustained whine guaranteed to sharpen your teeth and lengthen your fingernails through sheer pitch and duration. Most days, when this is how he starts things, a change of scenery keeps us both sane, so I packed him up and we headed into my office. I decided to be a good soldier this year and take part in the office-wide Secret Santa cuteness, so I needed to drop off today's gift (five days of exchange, not to exceed $15 total... nothing like random cheap stuff to brighten the day and spread holiday cheer just as thin as it can go).

We got into the parking lot, and Jacob announced that he wanted to be carried. I parried with, "No, thanks, my hands are full." He came back with the quick and incisive, "NO." This little exchange ended with him, in all of his octopus-squirmy glory, being crammed back into his carseat and serenading me with a list of concise and pithy complaints while we returned home. Then he and I yelled at each other for a while, tantrums burned off, and we decided that we could try again.

The second trip to the office was vastly more successful, as measured both in actually-going-inside and in no-toddler-meltdowns. One of the customer service reps had a package of Halloween candy left in her desk, so Jacob was able to partake of - no, I'm not kidding - a gummy nose and a gummy ear. He didn't seem to understand why I did NOT want a bite, thankyouverymuch.

We went from there to the grocery store, where we stretched a quick trip into $150, but he behaved himself well enough that I didn't leave him in the freezer case. Then we got home to a new drone, this time of, "I want Diego Go yogurt. Diego Go. Diego Go. Diego Go." Stupid advertising, and stupid Mom for buying it, and stupid planet for not allowing for instantaneous transport from the dairy aisle to the kitchen table.

He got home, took precisely three bites of Diego Go, and decided he was done. Fine, then it's naptime. "It's NOT nap time." Oh, but it is, you short, loud, willful-but-powerless creature. He deigned to finish the yogurt, and then asked for a granola bar. Of which he took two bites and decided he was done. Fine, then it's nap time. This time he agreed, we got through the pre-nap story, and then he announced that he was ready to finish his bar.

It was at this moment that my patience evaporated. I'm all for choices and autonomy, but seriously. He's yelling at me from his bed now, and I'm rejoicing in my near-deafness.