Mini Me

Wiggle and I are currently embroiled in an epic battle for power and dominence, and I, of course, am losing heartily. I don't start the day thinking about campaigns and strategies, but there I am at noon screaming "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" and "if you don't pick up those toys, they are going AWAY!"
And there he is, unphased by the purple, throbbing vein in my forehead and the ever-higher pitch of my voice, grinning, Joker-style, while holding a crayon to the couch, ready to make his mark.

I am exagerating a little for effect jere, but it feels like high drama to me, and it's got to
stop. Today, while I was trying to take down the Christmas lights (don't judge me) from outside, he took the remaining Chrisas decorations from the neighbor's stoop and started smashing them on the ground with all of his might. I couldn't believe the look of abject joy he had on his face, as the plastic lawn stakes broke into smaller and smaller pieces.

When I was in second grade, there was this kid who lived down the street, Brad. Brad liked to throw rocks at the other kids on the block, and when I see Wiggle destroy things, a small part of me gets frightened that I am raising the next rock-thrower. Logically, I should not be worried by this- when some ofthe parents confronted Brad's parents about his behavior they expressed something like, "boys will be boys" or some such nonsense, and my horror at the thought of the same action in my kid means that the outcomes cannot be the same, but still, it is in a parent's nature to worry about these things.

Tomorrow, I'm spending some quality time at Barnes and Noble
in the parenting section. Also, I've got to find an indoor playground of some kind where he can run off some of this extra energy.

What can I say, it's been a rough week.