It’s been four and a half months since the twins turned two. And in that time the kids have been… *whisper*frickin’ easy. I mean it. Sure, they would whine every now and then. They’d smack each other every now and then. But they were nothing like Sarah’s kids.
But lately? Oh. My. Heavenly. Father.
Swee’Pea is on the verge of becoming a certified WHINER. The only reason she hasn’t shifted into full-time whiner status is that Mommy and I refuse to play that game. The minute she starts whining is the minute we stop caring. You’d think after 2,123,952 times of not getting what she wants using the whine technique, she’d try something else. No such luck. The girl is convinced this will work. You gotta love her perseverance.
TheMonk, on the other hand, has suddenly realized that a) he is DA BOMB and b) he has choices.
Yes, TheMonk projects a ‘tude. It’s quite a sight to see all 33 inches of Monk strut around the house like he owns the place. He has this mischievous smile that says “I’m cute. And now I will use that cuteness for evil.” It’s a bit disconcerting. And even more difficult when punishing the kid. It’s like punishing a puppy. You don’t want to rub his face in it, but it’s the only way he’ll learn.
As for the “choices…” TheMonk has begun to perfect the concept of “free will.” If he doesn’t want to come when you ask him to come… he ain’t comin’. If you want him to share something, he has this way of saying “no” that makes you want to stick your head in a vice. It’s less “no” and more…
“no. No. NO. NO! NO!!” A crescendo of negativity that would make Nancy Reagan proud.
And then… there’s last night…
Last night… Or, as many of you might know it… EARLY MORNING! TheMonk decides to wake up and cry out. I jump out of bed and head down the hall expecting to pat him on the back, give a few “there… there’s” and I’m back to dream land.
TheMonk had other ideas. He wanted to go downstairs. (sound familiar?) The only difference between this time and last time was this time it was 2:15 in the freakin’ morning! Daddy was not in such a mood for cuddle time. Not that I didn’t try. I did try. Only I was hoping to sleep while we got some cuddle time. But TheMonk was adamant. He wanted to go downstairs.
Finally, after cajoling, suggesting and downright begging for him to go back to sleep, I picked him up and plopped him in his crib. As my head hit the pillow, I could hear him screaming. The clock said 2:52 a.m. About forty-five minutes later he finally had enough screaming.
As TheMonk found out, it’s a little bit harder to practice free will when you’re stuck in a crib.
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