EXPANSION ON "MY MOTIVATION"

Ahhhhhhhh, so my kid is 3.5 years old.  As it turns out, this is worse than the terrible twos.  At least during the terrible twos he was only having temper tantrums.  I could deal with those and divert attention all day long.  Now he's like a physically-able monkey with a super processor brain who comes up with crazy ideas, but lacks the capacity (just yet) to foresee consequences.

Examples:

Saturday night Jeremy was out with the boys, no doubt drunk, relishing in the glory of the past, and contemplating getting the old band back together for some recording time in the studio . . . I decided Liam and I would have a little slumber party with the Adam Sandler movie "Bedtime Stories," popcorn, soda and candy, of course.  Bedtime is usually 8 pm or 8:30 pm.  This was a special treat.

In the movie, these two kids are seen shaving their faces.  There's some dialogue between that tall British sex-addict guy and Adam Sandler about the fact that the blades have been removed.  My brain only processed this info as part of the story line.

20 to 30 minutes later, Liam says "I'm going to go potty." He gets up, walks off, I see the bedroom light turn on through the atrium doors.  He's gone longer than he should be.  I go to check on things.  I find him on his stepping stool at Daddy's sink.  He has a goatee of blood dripping rapidly down his chin, a scared look on his face, and a plastic toy in his hand applying pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

My response (aloud of course):  SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!  Then my inner monologue told me to "Calm down, he's only bleeding from the mouth, he will live, and if you panic you will be of no help to him."

As it turns out, he had shaved with Daddy's Mach 4 razor.  He didn't shave but one little spot.  His technique was clearly off.  We decided together that it would be best to wait until big like Daddy to try it again.

In the end, I looked like an unfit mother when I walked him into CVS at 11 pm on Saturday night with a bleeding mouth and he ran off and I couldn't find him.

Sunday he learned to climb onto the kitchen counter without any assistance.

Monday morning I was an hour and a half late to work because I couldn't find my keys.  In my frustration, I called Jeremy and insisted that he come home to help me.  I got mad at him for yawning loudly in my ear when we were on the phone.  I had to email my client associate to tell her I was running late, but expecting clients--please insert some more swear words here as I hunt for my keys . . . I looked in the pantry, toy boxes, dresser drawers, under clothes, jeans pockets, outside, all doors to the house.  Liam has an airplane that Elmo drives/flies around the house.  Liam can sit on it and scoot around.  He's outgrown it really, but still likes it.  Elmo's airplane has a sticker on it (thank God it wasn't removed when he got the thing) that reads "Convenient Underseat Storage." I found my keys.

And now here I am at 1:30 am.  I'm developing sleeping problems from stress, too much caffeine, and whatever else.  And, I've caught everyone up to speed.  I've probably typed too many words.