I have been going a little nuts lately with Little Man. That's putting in mildly actually. I don't know what's going on with him. He is 2 1/2, and I know that alone explains a lot. Right now, for example, as I type, he is watching George. George just ate popcorn. So Little Man starts whining, "I want pah-corn! pah-corn! pah-corn!" Well, first of all, it's breakfast time. Second of all, even if I decided it would be fine to have "pa-corn", I don't have any! So I am trying to explain this to him. And he doesn't get it. Finally, after a few minutes of repeating myself, trying to stay calm, and engage him in conversation over other foods he can have, he has settled for a piece of toast and a bowl of dry Kix... for now. But this sort of thing goes on ALLLLLLLLL day. No joke. I can't seem to make him happy. I don't jump fast enough. I talk in such a silly sing-song voice to him, that I make myself sick, but it's because I'm trying to anticipate his reaction. I try to stay one step ahead of him all the time, but I can't always do that. I try to plan things we will do through out the day, but if I talk about anything, he thinks I mean right then, and the crying begins again. He rides awful. He hates crowds. He can open AND unlock the door and goes outside ALL the time when I don't want him to. He goes behind me all day, making new messes of the mess I just cleaned up. He climbs, jumps, throws, you name it. I have to add that of course, he plays, laughs, snuggles, eats well, and makes ME laugh a lot. But the balance is all off. I spend more time saying No please, get down, don't throw that, be careful, come back here, put that back, listen to me, I'm going to take that from you, give that back, do you hear me? what did I say?????!!!!!!!
I'm pulling out my hair. Screaming on the inside. Biting my tongue. Forcing the smiles. ALL DAY.
The DiSH is working now, and I am soo happy about that, and we definitely feel blessed. But the hours are so different from anything we've ever done, and I'm the one that can't seem to adjust. He works three 13-hour shifts, 9am-10pm. It's a half hour away, so that means 14 hours gone. He has worked the last 4 Saturdays, and that is new too. All my days seem to melt into each other. The other four days, he has been keeping busy with putting on new roofs for people, working on porches, putting in new garage doors, and building sheds. He's home for supper and for the evenings, but is exhausted. I have never wished more than now, that I had an outside job, even if for only a few hours a week. I NEVER get away. B.Y. M.Y.S.E.L.F. NEVER. And it's beginning to really wear me down. I am thankful my older two are home, but I also feel guilty "pawning" LM off on them.
So anyway, I'm whining, I know. But it's my