JR wakes up smiling and happy. "Mommy, I love you." "Daddy, I love you." We get dressed (much discussion of which shirt to wear; the one with the football player, the one with the truck or the one with the superhero on it). We go downstairs to eat our cereal. If there is any time left before our departure (me for work, JR for preschool), he gets to watch TV while I gather up the detritus that accompanies us everywhere.
Then the fun starts. JR doesn't want to wear the black VANS sneakers, he wants to wear his "light-up sneakers", which are now a half-size too small. He doesn't want to wear a jacket. "I'll wear my hat. That will keep my whole body warm." He doesn't want to walk, he wants to ride in the stroller. As his volume increases, my stress level ratchets up. How do I not give in to the temper tantrum when I really need to keep to the schedule so that I can arrive at work on time (otherwise, I don't work enough hours to be able to leave work on time to meet the preschool's rigid 5:30 p.m. pickup schedule)? How do I remain the calm, loving mother and not turn into "Mean Mommy"? Why oh why, when I purchased the SUV of strollers, did I not factor in how heavy it would be to push when loaded down with a 40 lb. 4-year-old?
There he is, all 40 lbs., tears streaming down his face, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor. "Stroller, Mommy, stroller. I can't walk. I need to sit. My legs don't work."
"My legs don't work." Someday this will be funny, right?
lots and lots of sourdough–my routine
1 week ago