I called Tucker’s cell today to beg him to save me from Oliver.
I’m not joking.
In case you don’t know, Ollie’s three. I called my husband to save me from my three year old because I was tired of being slapped in the face, punched in the back and screamed at. Tucker didn’t answer and I didn’t leave a message.
Ollie’s fit lasted for a very long time.
It ranged from whining and repeating the same request to blood curdling screams, gritted teeth and slapping me in the face. Then there’s his door I thought he was going to break and his head that I thought he was going to break when he slammed himself onto our tile floor.
Word to the wise, don’t ever Google a situation like this. The results I got ranged from Ollie being allergic to red dye to him being bipolar and needing lithium to him not getting enough individual attention.
The red dye I’m not concerned about since we don’t eat and/or drink a lot of artificially colored things, the bipolar diagnosis at three scares the shit out of me because of my history and leaves me ambivalent since it seems bipolar disorder has become the ADHD of the 2000’s.
The individual attention thing would make the most sense.
Cara starts kindergarten in the Fall. She is close to reading, i.e., she can sound out most words and knows a bunch of sight words. Because of that, she wants to learn. She demands a lot of my time and I’m not complaining as much as just calling a spade a spade. I can see how Ollie would feel left out. He’s at the age where, when I try and include him in what we’re doing–with age appropriate stuff–he quickly gets bored and goes off to create mayhem.
Our day starts with either Ollie coming in to wake me up in the morning–anywhere between 0500 and 0730–or with him whacking me in the face as he rolls over because he snuck into our room sometime in the night. The first thing he asks me is, “Can I play a game on your phone?” or “Can I play the Indie Harry Potter LEGO game?”–he means the Indiana Jones LEGO game, by the way. When I say no or Tucker says no, Ollie usually crumbles to the floor and throws a fit. I ignore the water works in the hope that ignoring the fit will reduce the length of the fit. I’m not sure if that works. More testing is required.
The thing about Ollie is that he won’t leave you alone when it comes to something he wants. He will bombard you with the same question for hours. It doesn’t matter if you tell him no every single time, he’s going to keep asking and he’s going to keep getting pissed that you said no.
Depending on what it is that he’s wanting, there’s a chance that he’s going to grit his teeth and/or scream at you. There’s also a chance that he’s going to run at you with his fists balled and hit you. Or pinch you. Or kick you. Maybe even bite you.
The day started out great. Really great.
Cara and Ollie were both in bed with me this morning as Tucker left for work. We got up, got dressed and then had some breakfast. We had told the kids yesterday that for them to get a “prize” they had to clean up their play room. The place was a disaster area and I had helped them clean it the last time and wasn’t doing that again. The kids each were assigned certain things to pick up and once Ollie started asking about playing video games, I reminded him that the agreement was for him to pick up the clothes, the small items and the blocks and that he could play 30 minutes of whatever game he wanted to play. Cara’s prize was for me to make playdough [my playdough recipe] for her and then help her make “icecream” out of the playdough.
After some time and a lot of encouragement, the playroom was clean. Really clean. I praised the hell out of them because they did a fabulous job. Ollie got his 30 minutes of Indie Harry Potter LEGO game and I started getting stuff together for Cara’s playdough.
The first hint of trouble was when the time went off. The timer I had warned him about numerous times. I let him know it was time to turn off the game and he hollered at me, “When I’m done!” I calmly–really–told him it was time to turn off the game and that I would give him until the count of three at which point I would turn off the game. He threw himself on the controller and started screaming.
He screamed and kicked and scratched and pinched and slapped me. He ran at me. He told me he loved me and just wanted to hug and kiss me and then he’d start another fit when I told him no and he’d come at me again and he meant to hurt me. This went on for…a long time until he calmed down and I calmed down and he sat in my lap and I rocked him and I cried. Not sobbing–I didn’t want to scare them.–but I cried and I was ashamed that he had scared me. I was ashamed that I had let him get under my skin and I was ashamed that I’m afraid I’m going to hold a grudge. I was ashamed that I didn’t know what to do.
I still don’t know what to do.
Also? I may not have many “real life” friends but I love my online friends. Very much.