Tag Archives: everything you touch turns to shit

Shitty Midas Touch

Ever had one of those days where everything you touch turns to shit?

Me, too.

Especially gratifying when Parenting is the stuff you’re handling with your shitty Midas touch.

Wednesday was an excellent example. Got out of bed after one snooze, and that? Was the second highest point of my day.

Felix is going through one of his Daddy Phases. And when I suggested that I might put his shoes on his feet this morning? Melt down. Complete with kicking, flailing, shrieking and great big crocodile tears.

In the car on the way to work, he got into a fight with his snack trap, and summarily dismissed both the trap and his sippy cup of juice, effectively ending his breakfast. Did I mention the tears and whining?  He tried his Magnadoodle for a while, but somehow became entangled in the pen string. He threw the whole thing to the floor of the backseat in disgust, and then howled at me when I couldn’t reach backwards to retrieve it while driving in traffic.

Did I mention it’s not even 9AM?

Hot. Mess.

By ten, he’d fought with Betty, rejected the whole wheat pancakes Mrs. C. made, and asked for a time-out.

Steaming hot mess.

By noon, he’d stranded himself on the jungle gym in the back yard, fought more with Betty, and cried on the sofa twice. And that was before Mrs C. suggested she and Betty have a swim in the pool while he was napping. Sigh.

What’s Betty gonna do when I have my nap, Mama?

During this period, Betty cried twice because I said no to her, and Elmer wailed inconsolably the whole time I attempted to feed him a bottle. He cried himself to sleep after a half ounce. I felt great.

After a restless nap, I carried my hot, messy offspring to the car, and had the best hour of the day with him running errands in the air conditioned car. He even picked out one of the pairs of the flip-flops I bought myself at Old Navy. I’m sure the improvement in his mood had nothing to do with the chocolate milk and doughnut I picked up for him at Starbucks. Nothing.

When we got home, I agreed to dismantle the train tracks that were set up on his play able, so he could race his matchbox cars. Five minutes after said dismantling? “Mama? I want train tracks.”

When I said no, I needed to make dinner and empty the dishwasher, and didn’t you just ask me to take them apart? he hurled half a dozen trains to the floor. Trains in time out. Boy on the floor in tears. Hot. Messy. Snotty. Tears.

We had tears over a lost bouncy ball and tears over not having the right flavor of yogurt in the fridge.

We had tears about the number stories, followed by “Just leave me ‘lone,” when I tried to tuck him in.

I listened to him grumble and grizzle on the monitor for about fifteen minutes after I left him ‘lone.

By the end of this day? He was not the only hot mess in the household.

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