The day that was.

Oh, the day of crabbiness.

It started when Paul would not let Shawn take a shower before work. He was insistent that Shawn watch SuperWHY! with him. Since there was a little time to spare, Shawn got Paul dressed before coming upstairs to collect Joss and get me outta bed. I made it down stairs, and entered the room to hear Shawn tell Paul to “go give mommy a big hug!” Paul collapsed on the floor in a tantrum.

M: What's the matter, Paul?
P: Want to go upstairs!!
M: You wanted to go upstairs to wake me up?
P: (wailing) YEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!
M: OK, come and wake me up. (goes upstairs, gets back into bed)
. . .moments later. . .
P: Mommyyyy – time to wake up!

So, Shawn showered, I got dressed, and the kids had their breakfast at home. They usually eat at daycare, but today is special. Paul gets to go visit Mommy at work at the dentist's office, and have his teeth cleaned! Paul had a minor melt-down over not going immediately to school, but quickly recovered, and became excited to see the dentist. So excited, in fact, that he buzzed around me like a deranged hummingbird, until I told him to put down the broom and do a puzzle, for crying out loud.

I got my things together, and was about to head out the door when Shawn called for Paul to go to the potty before they got ready to leave. Paul freaked out, screamed NOOOOOOOOOOO, ran around the house, and wound up in the bathroom, collapsed face-down over a small ottoman. I passed by the bathroom at this point, and smelled a smell that was smelly. “I smell poop,” I said. Then it hit the fan.

Shawn yelled, Paul cried, the bathroom got covered in poop. “Let's get out of here,” I whispered to Joss (who had spent the last 10 minutes following me around and crying when I didn't stop to pick him up), and I put on his coat. As we tip-toed out the door, we heard “You're covered in poop – don't sit down. Don't sit down!! DON'T SIT DOWN!!!!”

Joss and I got to the office about 15 minutes before Shawn and a freshly underpanted Paul arrived. Paul was sweet and charming and obedient. He got his teeth counted (20!), polished, and swabbed with fluoride. Afterwards, he could choose some prizes. He chose a Spiderman sticker, and promptly stuck it to the front of his shirt. “I have Spiderman sticker!” Then Joss grabbed a few stickers from the bowl.

M: I think Joss wants you to have this Batman sticker.
P: No, want other sticker.
M: This My Little Pony sticker?
P: Yeah.
M: Do you want it on your shirt or in your bag?
P: Want on BACK of shirt. (Gives sticker to Shawn)
D: Hmm. This pony's name is Butterscotch. (Places sticker on Paul's back). I have just placed a “Kick Me” sign on my son.

Paul also took a few silly bands, and happily left for school with his brother and Daddy. Until he got to school, and didn't want Daddy to go to work. . . Later today, Shawn went back to take Paul home. He walked into the room and found Paul standing over another child, about to bean the other kid with a plastic bucket. Shawn stopped the assault, and told Paul that we don't hit people. Paul thought this over a moment and calmly replied, “I am mad at you, Daddy.”

I got home late from work, and opened the door to chaos, as per usual. Paul ran up to me, playing with a toy electric guitar, and stated that he was a Rock Star. He would only answer to “Rock Star” for most of the evening.

D: Paul - time to go potty.
P: Nooooo! I not Paul, I Rock Star!
D: OK, Rock Star, time to go potty.
RS: OK, Daddy! (Skips off the the bathroom.)

I guess it's a step up from the “Turtle” he's been for the past month or so. Joss heard my voice and made a frantic bee-line for the door. It would have been wonderfully sweet if I didn't have to pee so badly. Anyway.

We sit down to dinner, a hodge-podge of leftovers. Paul has a plate of noodles, meat sauce, and veggies, but only wants some salad. Plain romaine lettuce does not have the more calorically dense nutrition of the other elements of his meal, so I told him he could have some salad after he ate more noodles and veggies.

P: That's not the right words, Mommy.
M: What?
P: That's not the right words. The right words are “get salad!”
M: (trying not to laugh) The right words are “yes, mommy,” “I will, mommy,” “yes, daddy,” and “thank you, daddy.” Now finish your dinner.
P: I'm done. My belly is full of food.
M: OK. (begins to take away his plate)
P: Nooooo, not finished eating!!!!

I gave him back his plate, finished feeding Joss (who smeared his blueberry-pear-purple carrot blend all over his head, and looked like he had been in some horrific car wreck ), and began to eat my own meal. Paul played with his fork, twisted in his chair, anything but eating his dinner.

M: (gets the kitchen timer) You have 5 minutes to finish eating.
P: Noooooo – still eating – (insert repetitive whining here)
M: You'd be better off using this time to eat instead of complaining about wanting to eat.
P: (whines, but also tucks in to his dinner. Finally)
M: (timer dings) Time's up.
P: (more whining)
M: You have until I finish cleaning-up Joss.

I cleared away the carnage that was Joss' dinner, and told Paul is was bath time. Paul began to freak out. Shawn came back from inside the kitchen to take Paul's mostly empty plate. Paul flipped out, Shawn and I both told him it was “time out.” Paul kicked the tantrum into over-drive; Shawn calmly lifted Paul up and took him to the time out step. I brought Joss into the bathroom, and began the arduous task of scraping a days worth of food from his hair. Joss took advantage of a rare solo bath to finally play with a coveted train/boat bath toy – one of his own birthday presents, by the way.

Paul slunk into the bathroom and apologized. I gave him a hug and a kiss, and told him to strip – time for bath. Paul fussed a bit, but managed to take off his jeans (which were on backwards from the last time he got himself dressed after using the potty) and underpants and sat on the potty. “The Cars™ seat keeps me from falling in,” he said. Then he tried to climb into the bathtub still wearing his T-shirt, sweatshirt, and socks. As I helped Paul get out of his shirts, Joss decided that he absolutely had to be inside my shirt, soapy wet self and all, stood up in the tub, grabbed my shirt, and tried to climb in. I somehow disentangled Joss from my shirt, and Paul from his own shirt, and rinsed Joss off. Shawn came to grab Joss out of the tub, and Paul and I got to have a quiet bath time, just the two of us.

There was the usual shampooing, face scrubbing, body soaping, and all-over rinsing. I decided that the red, square washcloth looked like a jellyfish. I pinched a little fabric in the middle to make a wee mouth, and began talking to Paul as the jellyfish. He loved that. The jellyfish ate the toy boat, and nibbled on Paul's fingers and toes. Paul said that the bubbles in the tub (the dissipating lather from his shampoo) had little tiny playgrounds on them. He carefully made plucking gestures over the bubbles, rubbed his knees, then said the playgrounds were now on his knees. The jellyfish ate the playgrounds off Paul's knees – and then things got dark. Paul was upset the playgrounds were eaten. . .

P: (to the jellyfish) I get a knife, and I cut your belly. (He makes a stabbing/slicing motion over washcloth. He takes out the playgrounds, and places them back on his knees.) I got playgrounds out of your belly.
M: (as the jellyfish) I'm so sad now – you cut my belly with a knife!
P: It's OK – I'll fix you with tape. (Very deliberately, Paul tapes up the jellyfish's wounds.) All better.
M: Thank you – I feel better now! It's time for me to go – goodbye. (I let the washcloth free-float in the water)
P: (Picks up the washcloth, examines it.) Where mouth go? Put mouth back on the jellyfish, Mommy.

Paul and the jellyfish chatted for a little bit longer, but then the bath water grew cold, and it was time to get out of the tub. There's a small lever that toggles the tub drain open and closed. We call it the button.

M: Paul, do you want to push the button down, or should Mommy?
P: (gently taking my hand away from the button) I want no one to do it.

I managed to cajole Paul out of the tub, and cheered him up considerably with lots of hugs and warm blasts from the hair dryer. He got dressed in Pj's, brushed his teeth, and went up to bed with relatively little complaint. Joss watched most of the rest of the (recorded) Oscars with me – he got antsy listening to Jeff Bridges introduce the Best Actress nominees.

The dude abides.