The little dictator

As Sean grows older, he becomes more demanding.  He has no problem in taking some one by the hand and leading that person to what he wants.

He’ll take my hand and lead me to the fridge.  He’ll point to the fridge and demand, “Juice!”

He’ll take my hand and lead me to the fridge.  He’ll point to the top of the fridge for the candy jar and point and point.

He’ll take my hand and lead me to the counter.  He’ll point and demand, “Banana!”  Because he has learned to say banana, he demands them a lot, so he can hear himself say it.

He’ll take my hand and lead me to an open book of look-and-find.  He’ll point to the ground and demand, “Sit.” He’ll sit as well and tap the book.

Other days, he’ll just bring you what he wants.  He’ll shove a book into your hands, or he’ll shove a car into your hands.  Some times he’ll toddle out of the kitchen with a box of crackers and shove them into your hands with a demand of “Pease.” 

If, for some reason, you cannot give into these demands, he’ll throw himself down for a temper tantrum with a soft wail.  Honestly, it’s too funny because it’s nothing like the top of the lungs screaming Evan used to do.  Good luck with that, kid.

The main problem is that Sean does not understand that when he hands me a box with a cake on it or picture of pudding on it that does not mean it is in the box. 

Sweetheart, it’s a mix.  Mommy has to make it.  I swear to you don’t want to eat this powdery stuff.  Come on.  It’s time to throw your fit in your bed room.

 

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When you’re sick . . .

When you are sick, you may not disregard the rules.

        They are there to keep you from getting hurt, keep your mother’s sanity, which is basically the same thing.

 

 

When you are sick, you may not take the toy your brother is playing with.

        I know you think you get everything you want when your sick, like cartoons on all day and juice for meals, but you can’t take away toys.  You’re not a bully.

 

 

When you are sick and you’re playing with several cars or dragons or dinosaurs, you are still required to share.

        It goes back to you can’t have everything you want because you’re sick.  I’m not raising spoiled brats.

 

 

When you are sick, you are not allowed more tantrums.

        I understand you’re not feeling well, but you can cry it off in your room because you didn’t get your way again.

 

 

When you are sick, you do not have permission to drown your brother.

        You’re grumpy.  He’s grumpy.  I forced you into a bath to cool down the temperature.  I added bubbles.  Enough bubbles for everyone.  Stick on your side.

 

 

When you are sick, you are still not allowed to put soap in your brother’s eye.

        You know very well bubbles are soap.  Just don’t do it.

 

 

When you are sick, dessert is not a meal.

        Yes, I give you popsicles whenever you ask because you refused to eat anything, but cookies are not dinner.

 

 

When you are sick, it does not mean that you get a diaper whenever you feel like it.

        Guess what.  You’re potty trained (mostly).  You still have to use the potty when you need to pee.  Those are the rules; there is no going back.

 

 

Because you are regaining your strength, it does not mean you get to pick fights.

        I get it.  You’re bored.  You’re energetic.  Somewhat.  But we don’t fight.  We don’t hit.  We don’t push.  For the love of God, we don’t throw Spiderman toys.

 

 

Because you are regaining your strength, it does not allow for all out sword fights.

        Of any kind.  No plastic swords, no foam swords, no light sabers, and defiantly no wooden swords.  Watch the movie.  Don’t attack your brother.

 

 

Because you’re regaining your strength, it does not mean you can skip naptime.

        Even when you are extraordinarily healthy, I don’t let you skip naptime, so what makes you think today will be different?

 

 

Oh, right.  The eight fights.  The seven temper tantrums.  Before nap time.  After one of the brothers slept in.   I need some chocolate.

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