So let me tell you about my awesome morning. And by awesome I mean painful, messy, and destructive. But first let me tell you that Punkin is preoccupied with five things: 1) the toaster oven 2) the microwave
3) the dishwasher 4) riding the bus and 5) taking out the garbage.
So Sunday night Punkin did not sleep well. He woke up at 2am, I turned on a movie in his room (never did I think my seven year old would have his own television, and yet here we are), and at 3am I heard, "MOM!" I probably heard it several times before then, but I don't remember what happened those times; I'm pretty sure I just put his covers back on him and said "sleep." At three I turned off the television and firmly told him, "I'm done. You have to go to sleep." He wined, but complied.
On Monday he had a field trip to a park, so by the time we came home from school he was exhausted and starved. He ate and asked to go to bed. Fine. Now comes Tuesday morning.
It's 5:00 in the morning and I'm heating up homemade chicken strips and leftover hamburgers for Punkin's breakfast. He's dressed and ready to go as quickly as possible and of course thinks that once his shoes are on that it's time to go sit and wait for the bus. Uh, no.
He asks me every ten minutes, "I go a bus?"
"Not yet, honey."
"NO BUS YET!" And he drops dramatically onto the couch/floor/bed.
By 6:30, when it IS time to go wait for the bus, he is standing on his last leg of patience. But first he has to eat the dreaded applesauce with medicine. We ran out of pink applesauce and now we're on boring organic cinnamon.
Allow me to summarize. He slapped me across the face, knocked our coffee table on its side, threw his shoe at the wall, and hit my hand so hard it splattered applesauce all over my shirt.
So now we are out a day of meds and he's even more upset because he's in time out.
I make new meds and sit down with him, "You can't go to the bus until you take you medicine (this usually works brilliantly)." He threw a Hot Wheel at me, hitting the glass dish of applesauce and shattering it. He stops, frozen, while I look through the remaining chunk in my hand for glass pieces to see if it's safe to give him.
"Fine, let's go outside."
"I take the garbage?!" He asks in a chipper voice.
"No. You didn't take your medicine."
He picks up the smaller bag, "I take this one."
"No, you didn't take your medicine."
"MY GARBAGE OUT!!!"
"If you want to take out the garbage, you have to take your medicine."
"Okay," He opens his mouth.
"Really, Punkin? Really? The garbage?"
In a Cookie Monster voice, "GARBAGE!"