Three year old kids are awesome. And gigantic pains in the asses. Lucky for me, my 3 year old is my spirit animal. He is me, when I was 3. Karmic fate would have it no other way. Apparently when you give your parents a run for their money starting at the age of... oh 2 days old...the favor gets returned and you end up with a 'spirited' child. This came up in Mankato over Christmas when we were discussing Asher's strong will. Dad shared a story with Mallory where I jumped out of a moving car (his moving car) when I didn't get my way. I was in middle school, about to start my two years straight of being grounded, and as the story goes, I didn't like what Dad was saying, so I unbuckled my seat belt and bailed. He drove about 2 mph along side me the whole way home while I stomped down the sidewalk, I'm sure still yelling at him. It is absolutely amazing he kept me.
So when Asher becomes particularly belligerent, while I am absolutely fighting the impulse to roll up a newspaper and whack him over the top of the head with it, I am also so proud. Because it is me. And I know how well that feisty, pain in the ass spirit will serve him later in life. Of course in the mean time, I have to parent him. So.
On Saturday we had friends and family over for dinner and Asher and I were butting heads. He climbed onto my lab at the dinner table and nose to nose with me said, "You are ruining my day. I'm going to throw a fit." How do you not laugh? But I didn't, I just put him down on the ground and he crawled under the table, to commence fit throwing.
We also have a new routine where when he is losing his cool and can't de-escalate himself, I'll say "let's have a conference". He will stand up and reach for my hand, and we will walk, holding hands, to the small space in our front entry that is enclosed by two doors. I turn on the lamp and we sit cross legged on the doormat facing each other to talk. Tonight I said, "You seem really frustrated." Asher responded with, "I want to play my guitar and can't find it. I am hungry. And I want help cleaning up." I said, "That is a really good job talking about your feelings, your guitar is upstairs, do you want to help me make dinner?, and I bet if you ask nicely, daddy or I will help you clean up." He nodded and said yes. Then he said. "I feel better. Good talk," and walked out.
I love that little boy.
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