Personality makeover

People ominously warned me that the Terrible Twos were indeed terrible and with twins, the corny joke was that it'd be the Terrible Fours which didn't make mathematical sense. Anyway, the warning was that one kid going through the Terrible Twos was enough to yank out one's hair and with two, exponentially more exasperation was going to be expected.

I was also told, especially by those who favoured girls that girls were more manageable and obedient and boys were well, basically holy terrors created to punish us for all the angst we put our parents through.

Both things I laughed off and declared I'd deal with it when I got to it. And I didn't think the second was likely because, as I'd ask the bearer of information " Have you met my daughter?" Baby J isn't exactly what we'd call a walk in the park although to her credit, she has mellowed and is sweeter, a little bit less tantrumist and is beginning to have some semblance of rational thought. Evan on the other hand has always been more chill and easier to distract or placate and it made for a good combination because we simply didn't have enough hands to placate both at the same time or to discipline both at the same time.

We still don't but the roles seem to have shifted a little bit. The holy terror that causes me to dream fantasies of smacking is not Baby J but Evan who has loud and royal tantrums that involve kicking, flailing and loud screaming. All times of day, and night. I write this after a night of not having more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep because the boy simply wanted to fuss, feed, was bored and wanted to be entertained at odd hours of night. The best I could do was hiss at him and then pretend to sleep. But that carried over into screaming when the freezer shut on him, screaming and kicking when taken away from the main door, yanking his sister's hair out because he was angry, stepping on his sister's belly and screaming because I yelped at him to get off and throwing the milk bottle at me because there was no more milk and he was still hungry. All in the span of the last one and a half hours.

I don't know why. I thought it was because he was having adjustment problems because Aunty D left. But it's been a month and things have quieted down since and he's become used to the new help round the house. And most of these things happen with the grandparents or me. Hardly with Packrat because Packrat doesn't tolerate it but there has been a whole lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth and a lot of gritted teeth while I try hard to not to yell at him and make matters worse. But it is trying and I'm guessing this is not the best that he can pull out of his hat.

Not pleased now. Although once he grins and chuckles, much of it is forgotten. But since I'm really tired and frustrated right now, I'm not all gooey about how cute he looks when he smiles and grins, a weapon he uses with impunity.

And as I write this, I hear a loud crash followed by raised voices and the distinctive Evan-esque howl. Upon investigation, I sigh as I discover that he has flung a glass vitamin bottle onto the floor from the height of his high chair, sending shards of glass all over the dining floor and causing his grandmother to smack him on his wrists and force him to sit still while the carnage is swept up. Of course, the boy doth protest and protests loudly, leading to my giving him a stern talking to and a threat of more punishment if it should happen again. As well as a plea to his grandmother to, for goodness sake, NOT let him play with glass bottles.

I haven't pulled the ultimate weapon out of the bag yet. The one that used to send me scurrying. The one of punishment and then of a promise of even more punishment when Daddy got home.

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