Time Warp to May 7, 2009

This week, my husband has been out of town, in a remote location where he gets crappy service and when I call for help or to complain, all I hear is "unta-gleeten-glotten-globen." (you're suspicious, aren't you?) This business trip just happens to coincide with the week that my newly-two-year-old decides he wants to show me the meaning of The Terrible Two's. Izzy never had them, it was more like the Terrible Fours with her, and he's a boy, so it could only be worse. I mean, like ten gazillion times worse. He's starting the detachment (it's really separation anxiety but I call it this!) anxiety thing with me, and he doesn't want to go to sleep - ever. He must be entertained at ALL times, and of course, when he is, it's only for 2 minutes. You know the drill. The kicker is that, unlike sweet and gentle girl that I am accustomed to, he is INSANE. He climbs, he plows, he bangs, he dumps, he destroys. He is MALE, hear him roar.

So, in the spirit of the Owen Wilson narration part on the movie Marley & Me, I am substituting Becks for the dog here. Read it really fast.

Last night: After we read 5 books and he had a mac-daddy head, foot and back massage with Burt's Bees lotion, Beckham screamed bloody murder until I sang "Let it Be" twenty times. He finally accepted the Beatles version on his stereo and allowed me to eat my dinner at 9 o'clock. Like an infant crying out for his middle of the night feeding, he awakened at 1:34 a.m. crying out "Momma Momma Momma. Da-eey(Daddy) at work? Wan call Da-eey!" Until I went in and gave him the treatment again. Then, YAY, my 2 year-old "slept through the night."

Today: Beckham poops right before leaving for pre-school and it comes out of a gap in his diaper and on to the rug and down his leg. I forget to pick up the turd on the rug and come home to greet it with my foot. I take the kids to a friend's to play outside and he immediately says "Wan go car," and sits on my lap in a lawn chair, right in front of a swingset and sandbox, as I try to get sun on my white-ass legs, as his sister steps in dog pooh. We get home and I had taken his diaper off so he could practice peeing in the back yard while he eats his ice cream. I suddenly find poop on the back deck. The poop deck. Again, it's down his leg and on his foot and I hose him and the deck off. Then, Beckham takes his cup of melted ice cream and dumps it onto the deck. Next he gets his head stuck in a chair. He tries to saw my leg and computer screen off with his toy chainsaw. He falls down in the spilled ice cream and hurts his knee.

I apparently like to write about pooping: http://momwhodrinksandcusses.blogspot.com/2008/04/dear-birthday-boy-you-pooped-on-my.html

Beck watches Fern Gulley with Izzy and I after dinner, snuggles up right next to me on the couch. He has no idea what's going on, he just wants to be there. He tries to eat all my sweet potato. He gets a big puzzle and sets it on my lap and tries to work it. "Mommy, c'mon," he says. He wants his milk and we read read read. Thankfully, tonight, when I lay him down and turn on "Let it Be" on repeat he says "Call da-eey," and when I return from getting my phone for Daddy to say goodnight, he is out. O.U.T. (Wipes sweat off forehead)

The kid is wearing me out but damn, he is cute, and I know I'll miss it when he stops being such a little titty-baby. Or maybe he won't stop altogether, and that's preferable, really. I'm just a bit worn out right now, giving praise to single mothers - nay, mothers- everywhere. I did that here, too: http://momwhodrinksandcusses.blogspot.com/2008/01/just-gimme-my-goddman-chicken-caesar.html

Waiting til 9:30 for my mozzarella, tomato and arugula salad, and glass o wine was worth it.