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| Boy with a super plunger, of course |
“It’s Thursday, so you go to nursery,” I answered Boy Three’s question about what kind of day it was.
“Noooo,” he bellowed. “Not Thursday. No.”
“But there’s a Thursday every week.”
“Waaaaaah. Noooo,” and he collapsed into loud sobbing.
After a while he controlled himself and hiccoughed: “I don’t want Thursday every week. I’ve got an idea, no more Thursdays. OK?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s just how it is. You can’t change the days of the week.”
“But you said…,” recommence wailing, but noisier this time.
Sigh. And all of this before breakfast.
It’s a very typical exchange with the youngest member of the family who is three and a half, and, for my money, much more wearing than the rigid red-faced protests of a younger toddler.
You see, he still does loud, rigid, red faced protest, only he applies his articulate but cock-eyed logic to the job. Combined that with what, in his case, seems to be a built-in desire to be contrary and you’ve got a very frustrating situation.
Breakfast was accompanied by endless appeals to his biggest brother for a certain Lego character. I could just have asked for the toy to be handed over, but I know from bitter experience it would just up the ante and he’d want a gun for him, clothes, a helmet, a friend, a pet monkey, and so on.
“Do you want some kiwi?” I asked brightly, hoping to distract him with news that, at his request, I had bought some.
“You got kiwi?” From the shop?”
“Yes, because you said you wanted some after you had it at nursery.”
“Oh. I don’t like kiwi now.”
Finally breakfast was over and we were on to the next stage, it went something like this:
“I want to go out to see Boy Two (waiting outside for the bus),”
“OK but you’ll need to hurry and get dressed because the bus will be here soon.”
“OK.”
And he proceeded to make getting him dressed as tricky and time consuming as possible. Eventually, the shoes were on… just as the bus drew up.
“Awwww. They’ve gone. I’ll never,ever get to play with him.”
“Of course you will. Later today you’ll all be at home again.”
“I want to go to school.”
“You will when you’re old enough. You need to be five and you’re only three.”
“Waaaaaaaah.”
“Right, give me two minutes and we’ll go to nursery.”
“I want to go to nursery now.”
“Fine, I’ll tidy up later. Let’s go. Where’s your coat?”
“I want some kiwi.”
Oh bless! It's so hard when they're like that. Three was hard, but I found 4 to be the Age of Ick. All that pushing of boundaries and starting to talk back etc.
Hope he's enjoying nursery hon!
I feel your pain. You really have to pay attention, don't you?
So it's not just a physical resemblance to his carnaptious daddy, then? I doubt I'd have kept my sanity when faced with toddler logic so you're doing brilliantly, even if you don't know it. xxx
Remind me, there is a bit between this and the stroppy teens when they are just lovely, isn't there?
Oh yes, if you don't you find you've agreed to all manner of anarchy just by going “yes dear”.
Thank you, it is a close call on occasion.
Sorry, but this made me giggle because this is what I'm faced with everyday from Little A, who has just turned three – the contrariness! I totally empathise! X.
Ha ha, typical! Although in my honest opinion I believe all ages have a terrible side to them… 😉
There are moments it just melts my brain.
You're probably right, although I think I fondly remember boys at about seven or eight as being reasonably OK.