I’m going to have to make this quick because it’s late and I’m tired. Now, I know I’m whining, but it’s all true. Allow me to explain.
1) It’s late.
After Tre and Max were in bed I decided to let Raphael have a bath. Yes, I know Raphael’s the youngest and it’s bizarre that he should have the latest bedtime. It’s my own personal problem. He still takes a nap, you see. If I’d just cut out the nap, he’d go to bed with the other boys. But I can’t even begin to imagine…no nap…I try to think about that and my mind slips gears…I go away to my happy place…
Tre was happily reading, Max was sound asleep (the child falls asleep faster than anyone I’ve ever known), and Raphael was splashing around in the tub. I puttered around, put things away, cleaned the cat box, thrilling stuff like that. Normally I would have started writing the blog right around then. But I couldn’t exactly go downstairs to the computer and leave the cherub in the bath alone, now could I?
He stayed in there for one hour and fifteen minutes. And then he was hauled out under protest. He played and talked to himself. He carried on dramas featuring the alligator and the dinosaur. He did water pouring experiments over his head. I swear the child would still be there, but I put my foot down.
I dried him off and tucked him in my bed to warm up. The water had cooled off considerably, after all. I had turned on my electric blanket, so it was nice and toasty in there. He had his favorite pre-bed snack, animal crackers, and was very happy indeed. After a while I realized it was nearly 10p.m. Enough already.
“Time for bed!” I announced cheerfully. I reached for him and I swear to you, the child growled at me. He clutched the cover under his chin and growled like a cornered cat.
Fortunately I’ve been a mother too long to be intimidated by children who seem possessed. I managed to wrest him free from my bed and into his own, thankyouverymuch.
2) I’m tired.
Tre has been trying to kill me. Ok, not literally. At least, I don’t think he could be convicted. But he’s hit a new high in schoolwork avoidance. Usually it’s really not a problem, but every so often he gets in this non-working rut. Today it took him TWO SOLID HOURS to finish his math. And the really horrifying thing about that is that math is his favorite subject.
Oh, he tried, he really did. He would start to work on a problem, then become stymied by the fact that he seemed to be turned around in his chair, with his legs lopped over the back. You think it’s easy to do multiplication like that? Huh?
He’d turn around and lean over his paper again, only to have his pencil spring from his hand to the floor. So he’d lean over to pick it up and fall, ending up suspended between two chairs by his shoulders. This would remind him of a joke…
I’ve learned when he gets like this it’s best for everyone if I just stand back. Put his work in front of him and retreat. I’m available for questions and I’m clear with the consequences if the work isn’t done, but other than that he’s on his own. Otherwise I end up sitting next to him, barking, “Look at the paper! Look at it! HERE! What does it say? No, HERE!”
So I let him be and he diddled around until time was up and he’d lost GameBoy privileges for the day. Heartbroken wails, gigantic tears.
He was pretty upset too.
So there you go. To sum up, 1) late 2) tired.