He’s testing me. He wants to see if I really mean what I say. He wants to see how far he can take this. He wants to see what this button does to mommy. It’s not yet 8:00 in the morning.
It’s Sean. He’s two.
His eyes lit with daemonic delight when Evan showed us his tower of every single Lego built up. It was taller than Evan. I grabbed Sean, trying to make him play another game with him, trying to distract him. But the moment I let go, Sean was running. I yelled, “NO” in The Voice.
Sean knocked over the tower.
I demanded an apology.
Sean said, “no” with a smile on his face.
Sean cried for two minutes straight.
When time out was up, I asked Sean if he knew what he did wrong. He shook his head, and I explained that I told him no and that he didn’t listen. I told him to apologize to Evan. Sean walked toward Evan, turned to me, laughed and said, “NO!”
Halfway through time out, The Husband broke ranks and talked Sean into apologizing. He agreed, but I told them time out was mean to be served out. The Husband snapped about how he wouldn’t be able to work under these conditions as Sean resumed his very loud crying.
At two minutes, with the office door firmly shut, I went over the time out procedures again. This time Sean apologized.
Ten minutes later, Sean knocked Evan with a plastic train. He also refused to apologize. Time Out AGAIN. That loud annoying crying again. I thought I might have to kill someone. I eyed the usually happy and cute two-year-old.
After two minutes, I repeated the usual time out ending. Sean laughed instead of apologizing. TIME OUT AGAIN! Two minutes of the crying ensued. I swear I’m going to kill that kid. Then I remembered how Evan pushed my resolve for a full day, and he was younger. I can do this.
At the end of two minutes, Sean was willing to apologize. We moved on.
To bath time, which was great for five minutes. Until Sean was upset Evan was on his side, and then he hit Evan with a pirate. Are you kidding me?! Wash hair, get soap in their eyes, rinse them, dry them, wrangle them into clothes. Mommy is ready to play. Bring it on.
Oh, crap. But today is Monday, which is grocery shopping day, which means I have to bring the little monsters into public. Sonofabitch.
Let’s just say I reassured the cashier, a mother of an eighteen-month-old, that everything is a phase. Then I plopped down three king-sized candy bars with my groceries.
This is just a phase. This is just a phase. This is just a phase.