in the trenches but staying amused.

Senor Onion and I had a pleasant morning together. We went to the library and found a bunch of fun books. We went to the grocery store; where he attempted to have a minor melt-down because I wouldn't let him hold the olive oil because it was in a glass bottle But he was soon calmed. And I breathed.
It ended up being a bit of a theme through-out the day. He would try and push things nearly to the point of me wanting to scream. I did a lot of breathing. And threatening.
I was vacuuming. He wanted to help. Bless him. I should also mention I HATE our vacuum cleaner. It is on its last legs, so it is somewhat useless and fragile. Hoovering about is always irritating. Then when you have a two year old trying to guide the damn thing, it drives a person even crazier and takes even longer to clean up all the motherfucking crumbs that accumulate with the presence of children. I wasn't sure who I was more irritated with, him or the motherfucking vacuum cleaner from hell. I really want to set that vacuum on fire and then shove it into traffic. When I was trying to tidy up the paper and crayons so we could eat at the table. He became royally pissed. Even though I had warned him what was going to go on and why. Only a cruel Joan Crawford Mother would try and tidy up his Picasso-worthy pictures. (most of which are stop signs he has asked me to draw. He has a thing about them.) When I was prepping things for dinner he kept pushing his horsie into the back of my ankles. I would tell him to stop it and he wouldn't. Finally I looked at him and said, "If you keep doing that, Horsie is going to away for the rest of the day."
It stopped him.
For awhile.
Then when I was in the midst of doing the last things with dinner that involve hot melting cheese and ovens. (you know the fun dangerous stuff) He starts asking for me to hold him and sit on the sofa to read a book. I being the most neglectful Mother in the world (just ask him at certain times of day) said no. He of course was very upset with this news.
But I maintained cool. But lordy between 5pm and 6pm, that is definitely the witching hour for all. He isn't civilized and neither am I.
It is a lot of, breathing heavily through my nose, maybe slamming down pots and pans and now and then yelling. "for the love of GOD, just go into the living room for five freaking seconds. I will be with you in a moment. LET ME GET THIS DONE."
Somedays during that witching hour (like today) I just wanted to murder some bourbon. Of course I can't. My cocktail of choice these days is orange juice and sparkling water. Yes. I know. Super chic. There are those super brief moments where I think, "lordy, I almost long for my Great-Aunt/Grandma's era of doctors saying, "'have some wine every night to calm you down.' Those were the good ol' days." Hee. The cruel secret lives of pregnant women.
It isn't all doom and gloom and drudgery. He is a very good little boy. Much more well-behaved than he needs to be. And most days he is a peach. A true delight. I love him more than pie and I think he knows that. He knows I will always hold him when we are walking along the sidewalk and too many loud cars will scare him. I will give him three extra hugs before naps. And that I am will read him Hey Wake Up, two times in a row.
But I am pretty proud that I maintained my cool pretty well today.
I still want to destroy my vacuum cleaner.