JaMakin Me Crazy

There is a drink they serve in the Outer Rim bar at the Contemporary Hotel at the WDW resort called, "JaMakinMeCrazy."

I cannot tell you exactly what's in it and to be honest I don't know that I've ever had it, but I can tell you, I can SO relate to it's name! Speaking in terms of my children alone... they are making me crazy. I love them dearly, don't get me wrong. They're just infuriating at times. Lately, it's Daniel moreso than Crisper. (Crisper is still little and can't really be held accountable for some of his actions.) I know all kids have the capacity to drive their parents to bedlam, but mine are pushing the edge of the envelope lately.

Crisper has discovered the delights of taking every single pillow we have in the house and piling them all into the middle of the living room floor. If you've been here, then you know we have 12 large pillows in the living room and another 13 regular-sized ones in the bedroom. Why we have 25 pillows in this house is another blog entirely, so suffice to say that we have lotsa pillows and he piles them into the middle of the floor. D isn't exactly patient by nature but he's learning. And the pillow thing is something that he's a total freak about. It's a standing rule in our house that the pillows MUST stay on the sofa unless Mommy, Daddy or a guest removes them. The boys KNOW this and as many times as we yell and tell them not to pile the pillows in the middle of the floor, they STILL do it. Then they refuse to pick them up and cry like we're pulling their fingernails out with pliers when we ask them to put the pillows back. It's a constant battle that I'm really tired of fighting. Short of sewing the pillows down or putting them in the attic, I'm not really sure what we can do to solve this problem. Taking away their good-behavior reward stickers does nothing, and putting them into the naughty corner does nothing as well. Any ideas?

Every morning on the way to school is another great example of the maddening things children do.

We leave home with just enough time to make it to school. On the way to school, Daniel eats his breakfast. Well, actually, he holds his breakfast in his hand and looks out the window until we turn on the street where his school is and then he starts furiously shoveling it into his mouth. I tell him at least a dozen times while we're enroute to eat. I feel like a record with a skip in it... "eat your breakfast... eat your breakfast... eat your breakfast..." Finally, I give up the fight and drop him off at school with 2 bites of Froot Loops and a swig of apple juice in his belly. It's not always Froot Loops, sometimes it's a pancake dog, or a Pop-tart. But it doesn't really matter what I feed him, he still won't eat.

So don't give him breakfast, then... simple solution, right? WRONG. If he doesn't eat something, he gets super-pissy and ends up being ugly to the other kids and having to sit in the naughty chair then having to move his name to the red circle. Which is roughly the equivalent of having 3 checks beside your name on the blackboard, which is what I had to do when I was a kid.

Of course, when we got to three checks we were sent to the office and were beaten with a 5x1x40-inch paddle that had numerous holes drilled down the middle of it. Presumably to reduce drag as the teacher was swinging it. This paddle also had the words, "Board of Education" written on it in black marker. I don't know if that meant it was the property of the school board, or if it was meant to insinuate that it taught one a lesson; at any rate, my behind never actually met the "Board of Education" but I saw it plenty of times. It was in a super-conspicuous place in the Principal's office. It might as well have had a neon sign blinking ~~>BIG-ASS-PADDLE<~~ over top of it. Once, I asked my 2nd grade teacher why it was so big and she smiled sweetly and said "All the better to beat you with, my dear." I know she was half-kidding, but it was enough to put the fear of God into me. Anyway, I digress. Not sure how I ended up on this subject, but there it is.

Anyway, back to Daniel. He refuses to cooperate in the mornings. He wakes up like a bear coming out of hibernation. D often tells me that Daniel and I are so much alike, it's scary. I guess that's why we clash like Titans most of the time. Just for the record, I usually wake up like a bear too. So to be perfectly fair, I do understand how he must feel.

I have to fight with him to brush his teeth and hair.

"Why do I have to brush my teeth mom?"

"Because your teeth will fall out if you don't."

"I don't care, I don't like my teeth anyway. "

"Daniel, brush your teeth, son."

(he just stands there staring at me... so I stand there with an I-mean-business look on my face."

"Are you gonna brush your teeth, or am I going to have to?"

"NOOOO! Don't brush my teeth! I HATE it when you do it!"

"Then YOU do it."

(he's screaming and whining at me at this point, but he finally capitulates... so I turn to walk out of the bathroom....)

"You used too much toothpaste mom! I hate this toothpaste! You made me get it on my shirt! Now it's ruined!"

(me: closes eyes and walks away counting to 100)

Then I have to fight with him to get his clothes on. Then he doesn't want THIS shirt, he wants THAT shirt... and THOSE jeans are too little or too long or too blue or too something. God forbid the TV is on! I couldn't get his attention if my hair were on fire. He doesn't care what show it is. It could be Judge Judy and it's still a million times more interesting than getting dressed.

Then I fight with him to get his shoes on. He does, eventually, albeit begrudgingly. Then we get into the car, have the aforementioned arguement over him eating his breakfast. By the time I drop him off at school we're both pissy. When I get back into my car, I find myself feeling quite thankful I've got 3 hours in which I don't have to deal with him. I hate feeling that way! I want to enjoy my children, not be glad when someone else has them for a few hours! I feel horrible admitting that I do feel that way sometimes.

I am certain someone will read this and readily conclude that he's just a brat and it's my own fault for allowing him to act that way... but there's got to be an easier answer than that. I'm certain someone has dealt with these sorts of issues with their own children and figured out some method of working through it.

Daniel is one of those children who not only needs a ton of attention, but he absolutely requires it. (Not sure if that's my fault as well, but the nature vs. nurture arguement isn't open for debate here) And when you do give him that one-on-one attention, whatever you give him is never enough. He can't just play 4 games of Memory in a row, he's got to have more, more, more! If you don't give him more, then you're mean and he'd rather have Daddy... or wishes you were Mimi. I know kids don't understand it, but dammit it hurts when your kid tells you he "hates this home" and would "rather live with Mimi." (For those who don't know, "Mimi" is my mom.) It makes you not want to play with him at all if he's just going to act that way.

I know he is a lot like me. Mostly, he's like I was when I was a kid. I must have been a pain in the ass to my parents and I am now being paid back. It's grim irony, I tell you. D tells me I can be somewhat... incessant... at times. I think it's really just his polite way of saying I am emotionally high-maintenance. He might be right, but I am what I am. At least I am aware of it now.

But that doesn't change the fact that Daniel and I are butting heads like mad. I'm not entirely sure how to correct this problem we're having. Is this just a phase that all kids go through and it will eventually pass? I hear the veteran moms now, "Yeah, it will pass when he's around 18 and realizes he needs you or he won't have any clean clothes or anything other than pizza to eat." Again, there's got to something better than that grim outlook.

I'm sure Super Nanny would have a simple no-fail solution to this problem. No doubt she'd give me a mirror and tell me it's all my fault and if I don't do something now to correct the behavior he'll end up being a problem child. I'd like to believe it's not too late and that my son won't end up being one of those kids you see somewhere and suddenly understand why some species eat their young.

I know I sound like I'm one mean Mama. According to some, I guess I am. But don't judge me too harshly, please. I'm just another mom doing my best to muddle through. Thanks for letting me rant.