Monday, 22 March 2010

Du Jour

Ummm, it's been a hard day. The kind of day where, if I was a normal member of society, I would joke on twitter about cracking open a bottle of red to celebrate the children finally going to bed.

This Rocco .... he fights me at every turn. Throws things around the house. Breaks EVERYTHING. Chucks tantrums at the drop of a hat. Steals the dog bone, drips oil onto the carpet, screams bloody murder when I dare to lock him in his stroller, runs away at nappy change time. Breaks Max's new lego, climbs onto the table and pushes my candlesticks over, and plays with the buttons on the TV. Burst his way into the bathroom while I was sitting on the toilet, and shoulder charges me! Saying MINE! MINE POO!

He did every single one of those things today .... and more. I'm not exaggerating.

I would like to shoot myself in the head now. I only have one remaining nerve and man did he get on it. Max was NOT like this as a baby. He was the most peaceful, content little thing. Rocco is a frickin tornado. I had to put him in time out today. A LOT.

Know what he did? Taught himself to open his bedroom door and come strolling out, tear-stained cheeks. "Door. Opin."

I was *trying* to supervise Max's homework, unpack the dishwasher, and put away the groceries all at the one time. Max and I clenched our jaws so hard not to laugh at Rocco. He was doing these cute little dances for us, trying to butter us up.

I keep looking at the eyes on my last post ..... Roccos certainly are amazing. They remind me of the swimming pool we had as kids. The bluest blue on a hot day, the sunlight would bore down and make the water shimmer this crazy way. Beautiful, but hard to swim in, on those hot hot days.


Dave came home and then left again, so crazy was feral hour tonight. I rang him later, at wits end, to tell him Roccos piece de resistance of today.


It was so literally symbolic, I could find no more cranky energy. Just resignation. I knew something was up when he walked up to me holding a metal garden implement. "Lady. Brokin." I felt dread when we walked back to the entrance of the house. He went up and patted her on the head. "BROKIN."

He had banged and chipped away at the head. And lopped off part of an ear.

He seemed remorseful, all with the wet sloppy kisses.

Before tackling it, trying to jump up onto its head.

So, I finally put him to bed. Where he mercifully fell straight asleep.
No bottle of wine cracked open for me ..... there really is only one option after a day like today.
Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Just how *I* like them ..... half cooked, cookie dough still raw in the centre.

So that when I ate them straight off the baking tray some of their insides fell away and I scooped it up with my man hands and inhaled about five in a row.

Maybe six.

OK eight but don't tell Dave.
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