My Life Is A Three Ring Circus

Ladies and Gents, in the big-tent you will find a rare specimen of a two-year-old. Ahh, but don't get too close--he bites, and trills at a decible level that will clean out your ear wax.

As parents, we've all heard the maxim that children are like mirrors. They reflect their surroundings and the behaviors they have witnessed. In short, we are told, they reflect YOU as a parent. While I am somewhat inclined to agree, I have spent most of the last month trying to convince myself otherwise.

For example, when somebody displeases me, I don't spit on them. So why does Issac? I gaurantee he has never seen me spit on anyone. Still, it goes under this month's list of Issac's annoying habits that have me pulling out my hair.

This afternoon, when I asked Issac to get in his chair to eat lunch, he scrunched up his face, put his hands on his hips, squatted on his knees, took in a long, deep breath and then shouted "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" at the top of his lungs. I am past the point of forcing him into his chair, so I continued to make my own tuna fish sandwhich and sat down to eat.

The next thing I know, Issac is by my knees. "MIIIINE!" he shouts. "I WAAAAANT IT NOOOOOOOOW!" His look is menacing. He seriously thinks he can bully me out of my sandwhich. I raise an eyebrow. My hair blows back from my face with the wind that accompanies his second roar, "MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!"

"I see that you would like a sandwhich," I reply.

"MIIIIIIIIIIINE! NOOOOOOOOOOW!"

"You will have to get into your chair first."

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

"Then you won't have a sandwhich."

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

"Fine by me."

He squints his eyes. He is holding a stick. I can see him processing evil thoughts. Then, suddenly, he drops the stick and runs into his chair. I would have celebrated, but I know the battle is not over. It is never over.

After I set the plate in front of him, he immediately pushes it away. "NO WANT!" he says.

I ignore him.

"NO WAAAAAAANT MOMMY! NO WAAAANT!"

This was the manner in which almost the entire day was conducted. Lunch continued with Issac eating a small bite, then picking up a wet handful of tuna fish and threatening to throw it onto the carpet. I threw my head into my hands and debating running screaming into the woods. I rubbed my eyes and reopened them, hoping that, magically, the debacle would be over. I reminded myself that Issac's bad days are not reflections of myself as a bad parent. Rather, they are reflections of Issac's individuality.

I suppose we are all allowed to have bad days from time to time. Issac included.