I’m sure you’re wondering what’s been happening to me lately – I spend a good portion of the day making strange noises while I feverishly rub my eyes. You see me disappear upstairs in a hurry only to reappear with a puffy face and bright red glossy eyeballs. I can only imagine that from a child’s viewpoint, it looks like an ungodly Hulk-like metamorphosis that at any instant will cause my head to crack open only to have some mythical creature emerge. Sadly, I wish it was some awesome earth shattering event but I’m afraid it’s just allergy season. In any other household this may not be a big deal but when you have two parents who suffer miserably, you’re going to take notice. Unfortunately, I hear it is genetic so have fun with this one.
I’m extremely agitated this time of year because of allergies so my patience level is nil. I struggle with patience to begin with so add all the other allergy crap on top, you’re going to have an angry Mom and I’m sure you’re aware. You do a great deal of what I call, “roundabout talking” that drives me absolutely crazy. You typically like to do this while in the backseat as we’re barreling down the freeway. Olivia: “Where are my headphones?” Me: “I don’t know, sweetheart. Are they on the seat next to you?” Olivia: “I don’t know. Hurry up and find them – I need my headphones.” Me: “I can’t look for them, I’m driving.” Olivia: “But I need them. Where are my headphones? HEADPHONES! Where are my HEADPHONES!!” I turn around, while driving, just to see if I can catch a quick glimpse of them just to put an urgent halt to this conversation. Me: “Olivia, for crying out loud – they are in your hand!” Olivia: “Oh. I don’t want my headphones.” Me: “You don’t want your headphones? The headphones you’ve been inquiring about for ten minutes – now you don’t want them?” Olivia: “No. No I don’t.” And there is one piece of evidence as to why your Mother drove off a cliff twenty years from now.
I find the mind of a preschooler to be quite interesting. You bring up topics of discussion that are quite curious for a three year old’s thinking. I often find myself rather confused when I’m engaging in conversation with you because the questions you ask are so random. Case in point, I found myself in a lengthy conversation with you at the dinner table as to why it is inappropriate to buy a human being. You seemed rather confused and a little upset at the notion that it was never ok to buy a person. Now, in the fascinating mind of a three year old, I would like to know when and why the suggestion of buying a human being entered your brain. I know they’re not talking about trafficking on Dora and Diego, or are they?? Is there some weird subliminal shit going down at Nickelodeon that parents are not aware of?? Yes, I will repeat it again. No, you cannot buy or own a human being. End of story.
I have been warned on numerous occasions that three year olds are worse than two year olds. I remember thinking how this could even be remotely possible. Unless my child actually turned in to a demon, I don’t see how it could get worse. It’s funny how children can challenge those thoughts. Three year olds are a much bigger different beast than a two year old. A two year old doesn’t communicate very well so there are a lot of dramatic emotional melt downs. Three year olds are dangerous on a whole new level. They’re language has become frighteningly good. Their demands have gotten a little more detailed and sophisticated. They are fearless. You, my dear are fearless and give little care to repercussions. You are suddenly very defiant. You ask me if you can paint. I tell you no – we’re about to have dinner. This means nothing to you. You’ll ask another five times or so when suddenly you realize you’re not getting anywhere asking me so then you’ll just say – I’m just going to go paint. When you realize negotiations are not going quite in your favor, you just go for it anyways except I’m on you like white on rice so your attempts to undermine me fall short. You will ask repeatedly with the hopes that you can chisel away at my patience until I finally wave my white flag. Unfortunately for you, I’m just as stubborn. Looks like no painting for you.
We had a situation at your Preschool recently that involved your teacher expressing her concern that she didn’t think you were well – in her words, your energy level seemed to be off and she caught you attempting to nap in the playhouse outside. I know the real reason was because I sent you to school with green snot. Now, if I kept you home from school every time you had green snot, you would have missed 90% of the school year. You and every other child at that school has green snot – it’s like a medal of honor for attending preschool. I was actually quite taken back when she said your energy was low because you’re still bouncing off the walls at home. The napping in the playhouse sounds to me like you were bored – I’ve seen you do this at home. After talking with your Dad, we came to the conclusion that maybe you were still upset about your friend moving away because when we approached you about the things your teacher was bringing up, you replied that you were lonely. So I broached the subject to your teacher and she kind of brushed it off saying she didn’t think it was loneliness that you were in fact sick. Unfortunately, later in the same day, you developed pink eye. Whether everything was related, I’ll never know but pink eye is the worst. It’s goopy and gross and unavoidable as Miles learned. I quickly got you on eye drops and your doctor said you were free to go about your day-to-day activities. You were proudly declaring that you had pink eyes – “I HAVE PINK EYES – I LOVE PINK!!” Just what I want, you announcing to your teachers, who already think you’re sick, that you have pink eye. I asked you politely to not say anything and keep it just between us. You said ok. When I picked you up from school, I asked you if you told your teachers that you planted your sunflowers. You said, “No. I told them I had pink eye.” Great job.
I’m afraid I have caught far too many glimpses in to your future teenage/20 something years. You demand a taste of liquor when ever a bottle is popped open, you lift your shirt up while dancing while rubbing your belly and you straight up pissed on the bocce court we were playing on. I’m quite certain this is a synopsis of a “Girls Gone Wild” episode. I’m not quite sure what to make of my children when you’re doing this and Miles is playing three different women in the near vicinity of our table when we’re dining out. You two are little disgusting party animals with an appetite for love and destruction. Thankfully you’re not dry humping stranger’s legs or we might have far more serious issues. People say children imitate their parents and I can attest that I have not exhibited this behavior in your presence. Yes, I’m 99% sure I have not exhibited this behavior in your company. Vulgar language doesn’t count.