1. I have settled on a cyber nickname for the new child. I have known Peanut as Peanut since he was conceived, and can’t change his nickname or cybername now. I adore all the ideas behind Hazelnut, especially our dear TKW, the originator of said tasty moniker. But I have met him and decided, he’s not Hazelnut.
He’s Butter. With all the connotations of rich, delicious, heavy, butterball-y, and even Linda-Richmond-sketch-y. Fact is, he makes everything that much better. What isn’t better with real Butter? Really. So we now have Peanut and Butter.
2.My mother was right.
This is a major announcement, for I have been fighting saying that since the day I turned 17 months. But she was. In the midst of all the Peanut turmoil, the bad behavior and tantrums and general out-of-control, are-you-serious, stop-this-parenting-ride-I want-to-get-off bullsh-t (I have witnesses, including my mother in law and my local friends, all of whom have ben gape-mouthed at his behavior), she has maintained this argument: Logic isn’t working, yelling isn’t working. When all else fails, cry.
So I tried it tonight. He was testing me and I just started crying. I said it was so hard when he didn’t nap (yeah, first time in almost two years. shoot me now.) because I got so tired and it made me sad to be so tired. It was a staged reading of the things he should have been saying, but he bought the act. He kissed me and told me he was sorry I felt sad and that he wished I felt better. And then I really lost it. I really cried, telling him I was sorry things were so hard for him and that I wanted us to have fun and not yell at each other. He said he wished it was just Mom and Peanut and Butter and nobody else. That he wished everyone else would stop coming to the house. I cried harder, telling him understand he wants things back to the way things were when I was the only adult telling him what to do, but that I needed help because my body is just too hurt to be doing everything I usually do. I told him soon it would just be the three of us, and he kissed me and told me to take as long as I want.
My mom was right. P doesn’t need yelling or games or techniques. He needs to feel like he’s helping. And tonight he did.