But WHY, Mommy?!?

Argh.  I was just sitting here thinking about the probable number of times that the Munchkin has asked me "why" just in this past week alone.

I think I'm safe at rounding it out to, oh, 19,476 times.

And you think I'm exaggerating.  (Okay, maybe *just* a little.)

In all my years of teaching preschool, preceeded by volunteer work (and actual PAID work!) in Special Education for the local public school district... NEVER have I encountered a child that is so fascinated by language, especially at this young an age.

He's only 2 1/2 (okay... a LITTLE more than that - he'll be 3 at the end of November), for pete's sake!

I honestly cannot think of a single word that he connot pronounce correctly.  Of course, he still has *his* names for certain things... like Pop-Tarts.  Oh NO, they are NOT Pop-Tarts, Mom.  They are "toasty pops."  Silly boy.  I guess it makes sense when you think about it... they go in the toaster, and then 'pop' out.  I get it.  It's just cute.

But the most maddening thing by far?  This WHY tirade!  I have never been bombarded by a slew if 47 "Why"s in one sitting from a 2 year old before this child entered my life.  And the greatest part is?  HE. KNOWS. IT. ANNOYS. ME.  He'll start supressing a giggle about 5 or 6 "why"s into the conversation.  But does it stop?  NEVER!!!

For instance, one day I made a comment about a photo being taken "before you were born."  The response?  "Yes, I *was* born."

Well, yeah... that's why you're here.  But, ohhh no... it didn't end there.

"WHY was I born?"   Ummm... LOL

"Because Mommy & Daddy decided that they wanted a special little boy, just like you, to love and take care of."  Nice save there, huh?  Not nice enough for him.

"But WHY?"  Eek.

"Because we loved each other SO much, that we wanted to share that love with you, too."

A pause, as he contemplated this fact.

"You love Gia.  Gia was here before I was born."

*smacks forehead*

You see, Greyson has a *total* understanding of the fact that MY mom = HIS Gia (grandma).  It doesn't phase him one itsy, tiny bit knowing that I was once a baby, and that Gia shares 2 roles.  I will make a comment to DH about "Mom," and Greyson immediately chimes in with, "Gia?"

He *is* having a slight bit of difficulty when it comes to the concept that Gia was once a baby, too... even though he knows that Gia's mommy was *my* grandma.  Eh.  He's only 2.

The other night, we were looking through a box of photos that my grandma had, that I have now kinda inherited, since she passed away in October 2004.  There were, of course, plenty of photos of me, taken anywhere from infancy through high school.

After flipping through and minutely studying each and every one, he spoke up:

"You know what, Mommy?  I LIKE you as a baby."

"Gee thanks, kiddo.  What about liking me as your Mommy?"

"You got big."

LOVE the logic on THAT one, there, little one.  And I love you even more for having the un-jaded ability to speak so freely.  =)

The Dark Side of Diabetes

Apparently, last night's tirade was completely unbeknownst to MetalliDad.

This isn't the first time that's happened... where later, upon being confronted by things he has said or done... ALWAYS mean, hateful things... he has given me this *look*, and been totally clueless at to what happened, what was said, and especially WHY.

I've had it.  While part of me says, "Hey, at least it wasn't a CONCIOUS attempt to be the biggest asshole on the planet!" - another part thinks it's even scarier.  And a little worse, maybe.

So, a little history here.  Shortly after I was in the hospital in July 2007, I wound up taking MetalliDad into the ER because of *nasty* sores on his feet that, with me having worked in surgery at a podiatrist's office... had me almost gagging.  There was an obvious infection going, and it had started making his right leg swell.

He was diagnosed with diabetes... and his blood sugar was a whopping 380mg/l.  Whereas the diagnosis wasn't really a surprise to me (both his parents were diabetic), how he wasn't in a coma from the sugar levels being so high, I STILL don't understand.  He felt *fine* other than the foot pain.  Eek.

Anyhow... this past May was the first time that he had been made aware of MANY just plain *ugly* things he had said or done.  And he had no idea.  Pending the insurance fiasco getting itself worked out... he agreed (and actually suggested *himself*) that he would look into if a doctor felt he needed medication for this apparent "mood disorder."  Especially since, according to him, his father became extremely mean for the last few years before he died.

June, he woke up, and essentially laid into me without provokation.  It was UGLY, and I felt like I had been slapped by every word that had come out of his mouth.

Last night, it was the same... except that this time, it had a shadow of violence beyond just the words he used.  He wound up yanking my arm in an attempt to snatch the tv remote from my hand, and then proceeded to fastball it at me as I tried to leave the room.  I'm amazed that it is still in one piece after the impact it made with the dresser as it whizzed past my side.

This morning when he got up for work, everything was normal.  He leaned over to give me a kiss goodbye, asked if we were still planning on going to the optometrist after he got home, and went on his merry way.  He called on his way home from work, and was pleasant, had no problem with the fact that I honestly was in a bit too much pain to feel like dealing with the eye doctor, and ended the call with an "I love you."

So, after dinner, when the subject hadn't yet been breached (and I was doubly depressed from what *should* have been a fantastic dinner gone-wrong), I brought up the fact that, after last night, I was done.  He needed to make an appointment with his doctor for the sole purpose of figuring out WHAT THE HELL HIS PROBLEM WAS.

His response?  "Why?  Last night again??"

I was... dumbfounded.  How could this man become Mr. Hyde without his being aware of the fact?  What the hell was wrong?  Could it even be fixed?  SHIT.

So, off I went to the internet before soaking all my pains away in a hot bath (or at least trying to).  And, lo and behold, I find this:

Apparently, there is strong research that shows that blood sugars of 70mg/l and lower can result in anger, violence, etc... and a high probability if being unaware of the behavior.

Nice.

Now, we may be on to something.  But what to DO about it?  Do I make sure he eats a little something before going to bed, in order to elevate his sugars throughout the night?  Do we suggest to the doctor that his evening dose of medications be lowered in order to correct this problem?  Do we *still* bring up and advocate for a mood stabilizer?!

While I am slightly relieved at this information, I am also just as frustrated.  It's great if I can pinpoint what is causing the problem... but in the end, it still doesn't take away the fact that I have been driven into the ground by his words while he spit insults and attacks on my grave.  *sigh*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To top it all off, Greyson had another night from HELL.  And this time, it was worse than last night.

While trying to get him to even *lay down* - he told me to "leave him the fuck alone."

Obviously, he was well aware of what was being screamed at me the previous night and chose to use this phrase to punctuate his OWN speech.  Fabulous.

He got his very first - and hopefully, his very last - pop on the cheek.  I know.  I feel horrible about it... but ya know, when you have your *2 year old* flinging such a horrible statement at you... Well, hell.  I regret that it happened, but it could have been worse.  I don't think I have been angrier at him than at that point in time.

He didn't fall asleep until almost 1am.  I'm exhausted... from every possible angle, and in every definition of the term.  I feel like I've been torn from the line, and left lying in the mud.  Something *has* to change... and I don't know where to start.

Well, I know where, but even from that point... I have the feeling I am on a long, winding road.

I love my husband.  I have forgiven a BIG mistake, and am not about to throw away the second chance that I have given him without benefit of the doubt - and intervention.

I adore my son.  But honestly?  He has just had too much fun pushing every. last. button. the last few days.

I have already been diagnosed with depression, panic disorder, and anxiety disorder.  I have chronic pain.  My migraines are returning from the vacation they took back when I was pregnant (which, while I admit was a NICE long trip, I was really hoping that they would *love* it so much, they wouldn't come back!).

How much more can I take?  I haven't been feeling like I have any support (besides from some of you LOVELY ladies that read and post comments here!  THANK YOU - more than you will ever know!), and my well is running dry.

It seems that with every up, I am shoved down further than before.  I am *really* trying to look for that silver lining, but lately... it's been a pretty torrential storm.

Rainbows *are* real, right?  Anyone care to send a little sunshine my way?

What to do...

I have had one of the *worst* days in a LONG time. 

I woke up this morning with my back simply screaming at me, and I wasn't able to turn my head to the left AT ALL or shrug my left shoulder...

Greyson woke complaining of a headache, and barely touched his breakfast OR lunch... he didn't want to do much other than lie in bed and watch cartoons...

We got in a decent nap, but he was just kinda "off" all evening - still not too hungry, clingy, and a tad on the whiny side.  Which isn't normal "him" stuff... plus, he felt a little warm - so I chose the safe route and gave him some Tylenol.

Now, for when things get *really* ugly.

Bedtime rolls around, the hubby's already hanging out in bed watching WWE when Grey & I come downstairs.  No biggie.  Greyson starts up his usual "nightowl craziness" (so at least SOMETHING helped him feel a LITTLE better - LOL).  But then Ralph started to fall asleep, so I got Greyson into his bed, etc etc.

He was *squirrel central*.  The child would NOT lie still, would NOT stop talking, just plain was antsy and goofy.  So finally?  I told him I was going to lie down, because honestly, it was bringing me almost to tears sitting there with him because of the pain all day.

And he SWORE at me, under his breath.  This has been going on for the last week or so, where he'll mutter "Damnit" in response to something that just apparently PISSES. HIM. OFF.

And I had had it.  I told him that the next time I heard that come out of his mouth, that there was going to be some soap in there to replace it.  End of story.  You may NOT say words like that.

Then, in an expansion of my frustration... I changed the channel.  GOD FORBID.

Cue the MAN:  What are you doing?!
Me:  I didn't feel like staring at wrestling while you slept.
Him:  I wasn't sleeping.  How the hell can I sleep when you're YELLING AT GREYSON EVERY TWO SECONDS?!

Umm... yeah.  Okay.  At this point, he had been asleep, off and on, for about 30 minutes.  But denied it.  Like usual.  No surprise there.

However, he then proceeded to GRAB the remote out of my LEFT hand (yes, the one connected to the f'ed up shoulder) and grabbed my hand with it.  OUCH.

More words flew, and it ended in him THROWING THE REMOTE *AT* ME and demanding that I "go the fuck upstairs *before* I pissed him off."  Ummm... does anyone see a problem with this statement?

Yes, I admit - that came after I called him an asshole.  But?  I call it like I see it.  There have been a lot of shithole situations in the recent past, and one BIG thing that's standing out in my head (especially now) is that HE made a promise that HE has yet to fulfill... and there is no longer anything preventing him from doing so.  And honestly?  It pisses me off... but more so, IT HURTS.

I feel downright UGLY right now.  I just came back up from getting Greyson to sleep... because when I went back down to check on him... ONE was snoring, and the other?  Well, let's just say he was hanging out watching Adult Swim.  At 11 pm.  Nice.

So, I was told to GET OUT, but then also apparently the responsibility of getting the little man to sleep?  STILL MY JOB.  FROM UPSTAIRS?  Hmm.  I don't get it.

It took me 45 minutes of finding new batteries for his "moon light," getting him some milk, curling up with him IN THE TODDLER BED, and back rubbing before he finally decided to call it a night.

Now, here I am.  Angry, saddened, depressed, confused, in physical, mental, and emotional pain... wondering where the HELL it all came from.  Well, knowing where it came from... but what started it.

It's one of those times where if Grey weren't around... I think I'd run away.  Really.  He keeps me here a LOT...  and I've expressed that before.  I just don't know if it's really sunk in.

Here's to wishing me SOME sleep... though right now, I don't know if I can handle climbing into my own bed.  *sigh*  I might be looking at a 4am bedtime after DH leaves for work... ugh.

Greyson does NOT like rhinos...

As he *bluntly* announced today at the zoo.

Everything else, though! Eee! What fun. LOL

I am completely bummed because Brookfield Zoo had to go and take out the friggin' FROG statue before you get to the North gate... and so, um, we *totally* did NOT meet up with the people we were supposed to meet up with. Because seriously, NO FROG.

Oh. And the fact that we were running a bit late and I couldn't find where the hell I wrote down their cell numbers. *smack*

But! We had a great time with Greyson's friend Hunter, and his mom & grandma (who was visiting from NY). I think I got more sun today than I have almost all summer... and I LOVED every minute of it.

Boo hissssss at the STILL long lines at the Stingray Bay... I didn't get to touch the little bastards AGAIN this year, because, well... 45 minutes to wait in line? Umm, I don't think so. Not with a 2-year-old.

I thoroughly scared my husband by informing him that the Wolf Spider that they had displayed in the Swamp exhibit... yeah. They live in our yard, too. He has now proclaimed that he is NOT mowing the lawn ANYMORE. Big baby.

Anyways, a great time was had by all (well, except for the spider reveal, oh! And the fact that we also have stick bugs... ROFL!), and this year, Greyson didn't scream when the waves came crashing down in The Living Coast! Hooray! We was SO enamored with every single underwater creature... he is going to have a BLAST when we take him to Shedd next month (September 15th? Anybody? It's a FREE day!)...

What did YOU do today? Anything fun?!?

Eating on the Run...

This is Greyson's favorite method of consumption. Apparently, it is WAY too much to ask that his jaws work without his little legs simultaneously running around the room.

And once he sits down again? Yep, he stares at the food, only to cave and take another bite... and those legs start twitching again until he slips out of his chair before we can tell him to stop.

I'm thinking there might be some wiring loose somewhere... ya know, like there's a short making him have to be physically MOVING in order to get the food going.

But then. that doesn't explain why he eats an approximate 3.5847395734 times more food WHILE AT THE GROCERY STORE than he *ever* eats at home. Literally, he will REFUSE breakfast if he knows that we are headed out shopping afterwards. We have resorted to *spelling* a LOT of things around here... and even then? He usually knows what we're talking about. Damn you, Super Why!!

Does anyone else have a child that has an INSTANT metabolism - to the point where the second the food hits their tongue, it's converted into MAD energy? *sigh* Because I do. Ugh.

If These Walls Could Talk...

They would apparently say some pretty creepy things.  Well, at least according to Greyson.

Tonight I *finally* got a real answer out of him as to why he doesn't want to sleep in his own bed, and why it's like torture trying to make him do it.

The walls by his bed are scary... oh, and his pillow gets too cold.  ROFL

Now, let me explain.  The walls in the basement pseudo-apartment where we live are  about 2/3 wood paneling on 2 walls, and 100% paneling on the other 2, in each room.  Not the cheap stuff - like dark stained cedar or something.  That has random "knots" in the wood all over the place, that the depth of the stain has turned black.

Apparently, Greyson is seeing faces in the patterning on the wood.  He had already pointed out to me that there is a "little boy" in the markings left from stripping the old wallpaper down (Which of course, I *still* haven't primed over to paint)... and now the "wall by his big-boy bed is scary.  It looks at him."  Sheesh.

So, I made a compromise.  I told him that we could go to the store, and he could pick out some fabric that I would drape on that wall so he couldn't see anything scary anymore, and that nothing would be able to "look at him" lying in his bed.  I also offered up to make a snuggly pillow/pillowcase from the same fabric since he said his pillow gets too cold (it's a cotton cover, and it *does* stay pretty chilly... I'd LIKE it.  Hmm.)

And that was that.  He fully agreed that if he couldn't see the wall, then it couldn't *see* him... and then he would try the "big-boy bed" again.

Now just to make sure that an entire wall of the bedroom isn't covered in Incredible Hulk fabric or something... ugh.

My Forever Baby

After coming home from the Wake, MetalliDad had fallen asleep, while my little monkey was, of course, still awake... standing on a pile of pillows looking at me over the baby gate and through the curtains that make up our "bedroom door."

After changing out of my "pretty clothes" and into something a *bit* more suitable for sleep (HA!), I climbed into bed and invited Grey for a snuggle while trying to wind him down a bit before sleep.

"C'mere, big boy."

"I am NOT a big boy.  I am a BABY."  His definitive tone on this subject has simply become stronger and stronger, and it, of course, has left me simply finding ways to stress to him how proud I am of him and all he can do... and why that means he isn't a baby anymore.  Logical, right?

"But honey, babies can't drink from cups like Mommy & Daddy do, or eat pizza, or ride bikes, or jump, or anything fun like that!  You are *such* a big boy."

"But I *want* to be a baby, Mommy.  I don't want to be a big boy."  The light simply faded from his normally radiant brown eyes.  What had made my child so utterly saddened by the prospect of growing up?

"Greyson, does it make you sad to not be a baby?"  A little nod, then a return of his head to my chest.  "Why?  Why do you wish you were a baby?"

And in the tiniest of voices, "Babies are better."

And as I swept him into my arms, I could not help but wonder just what it was that had told him that nonsense.  Of course, the joy of a new baby brings untold and unexplainable wonder to life... but watching that child grow along their own glorious, independent, awe-inspiring paths is a music unsung.  My son is my GIFT.

I began to tell him that no matter how big he gets, or what he can do, he will always be *my* baby.  That nothing could ever replace him and make him any less special than he always has been.  That I was *proud* of him for being the best big boy EVER. 

And he wrapped his little arms around my neck, and squeezed tight... whispering right into my ear, "I love you, too, Mommy.  You will always be my Mommy."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After he fell asleep, I decided that, for him to read someday, I would (try to) put down in words what exactly he means to me.

I leave you with what came pouring out:

Oh, my sweet boy~

If you only knew how carefully I hug you for fear that I might accidentally crush you into a fine, fine dust from the strength of my love alone!  How could I ever make you understand?  I would join forces with the moon and overthrow the sun for you.  I would carry a big rock on my back across the widest desert for you.  I would tame the biggest dinosaur if only for you to study it's skin.  I would brave the roughest seas to find a calm shore for you to swim.  I would learn how to harnessstorm clouds for you, so you'd never miss another sunny day.  I would wrestle crocodiles with the big, big teeth.  Then I’d do a funny dance - if it would make you smile.  I would hire an airplane to write in big white smoke letters across the blue blue sky: “Mommy loves you, Munchkin.”  

I would build you your very own playground out of moon rocks and music notes.  It would be on a big green hill in a land from somewhere, anywhere in your mind, where there were no such things as sickness, pain or old age.  There would be parades around it every single day with fireworks and ice cream trucks, and the tallest slides you could ever come flying down with your hair all excited around your smiling face.  Greyson, I will hold your hand through the world’s biggest parking lots and across the widest of streets.  I would leap in front of cars for you.  I would brave the meanest pirate ships for you.  I would stay up all night and count the sky’s stars for you - and give you the brightest one.
But this above all.

I will be your personal pioneer and go out ahead to conquer Death for you - if only to explore, uncover, and investigate everything to make sure it’s cool - but don’t worry.  I will come rushing back to life in your heart and mind, and whisper all of Death’s secrets in your trembling ear. Just use your soul, because that’s where your Mommy will ALWAYS live.  Remember to be still and listen with your whole self.  Even when you are a very old man and you are in your very last bed, you won’t need to be afraid.  Just close your eyes.  I will be there.  I promise.  I’ll open my arms so wide.  Just listen very closely with everything you can muster and you’ll be able to hear me say through those veils of misty silver…
 
You are *still* my forever baby... and I love you.
 

So we got rained out...

At the beach.  Which was fine anyways, since Greyson only lasted about 10 minutes in the water... he started kicking and splashing - and then the water started "fighting back."  The waves were knocking him down repeatedly, and it just plain freaked him out and pissed him off!  So, the slight drizzle that started when we got there - which rather quickly turned into a slight *downpour* -didn't ruin our attempt, at least!

My mom *did* get a couple pictures... but apparently she is one of the worst photographers ever created.  By the look of the pictures, I'm amazed that I have so many good ones of *me* from childhood!!  But then again, I think my dad handled the photography back then.

I'm going to try to edit some of them later on to see if they are salvagable, and if they are, they will be here...  *if* they are.  =P

Luckliy, we did manage to get in lunch at "Dockside Dogs" prior to the actual "water" experience of the beach, and Greyson managed to eat some *not* cut-up hot dog, which amazed me, seeing as though, well, 2-year old.  And of course, I was watching like a hawk since it was a hot dog and all.

He says he had fun, even though he was scared, and that he's willing to try again another time.  Which is great... he's actually been *very* willing to try new things, and even give them a try a second time around if the first shot wasn't all he thought it would be.  Which means he actually may be learning that different tries means different outcomes, etc.  I'm so proud of all that he has accomplished even in just the last 6 months or so.

One thing that has amazed me is that I know a number of psychologists, namely child / school psychologists... and every single one has been amazed at how young he is compared to all he can do.  I've heard the comment more than once about how he talks more and has a better vocabulary than most of the kindergarteners they work with.  Which, well, WOW.  I know my kid talks up a storm, but that puts him way above the cut. 

I have a feeling he will be following a *bit* in my footsteps... =)  I just hope that he isn't plagued with the INCESSANT perfectionism that I had while younger.  Yikes.

Our afternoon adventure

For today is a beach outing... 

Greyson has never been to Lake Michigan as of yet, so it should be interesting to see exactly what he thinks about "unboundaried water" - as opposed to all the pools he has been in.  On the swimming pool level, he LOVES it, so we shall see.

We're actually going to be eating lunch down there, as well, as there really are some great eateries on the beach from nice, sit down to the glorified hot dog stand... At least I know that there will be a selection!

I'm hoping to get some pics this afternoon... as long as he doesn't become a monkey and hang all over me trying to escape the *freed water.* =P

His Stomach is the Size of a GRAPE...

Or so you would think most days. 

Greyson is the *champion* at eating next-to-NOTHING... and yet, still manages to run around like a rabid monkey.  And grow to insane heights... I'm 5'11" and the top of his head is darn near at my waist already.  Sheesh.

Anyone else encountering this with their little one?  It just does *not* make one ounce of sense to me how he can achieve this...

Happy Fourth...

Though now it's really the fifth. Hmm. Anyhow!

I hope everyone had a fun-filled, safe, and happy one. My day started pretty early, as I had grocery shopping to handle... yeah, *that* was fun on a holiday. Yikes!

We grilled up some *tasty* burgers and cheddarwurst, threw together some fresh salad (does anyone else know a 2 year old that LOVES salad? I mean, my kid would eat salad before CHOCOLATE... well, maybe not chocolate... LOL) and chowed. Good eatin!

We headed out to Gurnee for their fireworks, because my mom had read that Waukegan did theirs *last* week. Come to find out from a few people after the fact tonight that NO, they had fireworks tonight. WTF?! Oh well, regardless, it was a great spectacle, and Greyson thoroughly enjoyed himself... especially since we went for ice cream afterwards! =P

Shortly after consuming the *entire* cone... he gave me a bit of lip about not wanting pajamas, just jammie shorts so he could keep on his "skull guitars" shirt - he passed out with his head on my arm. Sleepy boy! At least I'm pretty much guaranteed that he will *not* be waking up before 8am tomorrow (today?! It's not Saturday until I sleep at least a *little* damnit) like he did this morning. Shame on him... didn't he get the memo that it was a holiday?!?

On a bit of a side note, a great friend of mine posted on her blog (Vanity & Sin) that her brother is getting ready to come home from Iraq. I couldn't be happier! Especially to find that out today of all days. I was just commenting earlier in the day that I was glad to see our neighbor's son home this 4th, seeing as though he is 4 years younger than me, and had already spent I *think* 2 years over in Iraq... so it was nice to know he was home with his family on this day that basically, besides celebrating our country's initial independance, also *kinda* celebrates our troops. They are the ones fighting for us... even if their directives aren't exactly agreeable with me at all times.

But that's an ENTIRELY different post. Do NOT get me started on anything political if you have somewhere to be, oh, in the following 3 *hours* or so. Because, boy oh BOY, I am definitely opinionated on that subject. Sheesh.

Ooh, or religion. That's another doozy. LOL

I digress... if you are reading this, then odds are in your favor that you are home, safe and sound... and that's what I had hoped. =) Have a great rest of your weekend!

My Two-Year-Old Son is Channeling

A 13-year-old premenstrual girl suffering from her first heartbreak. Can anyone tell me *why*?

For the last two days or so, he has had a *serious* meltdown over everything I say, everything I do, and everything that just plain looks at him wrong. Honest.

"Greyson, please don't stand on a pile of pillows to reach the *unreachable* DVDs." Meltdown.
"Honey, would you like some smiley face potatoes?" Meltdown.
"There is a rabid snake climbing up your leg and injecting you with molten lava!" Meltdown. Okay, I haven't said *that* to him, but from his reactions to normal, everyday things lately - I may has well have.

Is it just because he's 2 1/2? Or is there something *else* going on that he just can't quite put words to? Mind you, he is one of *the* most vocal youngsters I have ever encountered, even in all my years of teaching early childhood - but it just hasn't been explainable beyond "Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Leave me alone! Don't touch me! You can't see me! (when he's doing something he shouldn't) Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" And believe me, the transcription is *much* more pleasant than the live version.

We have been through the entire list of "Does ____ hurt?" and every answer has been an emphatic no. I thought *maybe* his tummy was bugging him, since he actually woke early this morning just to go #2, and gave him some acidophilus tablets... so that's not it, either. It just seems like he *really* wants to left to his own devices, as nefarious as they are, and for me to turn a blind eye to EVERYTHING he does. Because really, it's OKAY to do that with an imaginitave 2-year-old boy with a penchant for technology. YIKES.

I'm glad tomorrow is a holiday. Because that means that the OTHER parent can help me fend off some of these Xanax-inducing spells. *sigh*