The Sky is Falling...Literally

A portentous morning. As I was walking to class, three branches fell out of trees just feet in front of my path. It is very windy and rainy and wet outside and when I was dressing this morning I felt like wearing nothing but dark black wool. I don't have any black wool, but I did wear black. I couldn't find my umbrella...

It's kind of funny when you wake up two hours before your 8:30 class and you are still late. I bet my teacher thinks I'm just another lazy student rolling out of bed at 8:15. I just wink at him when I come in the back of the room, late, because he's frowning at me and I'm thinking "I was up before you were." Considering the way I've been feeling lately, I consider myself lucky to make it to class at all, even though it is disappointing to go through all the effort of getting out of the house just to sit in class for only twenty minutes. At least I made it in time for the quiz.

Issac update: temper tantrums are on the rise. I don't know what I'm going to do today--I've no idea how to tell a toddler that he can't play outside in the rain. Maybe I ought to buy some yellow macintoshes and galoshes for both of us and we can go on long walks in it and splash in the puddles and smell the wet earth and make mud-pies. But back to the temper tantrums. I find it hilarious that the only person he misbehaves for is me. Why is that? Why do other people besides the ones we love the most get the privilige of our best manners and most kind selves?

This morning, after piling kiss upon kiss on his sleepy mother, Issac was in a wonderful mood and I told him to go pick out a book thinking that this would buy me about 15 more seconds of precious eye-closing avoidance of the world. Of course he was very excited about this and it only took him about 5 seconds. He brought Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What do you Hear? which is his new favorite book. I roused myself into a sitting position and turned on the lamp and then reached down to lift his smiling little body onto the bed, at which point he threw the book at me and then continued by projecting himself violently backwards on the ground followed by even more violent kicking and screaming.

"Okay Issac, you don't have to get on the bed if you don't want to."

"waaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!"

"What's the matter?"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

I reach down to lift him up anyways. He slaps my hands away and screams even louder, as though I've hurt him somehow. So I pull my hands back into my lap, and amazingly enough, this is even more upsetting to him. Tears are squirting out of his malicious mommy-hating eyes. If there was a court and judge and jury, certainly I would be found guilty of some crime. He is turning red and his kicking scoots him across the rug until he hits his head on the dresser.

"Do you want to read a book?"

"WAAAAA! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

I try talking to him in cave-man talk, like the newest book written by some doctor says to do.

"Issac mad. Issac no feel good. Ouchy Ouchy. Issac angry. Issac no like something. Issac no like mama."

He stops to look at me for second, a little puzzled, and then kicks his screaming into third gear. I think at this point he is crying because he has suddenly realized that I am going to utterly embarass him later on in his life. I give up and let him cry while I get dressed, telling myself that it actually doesn't hurt my ears, convincing myself that it is possibly hillarious.

Yesterday at Marcy's house he did the same thing for 45 minutes. At Easter dinner I had to get up and leave the table because he was screaming and throwing things.

Yet when I leave him with a babysitter, he is a perfect angel-doll. He cries when I leave sometimes, but never for more than 30 seconds or so. He is all smiles and laughs and tickles and giggles for everyone else .

It's funny how we meet our manipulative capabilities at an early age. It must be some sort of experiment or game--"I wonder what mommy will do if I just lay down and start screaming and being as obnoxious as possible? Maybe she will give me candy or do a funny goofy dance and song for me. I don't care what she does, really. I'm bored and this sounds like a lot of fun." It's his new favorite game.

Well, the song and dance stops here kid. Mom's not a number in Issac's stage show any longer. We can still do songs and dances together, but you're not running this ring and I don't work for free. We're re-working this contract, you see? Say ya do, kid, or their's gonna be trouble. Here's my lawyer. He'll tell you where to sign. And while you're at it, guys, work out a clause about potty-training.