Welcome to MY wonderful world of having a three-year old.
As many of you know, if you've read anything in my other blogs, I am a single parent with a rambunctious, head strong, overly impossible, loud, flamBOYantly precocious, blue-eyed son. *sigh with wide-eyed happiness* He is the love of my life, and also the reason I pull out my hair. Most of the time, our personalities will compliment each other in a wild, wacky, over-the-top silly manner. However, sometimes, I want to go in a corner and hide until I feel less inclined to show the fire in my eyes when he throws himself dramatically on the floor, complaining that everything is not going his way.
I know. Most are snickering, nodding your head in agreement that, sometimes, you just can't handle the precocious personality of a head strong three-year old. Hold down the fort! They're on full charge, a whole cavalry built into one little body, but with enough power and adrenaline to knock you clean across the room. Hulk ain't got nothin' on my feisty three-year old. He's a whirlwind and a half, and definitely comparable to a mini tornado when he's awake.
Trust me, I understand that it's a tale for the ages, a story repeatedly passed down from one mother (or father) to the next. Therefore, I'm going to do the best I can to make mine a wee bit different.
My son, while insanely intelligent, uses his gift against mom-kind in the usual, "I'm going to push the limits like a 15-year old boss." (Remember, he's three). Mommy: "It's time to get up for school." Son: *rolls over in crib away from the light* Mommy: "Come on honey, it's time to get ready for school." Son: "No." Mommy: *disgruntled* "Pardon? I'm being patient. Come on Grayson." Son: "No. I don't want to go to school!" *lifts his body up and flings it dramatically onto the crib*
Ergh. I am NOT a morning person. If I'm getting up at the crack of dawn, you better believe it's for a necessary reason! And guess what? You're suffering with me! Fortunately, I'm still able to pick him up...for now.
I know what you're thinking. What is the big deal? Well, let me explain. It's the little comments, the little stares, the little manipulative grins that make you step back and go, "Umm, wait. When did you become so much less innocent?" Granted, I'm not saying that my son is intentionally manipulating in a malicious way, but it flabbergast me that he can go from Piaget's Sensorimotor Stage to the Concrete Operational Stage, all the while, waving a hand good-bye to the Preoperational Stage. Next, he's going to say in his best three-year old Spock voice, "It's only logical."
In reality, I guess he could really be straddling the stages at times. Several months ago, I had a showdown with a cockroach in my house. I, of course, was the victorious one while all the remains of the cockroach whirled around in the toilet, but Grayson had thought the entire ordeal was HILARIOUS. Finally, we hurried out into the rain to get in the car, late as usual for dinner at my parent's house. After buckling him into his carseat, I run around the front of my car and pulled open the door, only to be greeted by another cockroach falling from the door of my car. I scream, bang, and eventually rid the cockroach of his nasty, useless existence, and hop into the car. Grayson asks, "Mommy, why another cockroach?" In which I respond, "Cockroaches like the dampness." His little face scrunches up in a cute, little thinking endeavor, and then says, "Oh. Well, cockroaches need umbrellas." All my energy releases in a fit of laughter and I say, "Umbrellas?" And he responds, "Yes, and arms like me, to hold the umbrellas."
My mind is racing with all sorts of flustered emotions. That was hilarious! How did he think of such a thing? All the while, I could care less that I just killed two cockroaches in a row.
It's logical. As an adult, I would have never thought in such a logically, innocent, creative deduction. To me, that's an excellent example of how the completely impossible could be concluded logically through reasoning. Cockroaches like the damp, so they need umbrellas. However, they would need arms to hold the umbrellas. It's cute, it's creepy, it's all around creative! The mind is a beautifully complex palace!
Anyway, I'm not saying that my son is an unusual genius, but characteristically, he's observant, intelligent, analytical, and still loves to cuddle with his Mommy. This is where I believe the dust bunnies are certainly plotting my demise.
As a technically "under-employed" individual with a three-year old, I am blessed to spend a fantastic amount of time with my son. We play, we eat, we sleep, we play, we eat, we sleep; it's a never-ending cycle of precious time that I will never get back. I try constantly to keep a balanced lifestyle. I enjoy the time I have with my child when I don't work, and I also try to play grown-up with the duties of the house, or around other adults. I'm not one to spend copious amounts of time glued to my phone/social networks unless I'm uploading pictures of Grayson, and I'm not one to sit him in front of the television because I need to "be alone". No. He's like a mommy magnet, just enough boy to mess up everything he walks passed with one swooping motion of his arm, but consciously aware of how it makes me feel after he knows I want him picking up his effects after he plays/tears/pops/kicks/throws/or colors.
I'm by no means the "cleanest" person of the world. Dishes in the sink? Ah, I'll get to them eventually. Laundry needs folding? Ah, I'll just restart the dryer when I feel like folding. Random cars in my walk way? Ah, I'll kick them to the side and try to remember to tell Grayson to pick them up later. Bed not made up? Psh. I'll be climbing back into in less than 15 hours!
And, by no means am I the "dirtiest" person of the world. However, despite my lack of OCD (but my overwhelming ability to organize) has made me build up waves of moments in which I feel that my habits tend to be because I get lazy, instead of excuses to spend time with my child. Let me explain. Recently, I have read, and heard, a lot of people write, or say, something along the lines of, "You're laundry can wait to be folded, but the time you have with you child is precious. Take advantage of it." In which I nod and agree (because, all in all, I do), but secretly know that the reason MY laundry isn't getting folded is because I am procrastinating, I am lazy, and I am tired. Admittedly, I am not hiding behind an "excuse" to why my house is a wreck, but telling you the truth to why my house can be a monstrous pile of sharp toys, dishes in the sink, and junk piled to the ceilings on my chairs, tables, and cabinets.
I'm being lazy.
Fortunately, however, I will have snaps of realization every 2-3 weeks on how cluttered my house will be, and feel the overwhelming need to clean it thoroughly. When this happens, I take a wipe, bleach, Lysol, vacuum, Febreeze, and Swiffer to every nook and cranny of my small living space. All the while, my three-year old is zooming cars across the kitchen floor. I demolish every scrap of dirt and dust pile, but I swear it continues to get worse every time I clean! It's like an army of junk and dirt multiplies each time I attempt to perfect my house.
I think it may reflect the need to organize and perfect my own life and hobbies, while trying to juggle the irreplaceable time I feel is slipping away from me with each enduring centimeter my son grows! It's never enough for me. I'm greedy, I'm envious, and I'm just plain selfish! My constantly cluttered house is a symbol for my notoriously cluttered mind. I feel like I am always dodging, making excuses, and procrastinating the things that, in reality, will help my life run smoother, yet, I'm too lazy to organize before the dust bunnies build an army large enough to conquer!
I guess, with all other words aside, I am logical in justifying my lack of cleanliness through my apathy of judgment. Unfortunately, this is also where I add more stress onto my life than should be there. Admitting that I am a lazy housekeeper places strain on my emotions when I step or kick the nearest toy car by accident. Additionally, my painting hobby takes up loads of space in my tiny living room when there is a corner full of toys and two large plywood boards strewn in front of our television or couch. I create stress because of my lack of space. Likewise, my mind is full of random nonsense that floats around daily taunting me with minuet details that holds no relevancy in my current state of affairs. This, in turn, causes the precious time I have with my son, while he is still younger and more innocent, to pass even more rapidly than if I were to focus readily at our activities on hand! Ergh! It's all so frustrating. And it is entirely because I am lazily letting the dust bunnies gather from the corners, and I wait until I am on the brink of a nervous clutter breakdown to focus.
Nevertheless, by the end of the day, stepping on the toy cars and silently shouting the most abrasive curse word, is minute compared to the sleepy head that whispers, "No, Mommy, I want you to sleep with me", as you attempt to slip away to paint your next masterpiece...or sit on the couch drinking a glass of wine until you flatten your ass the lazy way. Bring it on dust bunnies! I have a three-year old who will stuff you into a toy car and fling you around so hard, you'll bust into a million pieces.
All is fair in love and war. ...until you are blown away and can breathe no more.