At dinner last night: This good, mommy! Thank you!
To Wyatt, instead of a slap: You make me so MAD! (Wyatt: You make me so mad TOO!)
This morning, 7 am, standing in our room fully dressed: I ready go school now! I get my shoes on!
Tonight, awakened from an accidental post-dinner nap on the way home in the car (I tried to put her to bed, but it was just that much too early) and about to have a temper tantrum, she…got a grip. Your choice, Rory, get up, put on your pjs and come downstairs, or go back to bed–but don’t start this. And she actually didn’t.
We’re on, then, to just normal irritations. She’s a talker during bedtime reading; she just is, and tonight when I discovered I’d left my wallet at the pottery-painting place (they’ve got it) I nearly bit off everyone’s head. They take off their shoes in the car, they play through dinner and then are “so hungry” when it’s all put away, and yadda.
I still have moments of–I don’t know what to call it. Not regret, exactly, and certainly not the active dislike I was unsuccessfully stifling or so long (gee, bet that doesn’t exactly surprise anyone, does it?). Adjustment. I’m still adjusting. Two three-year-olds is just plain more work than one three-year-old–although they play together, and occupy one another, so in some sense it balances out–but for me, who’s at my best one on one with the kids, two three-year-olds is just less rewarding. I’ve said this before, but I still haven’t found a way to grab time with just my little Wy. Time with Rory, I can do–he’s not as overwhelmed with a need to be with me if I sit down with her, and he has other things he likes to do. Her, anytime my attention turns to Wyatt, she’s right there. Can’t I just say, I’m doing this with Wyatt, and you’ll get a turn next, or whatever? Yes. And she stands there, and waits. Are you done yet, Mommy? It my turn yet, Mommy? I waiting, Mommy! I good girl! And she is a good girl–she just has no concept of time and nowhere else she’d rather be. I’m going to need to get him out of the house. WIth a deck of cards. Next week, we’ll do it sometime when Rory is either with Heather or at school, and then I’ll plan it into the schedule, and then I’ll feel better. He just won’t be this little for much longer!
I’m thinking the worst is over. And oh, boy, was it sometimes ever the worst!