Can't Get There From Here - R.E.M.

i love getting parenting advice from friends. i really do. i hate it from well-meaning strangers and other like types, but i love it from my friends. i remember everyone talking about the terrible twos, and how we had to brace ourselves for two, because it would kick our asses. strangely, we didn't have that experience AT ALL. i started to feel like we were so lucky. i mean, two? no problemo. definitely not terrible. two was freaking amazing. ems was such a sweet, charming two-year-old child. rarely had a tantrum, communicated so well, all of those amazing things. three hit, and it was a little harder. in fact, it became a LOT harder.

three was a pretty difficult age for us, especially compared with the loveliness of age two. three brought with it tantrums and defiance, nerdiness and social awkwardness. three did bring us reading and an excellent sense of humor, so i can't be too cranky at it. but three made sure to kick is square in the nuts before it left us when four arrived.

four? holy shit. four. four came along a month after eliot did, and four has been insanely difficult. four brought even more defiance. four also thought it would be fun to add rigidity, even more pronounced hyperactivity, and bigger, angrier tantrums. yay.

now, before you get all over my case for complaining, please let me refer you to this post. and this one. and generally every post i've ever written about my older son. you KNOW i freaking adore this child. that is what makes it so difficult to deal with the fact that he has, for lack of a better word, issues. he is a sweet, loving child. he really is. he's funny as heck, and smart like i can't believe.

but he can be defiant like the best of them, and throw a screaming tantrum like you wouldn't believe. his amazing memory only causes problems if you ever forget saying something or contradict yourself. his insistence on some things happening only a certain way can be annoying at best. sometimes he's been known to lash out by hitting when he is especially angry.

why do i write these things? because i need to vent. more importantly, though, it's to admit to being human. there's a cult of perfection in parenting these days, more now than ever, and especially true when it comes to mothers. you know this if you've ever read even one comments section of a blog or column. people are so judgmental on the web, thanks to its anonymous nature. i have forbidden myself from reading most comments any more, as i tend to come away weepy or furious or a combination of those two things plus some. so many people have all the answers and are more than happy to pass judgment when someone admits that he or she fucked up or doesn't have all the answers.

well, guess what? i have fucked up numerous times. and definitely don't have all the answers. i don't even have a few of them, it seems. i've yelled at my kid. i've cried. i've sworn (no shit) (but not AT him). i've begged and pleaded with him. i've begged and pleaded with every deity i can think of. i've made excuses for him. i've made excuses for me. i've done things totally wrong. i've also done a few things right. i have purchased books. and more books. i've made appointments. we've paid a lot of money. i've made more phone calls. and more when those calls go unreturned.

do we have any answers?

not really.

do we have a cure?

nuh-uh.

do we feel like any fucking progress has been made? at all?

nope.

do i feel hopeless and sad?

a lot.

do i love my kid?

more than ever.

he's not fucking broken. HE IS NOT BROKEN. this has been my mantra over the past few months, and will continue to be forever, probably. he's different and special and is helping me learn that i have to look at things in a different way. i don't have all the answers and never will. humility? CHECK.