I have spent all day (well from 7am till now - 9pm) shouting at and threatening and just about near throttling my kids. I have no patience, I have not nurtured today and I have been the least responsible person in the house. If I could have run away to join a band of gypsies I would have happily gathered up my belongings in a gingham table cloth and jumped onto the first passing caravan.
Here's why being an older parents sucks sometimes (and not just because getting toys from under the telly hurts my knees). I'm more responsible yes, but I'm more selfish. I've had 10 years of doing exactly what I wanted with my time. I've had 10 years of quiet and order and a clean house. Now it's like a bomb has gone off. Not just in my house but in my head. Today I had a long car ride with Danny kicking the back of my chair and screaming and it was a nightmare. Each visit to a cafe or museum or in fact anywhere today resulted in me taking him out and sitting in the car in the parking lot until the rest of the family joined me. It's 9 pm and he is still running around the bedroom like the Tasmanian Devil.
I have definitely been spoiled with my oldest, Jack. He's always been spirited too but not crazy like my youngest. Danny is hyperactive and I'm not using that term lightly. He's up at 6.30-7am every day, regardless of what time he went to bed. He rarely naps and he refuses to sleep until he drops down exhausted. He runs and climbs and gets into so much mischief I have to watch him like a hawk. How on earth we haven't been in the emergency room 10 times already I don't know. Is he loving and sweet? Yes. Is he nuts? Yes.
Reading hasn't helped me. Google tells me to feed him protein foods, give him a strict daily schedule and always use positive discipline (eh?). Very helpful advice I know but not too apt in the moment. When he's thrashing on his bed doing crocodile rolls and screaming that he doesn't want to stay in bed I resort to all the worst parenting tactics for lack of knowing how to handle him. Then I read a woman's blog tonight who has a hyper child. She talked about embracing it and how fun & exciting it made her life. Really? Fun? I think it's about as fun as being forced to sit in a room full of small, noisy, flying things that bite your face.
You know, I really don't want two demure kids, devoid of spirit and adventure. After all, I want my boys to have confidence and be happy. But dear God I need some helpful advice right now on how to stop my youngest from driving me into the nut-house. Each day I go to bed feeling like a terrible failure of a parent. I also feel sorry for Jack, since so much of my energy gets eaten up.
Could this possibly be an amplified "terrible twos" that will pass with time?