There are times I feel as though I have been thrust into some sort of parallel, or quite possibly some randomly assigned sort of alternative universe.
It commences this morning with The Wrong Bowl Tantrum.
Grumpy Pants had done his own breakfast, and Chippie’s, simultaneously. Grumpy the picked up one bowl and wandered off with it.
Chippie completely lost the plot, vehemently proclaiming it to be his bowl and refusing to be calmed.
A short stint in his room in order to calm down, and also to avoid being stuffed in the vegetable crisper (which I wouldn’t do, anyway, as that is where I keep my bottles of wine), and he came out, still demanding the Bowl With Brown Stripes.
Well past it, Grumpy and I maintained our “whatever” spirits, intermittently reminding him that if he perhaps used manners and asked nicely he may have a greater chance of getting what he wants. Carrying on like a three-year-old does not result in the same outcome.
He maintained his stand however, and I admit, I am rather impressed with his tenacity and resourcefulness.
Grumpy, finished with his breakfast, dumps his bowl on the sink. Chippie, still advising me he wants That Bowl, washes it, dries it and makes his own breakfast. He does it all, still in Mild Tantrum Mode. Impressive.
To say I am relieved when he is delivered to school is an understatement.
I suspect Tiredness is coming to the fore for him. He is losing the plot more easily over more minor things.
I plan an Earlier To Bed night for tonight, which means stuffing faces with the Evening Meal sometime before 5.15p.m. with the advent of swimming not long after that. The idea of this is that we can get home, get pyjamaed and get to bed.. The alternative is eating when we arrive home, and bedtime is pushed out for another half hour. Minimum.
This is not pretty some weeks.
I make a simple pasta, whilst Chippie stands at the edge of the kitchen, mildly tantrumming and demanding pasta for dinner.
I’m at a loss given I consistently reassure him we’re having pasta. I think he just wants a tantrum.
I allow him to get the bowls out and choose his first, because, honestly I’m not sure I can deal with another Wrong Bowl Tantrum in the same day.
We eat. We go swimming. He does a great job. He is well behaved whilst we await Godzilla to finish his lesson, shower and get dressed.
“What are we having for dinner?” he asks as we head towards home.
“We had dinner, remember? We had pasta before we left,” I reply.
Before I can suggest he can have something to eat when we get home, he sets of again.
He kicks, he screams and he yells at me “I DIDN’T WANT PASTA FOR DINNER!”
This I can understand – ish – if it were in the making.
This I cannot fathom, not at all, TWO HOURS AFTER HE’S EATEN IT!
I wonder if I’ve been thrust into some bizarre, random Universe.
Then I remember this is fairly normal and standard for this Life I am currently in.