Poopy. Say It.

Elliott had a fab day yesterday and Saturday, but the attitude was back in full-force today. He was repeating "poopy" over and over on the way home. And over.  And over.  I counted him, he quickly earned a time-out and we had to get off the phone with Glammy (the tragedy!). He still didn't stop--kept egging on Brooklyn to say it. Say it.  

I got stern and showed him how irked I was--major mistake; he laughed (the little shit--pun intended). This makes my head spin around, so it was a good thing that I had the rest of the drive to calm down. Had we not been in the car I'm afraid I would've spanked him, which is not what we want to do as parents although I was second-guessing that decision. I  acknowledged I couldn't make him stop saying it and told him not to worry about his consequence in my best Love and Logic attempt at parenting. It gave me time to plot with Chris via text at red lights. Because he couldn't make good choices around his brother and sister, he had to eat by himself in his room and then go straight to bed. He was quite devastated for the moment, crying, screaming & bargaining.  In turns I felt sad for him and glee at finding a consequence that meant something (momentarily).  I'm often consulted at work for how to treat children with  more challenging behaviors, so I'm convinced that this child has been sent to me for lessons in becoming humble.  

Exorcism Needed?

I generally think, as every mom does, that I have the cutest, sweetest, most handsome boy around.  Not to mention smart.  I mean really.  Look at this:

I rest my case.

Only not really, because despite repeated warnings from more seasoned moms that "three is worse than two," I refused to believe that this would happen to my sweet boy.  I was wrong.  Incredibly, totally wrong.  This weekend he in turned charmed and cursed us.  Turned whining up to a new level.  Learned to selectively ignore me.  Started yelling that he wanted something "now."  Jumping on his bed after being put in bed for the night.  Beating on the wall after his father had reminded him to go to bed not once, but twice.  Refused to pick up his toys, only to then have a complete meltdown when said toys were removed from his bed because they were Mommy's now.  We've put him in his room more the past two weeks to gain his self-control than in his whole life.  Had to place the toilet paper on the high shelf in the guest/kid bath because of excessive TP abuse (Beware if you are visiting to think ahead before sitting).  Blue Blank (treasured blanket made by my aunt) moved to Mommy's room because it was just too much for him to pick up.

Chris looked at me tonight and said, "So he's just testing his boundaries, right?"  I'm wondering if I had answered no, if he might have asked to give him away to the highest bidder.  So the whole "It Gets Better" isn't just a campaign for LGBT teens--it's for parents of three year olds, too, right?