You think I’m kidding?
I’m not.
You think I’m awful?
Okay – maybe I am. But I’m just stating facts. As adorable as they may be, my children have their flaws, and the toddler/preschool years have been a real treat.
Let’s start with “gross.”
Oliver picks his nose. And he eats it. I probably shouldn’t admit this because there is nothing funny about it. No justification through laughter and commiseration. It’s just gross and embarrassing and I LIVE for the day when I can tell him how he used to torture me with this revolting (and seemingly unbreakable) habit. Later in life, I will in turn, torture him with the knowledge that he was a nose picker (and eater) as a long past due punishment. Probably in front of his high school girlfriend.
Also, he’s obsessed with dirt.
Meaning that he can’t walk past a patch of dirt and NOT shuffle through it. He likes the big dust clouds that result since they are reminiscent of the steam clouds he sees in his bajillion Thomas the Tank Engine DVDs. He calls this “down tracks” (as in trains going down the tracks). I get it. I know what he’s going for. But to the rest of the world? It just looks like a giant four year old in a cloud of dust. We’ve started calling him Pig-Pen. Which sounds much cuter than it actually is.
But the real gross out factor of this love affair with dirt is that ANY form of dirt or dirt-like substance will do. Rolling around in sand at the beach? Acceptable. Shoving your hand into public ashtrays on the street? Disgusting. “Oliver! No dirt!” has become my signature bellow around the neighborhood.
Then there’s George.
And George? Pees. Everywhere. On the carpet, on the stairs, on the basement couch (by the way – you should TOTALLY come over to watch movies one night…sit down, make yourself comfortable…), on the bathroom floor IN FRONT OF the toilet… It’s like having a puppy. Except I can’t whack him on the nose with a newspaper when he does it.
There is no potty training-related excuse for this behavior because he LOVES going potty. Especially flushing. While Oliver gained 10 lbs eating mini marshmallows as he sat on the potty, George has needed no incentive beyond flushing. And he’ll keep going if I let him. We’ve had to enforce a strict one flush rule in our house for fear of George running up the water bill – or just breaking all of the toilets. Which is entirely possible since he will go from potty to potty if I don’t watch him. It’s a “round the world” of potties if you will. Maybe he’s marking his territory? That would explain all of the peeing on the floor…
While I wouldn’t say that Eleanor is gross, her delight in anything gas-related would put a twelve year old boy to shame. I’ve already written about this – but it doesn’t seem to be a phase that she’ll outgrow anytime soon. She also loves to simulate the noises, and has become quite good at it.
I’m trying to get her to replace her squeals of laughter with a simple “excuse me” when she does “furt” (her pronunciation), but she’s not picking it up. Here is a recent conversation we had:
Eleanor: Mommy! I FURTED!
Me: Well what do you say when you fart?
Eleanor: I say PPTHTTTT!
Me: Let me clarify that…What do you say AFTER you fart?
She only came up with “excuse me” when I gave her the answer.
Oh – and if you think it’s crass that I actually let her use the word “fart” instead of “toot” or “pass gas” or some other more ladylike variation…we’re so beyond that at this point…I don’t even try.
Eleanor is probably more annoying than she is gross though. So I’ll start with her on that topic.
Eleanor has to be the center of attention at all times. And she’s a quick study. So I have to think long and hard about what might constitute positive reinforcement.
She used to be such a tough little cookie and would barely pause to brush the bloody gravel off her knees after a fall while playing outside with her brothers. So OF COURSE I would fuss over her when she did cry. That always meant that she must be really hurt.
I’m not entirely sure when this changed, but at some point my little Camille figured out that a few tears would be her golden ticket to spotlight city. So now she’s always hurt.
I should really count the number of times that she says “I hurt my neck” on a given day. I’m not sure why that’s her injury of choice, but the fact that she usually points to her stomach or her elbow when she says it, doesn’t provide any clues. And she can squeeze out some real tears too. She’s got skillz, that one… But you know – it’s really annoying.
My mother recently noticed that every time she talks to Eleanor on the phone, she gets an update on all of her granddaughter’s boo boos.
Good god, but it’s like she’s an old woman! If you ask her how she’s doing, you’ll hear all about her ailments “well…I’m coming down with a head cold and my sciatica has been acting up…but I’m getting by…” Sheesh!
But her twin brother, George has an even more annoying method for getting attention: he screams.
And when I say, he screams, I don’t mean he cries or yells or even bellows. I mean, he makes noises that would rival the shrieks of any Von Helsing vampire bride. He can shatter glass with his screams.
As an “intense” child, George seems to find a multitude of triggers for his screams. It could be something as obvious as a sibling snatching a toy from him to more unusual transgressions, such as my insistence that he wear pants when out on the front lawn.
Either way – his screams are unsettling. And cause sharp pains in your ears. Hopefully, he’ll grow out of this. Or cultivate a successful future career as an opera singer.
And last but not least, there is Oliver. The dirt flinging is pretty annoying – but he’s got so much more to offer than just that!
I’d have to say that he is most annoying when he’s feeling particularly boisterous. Sensory issues play a huge role in his special needs and this boy really likes physical contact. He doesn’t just sit next to you…he sits on you. And if you think you’ll just teach him a lesson by sitting on top of him for a change, you should save yourself the effort. He’ll love it.
I can’t bend over to pick up toys without bracing myself for the inevitable impact of his assault. He’s not a violent child. He just feels the need to lunge at the people he loves.
I’ve decided that I’d make a fantastic line backer now (minor league of course since I’m only 5′ 6″ and not exactly beefy). I can shift my center of gravity on a dime. I now have a sixth sense for detecting a sneak attack, and I rarely lose my footing. I went to Fordham University, so my sparse knowledge of football history includes Vince Lombardi. And I think I’d make a very respectable eighth block of granite.
But for all of their annoying qualities, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. I can only imagine how sick they are of my constant nagging:
“Don’t touch that!“
“Get out of the street!“
“Come back here!“
“Don’t hit!“
“Don’t eat that!“
“Don’t throw dirt!“
“Not around the neck!“
I suspect that a lot of eye rolling goes on behind my back. “God – she’s so shrill.“
So we all have our quirks. But I’m not nearly as gross as they are. Unless of course you count the mass quantities of junk food I put away each day. Though I don’t consider that gross as much as just flat out survival.
