The Game Changer

Kid number three is a complete game changer for me. I've been told that there's always one. He's the one. He tipped the scales so we can no longer play man on man. Instead it's zone defense and that one kid single handedly has the best offense. He shuts down our defense regularly. Last night, Troy was helping the older two boys with homework. As he and Garrett worked on updating a science fair project so that it'd be ready to compete at the district level, he also read off spelling words to Matthew. I twisted and turned in the kitchen, making school lunches (which Garrett forgot this morning anyway) and sauteing, frying, and scrambling dinner. Will was repeatedly underfoot, trying to grab at the hot skillet, throwing Ziploc bags around like confetti, and screaming because dinner wasn't ready RIGHT WHEN HE WANTED IT.

Game changer.

I thought I had advice to offer young moms. I've been asked many times exactly how I'd instructed my children to be polite, what I'd done to make them eat everything on their plate, how we'd instilled respect into them. And then came the third. He's basically Animal from the Muppets.

DON'T GET ME WRONG HERE. HE IS JOY AND LIFE AND LIGHT AND I LOVE HIM INTENSELY AND IMMENSELY. FOR EVER AND ALWAYS. AMEN. AND I HABITUALLY WATCH HIM SLEEP AND LITERALLY WEEP AT HOW WONDERFUL HE IS AND HOW BLESSED I AM. (But it must be written down so that, one day, when he is--hopefully--respectful and calm and raising children of his own, and he is calling me and saying, "My toddler, McKenadielee*, won't stop trying to take apart the television set," I can direct him to this very post and assure him that it will get better.)

It's just that he's a game changer. And game changers will one day rule the world.

We have gotten two children to the ages of 11 and nearly 9 with certain parenting tactics and a whole lot of prayer. We parented a toddler and a newborn during an incredibly stressful contested adoption while living more than 700 miles from our nearest relative. And it's not that I would have ever said that I knew what I was doing because that's incredibly foolish and also, I didn't. But, for the most part, our combination of stern consistency mixed with grace and love seemed to be on point. I can remember wanting to call my mommy to come bail me out many times, of course. There was the head lice situation, more vomit than I care to even chronicle, and poop. So much poop. And, yes, I have called my mother on MANY occasions to basically be like, "What the heck, man? What do I even do with this child who has lost his dadgum mind?" She's talked me off ledges and encouraged me when I needed it and doled out advice when asked. But, for the majority of the most part, my husband and I have gotten through two toddler stages, two preschoolers, two early elementary schoolers and are smack in the middle of getting two kids through mid-late elementary school. I think I got a little cocky. I think I thought, "Well, ok. Brace yourself for the teenage years because these first 12 have been pretty alright. Hold on tight, y'all, the real parenting is about to happen."

This game changer though? WHOA BOY. I can't even see beyond two with him.

BECAUSE WHATEVER I DO I CANNOT GET HIM TO STOP THROWING HIS FOOD.

I thought he would grow out of this by, oh, fourteen months or so. However, I still find myself whirling through parenting tactics to stop the food from flying. Grace and a steady voice of reason? Stern face with a raised voice? Making him clean it up? Taking it away? NOTHING WORKS. (Well, taking it away DOES work but only temporarily--until the next meal. God and the Division of Child and Family Services frown on purposely starving your children so I do have to feed him. Three times daily, in fact.)

When this kid doesn't want something anymore--or at all--he just chucks it as far as he can. Side note: The game changer has a wicked good arm. I sit right next to him so, more often than not, I'm in his direct line of fire. You guys, I have to believe this will stop. I have to because my very sanity depends on it. I don't know ANY kindergartners who routinely throw their food but, the thing is, I also do not know many 20 month olds who routinely throw their food either.

SO WHAT THE HECK, MAN? WHAT DO I EVEN DO WITH THIS CHILD WHO HAS LOST HIS DADGUM MIND?

I'm serious. I'll take your advice.


*I just assume that my children will follow current trends and give their children stupid names. I'm trying to prepare myself now so that when they put little LaTorkleson and his twin brother, Mt. Rainier, in my arms I can smile, knowing I got past those names decades ago.