My son, that is. And he doesn’t necessarily care that I am sick either. Or that he gave me pink eye over the weekend.
That’s long-gone now, but the sinus infection is kicking, and so is he. He has been doing nothing but fussing and being a jerk since the minute I’ve picked him up from school.
First, he was mad because there was not a pap-pap in the car (the nice warm car, mind you), waiting for him when he finally decided we could leave school. It was like fighting a cougar to get him strapped down in that damn car seat.
On to the musical selection: Redneck. Or what you should know it by: Boys ‘Round Here by Blake Shelton. Well, it’s NOT ok that the CD is already in the player, because he wants to get it out of the CD case. Tough shit Liam… *turns radio ALL the way up* I could faintly hear him screaming, trying to compete with the radio.
We pull into the driveway. He wants to play in the car. Yes, I am one of those parents that let’s their kids play in the car. But I’m thinking, “Shit, that means I have to sit out here too. It’s cold, I’m sick.” Well, he commences into demanding I give him the keys… He’s got me all confused with someone else…. “Ummmm… NO!?!” I say…. And then breakdown #3… Kicking my steering wheel, kicking my door, window, e-brake. I let him go at it as I bring up the trash cans and get the house alarm off. Now he’s real heated, because I took the trash cans up without his assistance. Sorry little guy. No time for your bullshit!!!
I finally open the car door, and this little shit is kicking me, and screaming at the top of his lungs (we’ve lived here for 10 months-ish, I’m sure the whole street thinks I beat my kid). He gets his shoe kicked off, so I grab it, him, and get into the damn house.
I give him a pap-pap… Thinking, this will shut him up! Nope. He threw it, yelled, “No pap-pap!!!!” And throws himself on the floor. And starts hollering about his stupid shoe. I put his shoe on. (At this point, my blood is boiling, and no, it isn’t the fever). Then, you can guess what he was screaming about after that…
MY PAP-PAP!!!! I WANT MY PAP-PAP!!!!!!!!!!!!
I walked away. I don’t do Bi-Polar. Sorry. I can’t. He found the pap-pap. I ask him if he wants to watch TV. He starts crying again. I can’t deal. Then he starts crying even louder, because, yes… Now he wants the TV on. I banish him to his room with berries and kool-aid, and wish I could lock him in like Cinderella’s evil step mother does her, when the Duke is coming with the glass slipper. If you haven’t guessed yet, his dad is the glass slipper, and no he isn’t home yet.
He comes out of his room and wants his “ball” that’s out in the garage. I go out to look for it, and all I see is a soft, Nerf football. He doesn’t want that. He wants daddy’s golf ball. And commences to another fit on the floor because I told him “NO!” That little dude isn’t breaking my windows or pictures.
Now he’s mad because I won’t let him help me cook. It never ends. I love him more than anything in this world, but I FUCKING hate days like this.