The Jelly Bean is well and truly three and a half (next week). He has tantrums and screams and deliberately doesn't listen to me. He chucks stuff. He refuses to eat. Then he refuses to eat anything but fruit toast. Then he refuses to eat fruit toast.
He's three and a half.
I don't want to spend his childhood wishing away the difficulties of his childhood. Especially when some of the times I have, he is the most hilarious, most compassionate, caring, funny, spunky example of humanity that makes me want to freeze time and NEVER let him grow up.
At creche this week The Bean was given a task. It is being assigned to all of the kids in his class/room/group, over the next few months.
They have a pet toy frog. Similar, I'm assuming, to the task that may be given to primary school children when they get to take home the class' pet guinea pig or pet bird or pet rabbit. Except without the risk of death. Although, there is certainly still the risk of maiming, but we did ok.We had to take home the pet toy frog 'Galumph' (yes, named after the song!) for two nights. He also had an exercise book that had been
converted into 'Galumph's Story Book'. The children who had already taken him home had written a page in the book and added some photographs to the story of Galumph's time with their family.
I was so excited!
The Jelly Bean would not put him down. He wanted to show Galumph everything. Sleep with Galumph. Take Galumph to swimming. He called Ninna and Papa to tell him he was allowed to take Galumph home for TWO days. Galumph sat with him in the car. The Bean wanted to take Galumph to the beach, but it was raining. So we made pizza with Galumph. The Bean ate his pizza, but Galumph only watched. He prefers pizza with bugs and flies on it. Although he did love the rain.
I felt like a totally involved, educational, project helping mother. I had flashes back to my parents helping me. I could close my eyes smell glue sticks and feel pipe cleaners and hear the falling of glitter. I also flashed forward to all of those same things, yet in reverse.
What a wonderful time!
Then the other night, the Bean peed on my red Turkish rug.
He peed with intent, deliberation and defiance. I was FURIOUS! I shouted at him. I asked him if he wanted me to shout at him some more, he laughed at me. Said no. Then ran away.
RAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then I told him he had to get in the bath, his clothes were covered in wee and I was mad.
I threw guilt at him. I threw rage at him. I threw a yucky tone, angry words, frustration, embarrassment, confusion at him. I went to clean up the rug, he'd taken his clothes off then was running around, half naked, laughing and being silly.
That was it. I told him he wasn't allowed to have a bath, he had to have a shower.
Tears.
Pleading.
Tantrum.
Tears.
"I'm sorry Mama! Please! I'm a nice boy. I'm not a yucky boy. Please!"
I love that punishment for my son is NOT having a bath!
Things The Bean has said:
Yesterday was my birthday. I'd told The Bean the night before trying to encourage him to remember and wake me up with big 'Happy Birthday' kisses and songs and maybe even French Toast in bed. It was a stretch of the imagination, the inherent skills needed and possibly even his height, but one is allowed to fantasise on one's birthday.
At 6:15am.
TB: Mama, I want to get up.
Me: Guess what day it is?
TB: Please, can you turn the light on?
I switch on the light, all smiley.
Repeat, Me: Guess what day it is?
TB: Um.
Me: It's Ma-maaaaa's...
TB looking confused.
TB: Can I have a banana?
Me: It's Mama's birrrrrr...
The Bean was by now looking at me as if he needed to stage an intervention and possibly call the local hospital psych ward.
I was grinning. It was birthday.
Me: It's Mama's birrrrtttthhhh...
TB: It's your Happy Birthday!
I milked him for endless 'But it's my birthday' kisses and hugs every chance I got. He even started singing 'Happy Birthday' without any prompting from me whatsoever.. Twice!
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