That Sweet, Mild-Mannered Youngest Child (Insert Sarcasm Here)
Posted On May 26, 2009
Ahh, the youngest child. The one who’s supposed to be social, yet laid-back. The one who, although creative, is also able to go with the flow. I believe a friend even told me child #3 was “easy.”
Umm . . . yeah.
Does he look “easy” to you?
Yeah, didn’t think so.
It’s so not fair. My best friend also has three boys, similar ages to mine. Her youngest? The easiest to manage by far. I spent Sunday with my sisters, one of whom also has three kids. Her little #3? The sweetest, happiest, most agreeable baby ever.
So how come I have a feeling that MY #3 is going to be on a first-name basis with the principal after his first week of kindergarten?
We’ve already been having “issues” with Boy #3 at daycare because he periodically chooses not to follow directions and thinks it’s worth getting in trouble if he can get a laugh from the other kids in the process. Fabulous.
But Friday night proved to be both my most embarrassing parent moment to date, as well as solid affirmation that not sending Boy #3 to kindergarten this fall is most definitely the RIGHT decision.
Boy #3 got invited to his first birthday party, and it happened to be his best friend from daycare. After hearing about him on a daily basis, I was excited to finally meet his parents. So I dropped him off at 6:00, and he darted off as soon as we walked in the door. I introduced myself to Mom and Dad and noted with
petty envy admiration how beautiful and CLEAN their home was, despite the fact that they have all boys as well. Then I took off to attend a graduation party with Husband and Boy #2.
At 8:00 I returned to the party and chatted with Mom. Turns out we used to live right down the street from one another about 6 years earlier. I told her that we’d have to invite her son over to play sometime since the boys really hit it off. Then we talked about how hard it was to arrange “play dates” with kids from daycare or school since you don’t know the parents. “I can’t imagine just sending my boys to play at someone’s house that we don’t know,” she said.
So here I was trying to be all “good mom” and “cool” with this drop-dead gorgeous mom in her magazine-spread home, and seemingly right on cue, Boy #3 started in.
“Mom, [Friend] said I could have this Pokemon card.”
“No, honey,” I said, “that was nice of him, but we’re not going to take his things.”
And that’s when Boy #3 went “Full Honyock” on me and erupted into the biggest temper tantrum any of my children have EVER had.
There was kicking. There was screaming.
“BUT I DON’T HAVE THAT POKEMON CARD!!! HE SAID I COULD HAVE IT!!! HE SAID I COULD HAVE IT!!!”
There were tears. There was hitting me in the face.
“I WANT THE CARD! I WANT THE CARD! I WANT IT!!! HE SAID I COULD HAVE IT!!!”
There were gasps of breath. There was coughing and choking.
There was Friend’s mom trying to ask Boy #3 where he left his goody bag so he could take it with him. There was Boy #3 completely ignoring Friend’s mom.
There were other parents I didn’t know staring at us.
There was me trying to calm him down and get his shoes on. There was Boy #3 crawling away from me and me pulling him back by the legs.
And the screaming—oh, the screaming!—It continued throughout this whole show.
Finally, there was me apologizing profusely to Friend’s mom and rushing out of their home with my tail between my legs (and a flailing preschooler in my arms).
After I wrestled with Boy #3 to get into his car seat and finally collapsed into the passenger seat, nearly in tears, Husband took off in the getaway car—and like the icing on the cake, Boy #2’s half-full can of pop, which for some reason was resting on the dash, flew off and dumped all over me.
I’m pretty sure Friend’s mom won’t be calling for a play date with Boy #3 anytime soon . . .