The Language of Sean

Sean: Mommy, I green!

Me: You mean you have the green light saber?

Sean: Yes!

***

Sean: Mommy, I ungry!  I want juice!

Me: You’re thirsty?

Sean: I irsty!  I want juice!

Me: Please may I have juice?

Sean: Yes!

Me: No, you have to say it.  Pease may I . . . .?

Sean: Give me juice!

Me: Please may I have juice?

Sean: Yes!

I think we’ll be here for a while.

***

Sean: All done!  Get down!

Grandma: Good eating, Sean.  Now what do you say?

Sean: Get down now!

Grandma: No, we say “Please may I be excused from the table.”

Sean: Yes!

Grandma: Please may I . . .

Sean: (in an adorable high-pitched voice) Be excused from table!

Grandma: You have to say “Please may I.”

Sean: Be excused from table!

Grandma: Please?

Sean: Please be excused from table!

Grandma:  That’s my boy!

Of course, Papi and I are barely keeping the laughter in during the whole conversation.

Valentine Crafts for Kids, Preschoolers and Toddlers, Part 2

Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, and my blog is being slammed by people looking for Valentine crafts.  (And some of them started right after Christmas!  Who are you highly organized, far-seeing people?!  I’m not worthy of you!)  I just couldn’t do the same old crafts, so I scoured the internet, racked my brain for some interesting crafts.  Zeemaid actually sent me this cool link about making a clay pendant, but I never went to get the clay.  Mommy fail.  But I hope you enjoy the other crafts.  Keep in mind that the younger the child, the more work you need to do to help the child; while older children will be able to do more of the craft than I plan for.  My sons are two and four when they did these crafts. 

If you’re looking for more Valentine’s Day Crafts, check out my other post.

Heart Lawn

(Nothing says love like grass, right?  Ok, you figure out how to grow roses from a sponge.  The boys LOVED dumping the grass seed on the sponges.  They are waiting anxiously for the grass to grow.  You can change the shape of the sponge to use any time.)

Things you need:

• Sponge
• Marker
• Heart-shaped cookie cutter
• Scissors
• Water
• Plate
• Grass seed
• Plastic wrap

Use the heart-shape cookie cutter to trace a heart on the sponge.  Cut out the heart.  Wet the sponge to make it damp.  Have the child pour grass seed onto the sponge.  You can use a bowl and spoon to make it less messy.  Cover the sponge with plastic wrap.  Check every few days to make sure the sponge is wet.  As soon as you see grass poking out, remove the plastic wrap.  In about two weeks, you should have a little grass lawn. 

Sewing Heart Magnets

( I modified a craft I did in Girl Scouts all those years ago to make it easier on the boys.  And a tad less feminine.  That’s really the problem with a lot of Valentine crafts.  The boys enjoyed “sewing,” and Evan creatively made more of a net instead of going around the heart.  It turned out great, so let your child experiment.  I used a four inch cookie cutter.)

Things you need:

• Red craft foam
• Heart-shaped cookie cutter
• Pen
• Scissors
• Hole punch
• Ribbon ( we used white)
• Tape
• Magnet
• Glue

You can buy pre-cut foam craft hearts, or you can make your own.  Trace a heart-shaped cookie cutter on the read foam.  Cut out the heart.  Hole punch around the heart.  For younger kids, make fewer holes.  Cut the piece of ribbon to two to three feet.  Tape the end to make it a needle, making it easier for younger children to sew with it.  Tape the other end on the back of the heart.  Have the child sew in and out of the holes.  (My son is two, and I held the heart so he could put it in the hole; then I turned it over, and he pulled the ribbon tight.)  After the child is done sewing, tape the end to the back.  For older children you can have the ends meet in the front in a bow.  Glue a magnet on the back.

3-D Heart Flowers

(I modified a Martha Stewart craft for this one.  I hope she doesn’t mind.  The boys thought it was really fun.  If you would like, have the child decorate the hearts before making the flower.)

Things you need:

• Red, pink or white construction paper
• Heart-shaped cookie cutter
• Pen
• Scissors
• Hole punch
• Pony bead
• Pipe cleaner

Trace the heart-shaped cookie cutter on the construction paper, making four to six hearts.  Cut out the hearts.  Hole punch the hearts at the tip of the heart.  Have the child thread the pony bead onto the pipe cleaner, leaving about an inch of pipe cleaner above the bead.  Bend the pipe cleaner down and twist, securing the bead at the top of the pipe cleaner.  Have the child thread the hearts (how many the child wants) onto the pipe cleaner to the top under the pony bead.  Knot the pipe cleaner underneath the hearts.  Have the child spread the hearts to form a flower.

The Green One

When I was a child, my brothers and I fought over the Green Glass.  It was a plastic tumbler from Tupperware, which came with a set of four, including red, blue, and yellow.  But we could care less about the other glasses.  We fought, argued, yelled, begged, whined, pushed, shoved to get the Green Glass.  My parents were at their wits’ end.  What was so special about the Green Glass?  We maintained that milk just taste better in it.  I’m sure it was more to do that our siblings wanted it, so it became more desirable.  That Green Glass.

Last Christmas, I felt it was time to arm the family with light sabers.  I bought two blues, a green, and a purple.  I kept it a secret from even The Husband, so that he too could fill the thrill of getting a light saber to play with the boys.  The purple one was mine, of course.

Last week, the boys fell into a Star Wars kick.  They’re watching The Husband’s copy of the Star Wars cartoon series from a few years back.  They unsuccessfully try to convince us to play the Star Wars video games for them.  They’re fighting with light sabers.  They’re taking light sabers to bed.  They’re fighting over one light saber whenever they get a chance. 

The Green One.

Sean adores the Green Light Saber, carries it around, takes it to bed, fights with it.  Food and Evan are the only things that will pry it out of his hands.  Evan must have the Green Light Saber at all costs, conning, whittling, begging, forcing it out of his brother’s hands.  When that doesn’t work, Evan cries, begs, whines for it from us.    We have three other light sabers here, people!

It does seem fair and just over the long view.  But I won’t believe it’s fair and just until my brothers have children.  They just better have more than one.

Learning through Teacher-Parent Meetings

The last week The Husband and I were privileged to be at our very first Teacher-Parent Meeting.  Fun stuff that.

My son is bright, smart, and funny.  Evan, like his mama, loves to talk and tell stories, which now the teachers ask if he’s telling a story or something that actually happened.  I can only imagine what he tells them.  He does well with counting, colors, but he’s still struggling with writing, which is why we’ve been practicing at home for the last several months.  He’s ready for kindergarten . . . academically.

Socially, it’s another story.  Evan can’t figure out personal space.  He gets fidgety and then starts to poke, touch, lean on, mess with the person next to him.  He gets a tad too aggressive at play time.  He hasn’t hurt anyone, just annoys the heck out of the kids.  Except one.  A little girl with an older brother who won’t let Evan push her buttons.  Got to love that spirit.  Even Evan’s friends get a little annoyed with him.  I can’t say I blame them because I watch Evan snatch a toy from one of the kids after school to get him or her to chase him.  I have to intervene when the child gets upset when Evan can’t be caught.

The funny thing is when I’m there, Evan doesn’t act up.  He sits quietly during the circle time, keeping his hands to himself.  He doesn’t bother the other kids.  It’s another reason his teachers love me there to help.

At the meeting, the suggestion of keeping Evan out of kindergarten for a year was thrown around the table.  The teachers think he needs more social practice.  The Husband doesn’t want to push Evan.  He is a summer birthday after all.  But I think he would grow incredibly bored next year, since he’s ready academically, and become more of a problem.  Not only that, I can’t imagine dealing with an 18 year old senior in high school for the entire school year.

Our plan is to get more play dates for Evan.  The Husband took him to visit a friend who has a friend with kids the same age as Evan and Sean.  The men watched football, and the boys played together.  I’m trying to close the deal with several moms at school that I’ve been trying to be friends with outside the school yard.  We’re planning on getting Evan into some sport or class as soon as the next city programs are out, which means this time I can’t forget the dates . . . . um, again.  (Of course, the book is out the day after my due date, and the class sign up starts the week after.  It’s a cruel joke.)

Soooo, you think we’ve covered it?

The Worst Things of Pregnancy

My BFF has been on me about writing The Top Ten Worst Things About Pregnancy since I wrote The Top Ten Best Things About Pregnancy.  I told her I would write it soon but before I became too bitter.  She believed I should wait until I’m bitter to make the whole post more humorous.  The real problem is that I don’t think many women can come to an agreement on the worst part of pregnancy.  Every pregnancy is different, and then those hormones come along and wipe our brains clean of the horrors that were visited upon us.  So I’ll try to capture them all, and I hope there are people willing to add if I miss one.

Morning Sickness.  I hate hate HATE the first trimester.  I think I complained about it enough here, here, here, here, and here.  Oh and here.  To say I’m sick and tired through those first months is to miss the point of what I endure.  I’m drag-your-ass-through-another-grueling-day-to-daydream-about-sleep-instead-of-sex-and-naps-are-like-orgasms tired.  I’m please-Lord-don’t-make-me-loose-this-meal-hey-shouldn’t-that-be-digested-by-now-and-I-peed-all-my-pants-again sick.  Every pregnancy it has become worse, and to top this last pregnancy off, I became sick, making morning sickness take longer, just to make sure I’ve given up that crazy dream of four to six kids I used to have.  Goodbye, dreams.  (It should be noted that not all women have morning sickness, and they are lucky; while some women are sick with it through their whole pregnancies, and they are saints, especially if they went on to have another child after experiencing that.)

Heartburn.  It sucks.  Your favorite foods turn on you, just when you’re getting good and hungry.  You snack on TUMS just to get by.  I had it bad with my second pregnancy.  So bad, I wasn’t gaining weight, so my doctor had me take an antacid every day for the entire pregnancy.  Unlike many women, spicy foods don’t cause me to have heartburn; oatmeal and water do.  No wonder I’m always thirsty.  I know I’m about to start a fire with a gulp.

Sore Breasts.  I only had this with this last pregnancy, but I have heard many women talk about it.  It’s honey-don’t-even-stare-at-my-huge-boobs-that-you’re-drooling-over-because-they-hurt-when-you-look.  If this doesn’t show a sense of humor in designing humans, I don’t know what does.  You get this huge rack, and before you can test them out or let your husband play with them, they hurt like a bi-itch.  Fun times.

Sore Muscles.  There are a variety of aches and pains women go through, and many women experience different ones.  Many of my friends had horrible back pain, which sent them running for a massage.  (Which is highly recommended.)  My aches are the inner thigh and around my uterus.  Not so massage friendly.  I get to wear a stupid belt that some days helps, some days doesn’t.  But swimming is highly recommended for all aches and pains.

The List of Don’ts.  Nothing like having your favorite things taken from you.  Like alcohol.  Like caffeine.  Like sushi.  Like even sex in that last month.  Thanks.  Luckily your doctor will give you the ok to have a glass of wine every once in a while in the last trimester.  Maybe your doctor will let you have a cup of coffee or a soda if you’re good.  My doctor confided in me that the only reason to stay away from sushi is the fear of food poisoning, but I’ve never caught food poisoning from sushi, only chicken, shrimp, and fried fish.  (Yeah, you’d think that a bath in hot oil would have killed those suckers.)  But most doctors would agree, n o sex because no one wants you to accidently go into labor early.

Other people.  Now let’s say you got the ok to drink ONE glass of champagne at your sister’s wedding, someone is going to give you the stink eye.  Or you’re shopping, minding your own business when someone comes up to rub your belly like a good luck Buddha.  Or (my favorite) someone (stranger, family, friend, friend’s cousin) will tell you about a) a horrible birth experience (like you needed that), b) how she didn’t gain a pound (someone’s fibbing, fibbing, fibbing), or c) some helpful advice about pregnancy, labor, birth, or child raising.  Like you care.  I never had the pleasure of stink eye, and I always look f-ing tough that no one would dare place a hand on my body, but I’ve heard enough about horrible labors, lies about pregnancy and babies, and child advice to feel a book or a blog post.

Your Body.  Whether it’s desiring strange foods you never liked before, despising foods you usually love, or just feeling like your body has been high jacked, your body is not always your friend while you’re pregnant.  I always feel like I’m going through puberty AGAIN.  No one wants that.  My body is doing strange things.  I don’t feel pretty, much less sexy.  I have to buy a whole new wardrobe because I’m growing too fast.

Being Big.  I never had a problem being big.  My dad, a big guy himself, and I always had fun with it, even taking belly pictures together.  But I know my friends hated it.  They couldn’t wait to get that baby out of them.  (Not that they wanted early labors, just they were tired of being big.)  Even though I didn’t mind it too much, I was annoyed by it.  In the middle of the night, you have to wake up to roll because that belly is so big it needs a tractor pull.  If your baby is big or you’re tiny, you’re going to feel hard pressed to get a good deep breath in your lungs.  Sometimes you even out grow your maternity clothes.  I recommend swimming because if you feel like a whale, you’ll be graceful as a whale in the water.

Stretch Marks.  Some women are lucky enough not to get them, but the rest of us, not so much.  We become desperate to get rid of them with all kinds of creams, ointments, and even breast milk, smeared onto out bodies.  “Science” says there is nothing to be done about them, but who’s going to listen to “science” when it looks like a road map was imprinted on your belly?  When I was pregnant with Sean, I had an adorable stretch mark shaped like a butterfly on the front of my belly.  After Sean, it wasn’t so cute nor did it look like a butterfly.

Labor.  I won’t lie to those of you who haven’t had the experience.  Labor is scary, and it hurts.  As one female comedian said “Smart women don’t forget about that kind of pain.”  Smart women do.  I personally start freaking out a little the month before hand, but the day of, I freak out because I’m not ready as in “The blinds aren’t up in the baby’s room “ or “I haven’t bought him a coming home outfit.”  Basically stupid stuff.  I also have quick births, so much so that my dad suggested I become a surrogate.  Of course, I would have to forgo the first trimester. 

So does anyone else have anything else to add?

Wanna laugh?

Remember when you were in high school and you checked out the cast list of the school play and it turned out that your friend, who was standing right next to you, who you helped recite lines with, who talked about nothing else but the lead part since she heard that the school was doing that play last school year, actually got that part.  You grab each other, screaming, jumping together, screaming, screaming.  Um, you don’t?  Maybe it was just me.  But I just had another moment like that.  Sunday I just found out that one of my favorite bloggers was nominated for best Australian Blogger for the 2010 Bloggies.  Not Drowning, Mothering.

The Not Drowning Mother is an awesome blogger, writing about her days taking care of her three children in the middle of suburbia.  If that doesn’t just make you flip over and check her out and then vote for her, then let me explain.  What other mom do you know is willing to post her dirtiest secrets of uncleanliness and godlessness?  What other mom do you know will willing watch five children under six AND take them on an outing?  What other mom do you know posts pictures of her old maternity bras?  What other mom do you know has a mother’s group that brings booze?  What other mom do you know in Australia?

Still not convinced?  Check out some of my favorite posts:

The Sharks v. The Jets  When only one kindergarten class gets milk and the other gets a huge box of Lost Property, these moms are going to rumble, music theatre style.

The Snip Snipe  Honestly men are the biggest babies when it comes to getting sniped, but how often do women call them on it?

The Long Journey Home If only I could be this cool and funny after the road trip from Hell.

So please, visit Not Mothering, Drowning, and have a laugh on me.  Then go on over to the Bloggies and show her some love.  Because we can make a difference, one vote for a hilarious blog at a time.

7am reality check

It was over 24 hours after I sat thinking instead of reading, trying to find some sleep.  Instead I found my Mommy Guilt.  But then Sunday morning, reality struck, at 7:30 am as I began to unstuck the dishwasher and place the last of the coffee cake on plates for breakfast.  Sean ran into the kitchen.

Sean: Moooommmmmmyyyyyyy!  Sword!  Pirate!  Please!

Sean held up the sword and pirate for me to fix.  I took them, placing the sword in the pirate’s hand.  I handed it back.

Me: There you go, Seanny.

Sean: Thank you!

He ran out of the kitchen.

Evan: Mommy!  Juice!

Evan came into the kitchen.  I raise one eyebrow.

Evan: I need juice.

Me: That’s not how we ask. 

Evan: Can you please get me juice?

Me: Yes, I can.

I pulled out the juice and their juice cups from the fridge.  I poured the juice, added some water, and sealed the lid.  I hand it to Evan.

Evan: Thank you, Mommy.

Me: You’re welcome.

Evan left the kitchen.  Sean, seeing his brother have juice, ran into the kitchen.

Sean: Juice! Please!  Mommy!

I fixed Sean his juice and handed it to him.

Sean: Thank you!

Me: You’re welcome.  Hey, boys, breakfast is ready when you want it.

Sean stopped running out of the kitchen and turned back to the little table with their breakfast waiting.  He grabbed a piece of cake.

Sean: Cinnamon cake!  Mmm, yummy!

Evan: Mooooommmmmmyyyyyyyyyyy!

Me: What, Evan?

Evan: I need HELP!

Me: What do you need?

Evan: I need to go poop!

I left the kitchen and went to the bathroom, where I placed the little seat on the toilet.  Evan pulled off his pants. 

Evan: Can you help me on?

I picked him up and put him on the pot.  I walked into the family room, where I was greeted  by a horrible stench.

Me: Sean, are you pooping?

Sean: No.

Me: Are you done pooping?

Sean: No.

Since Sean was standing very still and that he was interrupted the night before, I let him be and returned to emptying the dishwasher.

Evan: Moooooommmmmmyyyyyyy!

Me: What?

Evan: I’m having a hard time!

I return to the bathroom to see Evan “bearing down,” turning red.

Me: Ok.  Calm down.  Just wait for it.  Would you like a book?

Evan: How about the cat ninja one?

Me: We don’t have that one.

Evan: How about a cupcake one?

Me: We don’t have one like that either.

Evan: Ok, Jungle Drums.

I fetched the book and handed it to Evan.

Evan: Ok, read to me.

Me: (I don’t think so, the stench is searing off my eyebrows.)  Not right now.  I have to-

Sean: Moooommmmmmyyyyyyy!  Sword!!! Pirate!   UGH!!!!!!!

I walked into the family room.  Sean was crying and carrying on with all his little might.  His pirate in one hand, the sword in the other.

Me: Calm down, Sean.  Just ask Mommy nicely.

Sean: Please.  Pirate.  Sword.

I reached down and plucked the offending toys out of his hand.  I replaced the sword into the pirate’s hand and handed them back to Sean.

Sean: Thank you, Mommy.

Evan: Mommy!  What is that?!

I looked over and saw Evan holding up the book for me to see.  He’s still on the pot.  Thank goodness for a small house sometimes. 

Me: It’s a water buffalo.

Sean: Mommy!  Police man is Papi!  He had no hair!  Hair, please?

I took the police man and his hair and placed the hair on the police man’s head.

Me: There you go.

Sean: Hat?

Sean tried to place the hat on the police man’s head and started crying because it’s an either-or thing.  I took the police man from Sean and tried to switch the hat for the hair, but Sean saw and started crying again.  I switched it back.  Sean kept crying.

Evan: Moooommmmmyyyyy!  I need help!  I’m done!  I need youto come wipe my bottom!

Me: In a minute!

I switched the hat for the hair and pocketed the hair.  I ran to the bathroom and pulled some toilet paper off the roll and folded it.

Me: Here.  You try first.

Evan leaned over, putting his head between his knees and wiped.

Me: Good job.

Evan jumped off the toilet and leaned over the bath tub, so I could finish.  I sighed.  Motherhood.  I wiped Evan’s bottom.  I threw the toilet paper into the potty and flushed.  I washed my hands.

Me: Wash your hands.  Then get dressed. 

Evan: I need your help.

Sean: Mommy!  I want to dress too!  I need help!

We walked into the bedroom.  I helped Evan on with his underwear, removed Sean’s pajamas and diaper.  I placed a new diaper on Sean as well as pants and socks.  He picked out a shirt.

Sean: Basketball shirt!

Evan: How about I’m a doctor today, Mommy?  Then I can make you feel better.

Me: Fine.

I helped Sean with his shirt as I heard Evan rifle through the costumes.  Evan ran into the room holding two pairs of scrub pants.

Evan: Is this it?

Me: (pulling out the pants out of his hands)  One’s yours, and the other’s Sean’s.  And they’re both pants.

Evan: (whining) But where’s my shirt?

Me: Still in the costumes.  Go look.

Evan: But I did!

Me: Take things out and look again.  I’ll help you in a minute.

Evan ran off, and I got up to go help.

Me: Take out the hats and the armor.  See, there it is.  Dr. Evan.

Evan: Can you help me put it on?

Me: Please?

Evan: Please?

Me: Sure.

I helped Evan put on his scrub shirt with its velcro back.  I guess my boys need me, and I do spend plenty of time with them.

Me: Did everyone finish breakfast?

It’s 2 am

It’s 2 am, and I can’t sleep.  I haven’t slept yet.  And I’m thinking of you.

I can’t be reassured by your soft inaudible breathing (Evan) or your gentle snoring (Sean) because you’re spending the night at your grandparents’.  I’m not worried.  I still find their house the safest place in the world.  But I can’t kiss you goodnight and touch your arm.  And promise you I’ll do better.

I look back on the day and realized we didn’t DO anything together.  You watched cartoons as I dozed.  I made breakfast as you played.  You played as I cleaned the kitchen.  You woke Daddy as I got your clothes together.  I took a shower and got dressed while you watched cartoons.  Ok, I did get you dressed.  I picked up as you helped Daddy make his breakfast and your snack.  Finally, we worked together to pick up toys and pack for Grandma and Papi’s.  But there were no crafts.  There were no games.  There wasn’t a time that I devoted to just you.  When we were at Grandma and Papi’s, you played with them and your uncles or watch TV while I read a magazine.  So what did you get from this day from me?

I know that not every day can be packed filled with Mommy-full activities, but there should be more than just chores for us, even if they feel like a game. 

When was the last time I played outside with you?  When was the last time you helped me in the kitchen?  When was the last time I sat down and played cars?

I get tired of having every day be filled with schedules, like we’re rushing around to get things done.  For what?  But if I don’t push, then we just sit in our pajamas playing with cars all day, and then I wonder what constructive thing we actually did.  I’m trying to find a balance.  Before the baby comes.  He’ll change a lot of things for us, but I want you to always know you come first, you’re special, you’re my little guy. 

Alright.  I’ll be better.  I’ll make it a point to do something special each day, even if it’s just playing toys.  I’ll find the balance between housework and motherwork, between you and me, between the world and us.  Just give your mom a little patience because she’s working on a learning curve here.

In the classroom

I spent yesterday afternoon, helping out at Evan’s class.  I try to volunteer one day out of the month.  I wanted to do more, but I was afraid I would take too much time from other mom’s volunteering.  I’m starting to think I’m the only one who does go in as I mentioned it to a few of the stay-at-home moms after school.  When I suggested they take a day just because it was fun, they looked at me like I had grown a third eye.  I guess our alone time is precious.  I know it is for me.

I chose yesterday because it was the only day of class this week, because they had a speaker coming in, and because it was supposed to rain all week.  Before the boys, I worked as a teacher’s assistant for a kindergarten and a first grade class and as a Girl Scout troop organizer.  When there’s a schedule deviation or if those kids couldn’t go out every single day to play, hell was likely to break loose within the class room.

I would like to regale you all with tales of humorous acts and speeches, but most of the kids were shy and quiet.  There was only one kid in the class willing to make a fool of him self by saying crazy things, doing crazy things.  My son.

Not only did he dance his way back into the classroom after the presentation, making one of the teachers laugh, he was the one to spout off hilarious things.

As we sat around the table for snack time, the kids were eager to tell the teacher what they did over the weekend.  Evan didn’t want to be left out of the conversation, even though he felt we did nothing exciting.  He pulled my sleeve.

Evan: Mommy, lean over.  I have a secret to tell you.

I leaned over.

Evan: (whispering) I’m going to pretend we went to the toy store, ok?

Me: Ok.

Evan: (to the teacher) We went to the toy store!

Teacher: Oh?

Evan: Yup.  And we saw Toy Story toys.

Teacher: Which one is your favorite?

Evan: Buzz Lightyear!

All right.

Later as the teacher was reading a story, she asked the students what kinds of houses they lived in, giving examples of brick, steel, stuck-o.

Evan: I live in a gingerbread house!

The teacher looked over at me.  I smiled.

Me: It’s always nice to live in Evan’s world.

Let’s Get Ready to Rumble

Some people would say you’re late; others would say you’re right on schedule.  I don’t care.  I just know you’re going to stop.  Because.  I. Said. So.

Congratulations on waiting longer than your brother did.

Congratulations on finding a more annoying sound then when your brother whines “Mooooooommmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy.”  It’s like fingernails on a chalk board to most people or forks scraping on teeth to your Papi or metal scraping against ceramic for Uncle M.  I hate your brother’s whine, but please note, he doesn’t get what he wants.  So when you start to scream/cry/roar, you are not going to get your way.

When I put you in your room when you start to throw a fit, it’s not time out.  You can get out when ever you feel like it.  But you have to leave the fit in there.  The minute you start to throw it out here, you’re back in your room, buddy.  It’s a simple rule.  Temper tantrums are thrown in your room. 

It doesn’t matter what you want, what time you throw it, how you throw it because you’re not getting anything until you calm down.

So good luck.  May the better man when and all that.  But, baby, you should know.  Despite whatever one else says or believes about your mama, she’s a tougher nut to crack than she looks.