I really need to be more consistent with my posts. Every time I write it's always the same ole thing; the same old "back again" story. Well my hope is that this post will be the start of a new more regimented me. I have decided today that I need to do this. I need to write. The plane is going down and I am trying to put the oxygen masks on everyone else first. This is my attempt to get some of number eight on the Periodic Table for myself, this is me breathing some oxygen...
Sometime right before Vance's second birthday, he became incorrigible and has figuratively left me curled in a ball on the floor weeping. What do I do with this little man? Discipline is not working. What happened to my sweet little baby boy? The one who loved to snuggle on the couch that smiled and cooed at my mere presence and laughed at every funny face made by his siblings. Someone has replaced my sweet angelic offspring with Lucifer's.
Vance is a one man wrecking team. He dumps out bins of toys, buckets of dog food, glasses of water, cupboards of dishes just to hear them hit the floor. He pulls Ryleigh and Keely's hair until they scream, has scarred their faces, and literally kicks them while they are down. Just for fun he pushes the dog off the couch when she is sleeping and kicks her when she isn't looking. Like a shotputter he chucks rocks and other weighted objects at mirrors, glass doors, and faces. Like an inked graffiti artist he writes on his body, on the wall, on the furniture, and our hearth for his pleasure . He empties glue bottles onto our carpets, spits his food and water on the floor. Throws food across the room, whether it be hot dogs or yogurt. He takes his diaper off as soon as he pees or poops and runs leaving the rest of us screaming following his trail of turds. During baths, he purposefully stands to pee, spraying whatever and whomever is near. Whenever he pleases, he disrobes in public and strangers hand me the clothing he has discarded. His play constitutes one object eating another, roaring at one another, and stomping on each others heads; even if he's playing with Barbies. He sets nothing down but passes it to the floor like a basketball to a teammate. He screeches a shrill my-ears-are-bleeding scream that induce migraine-like headaches immediately. He seeks out bugs to step on and squish, not at all concerned whether they are lady bugs or darkling beetles. He wads toilet paper in the sink and leaves it running to overflow all over the bathroom floor. Dennis the Menace has nothing on Vance. He growls, he yells "no", he asks "why" to every request and every demand. He shoves things that are too big into holes that are too small and likes to house miscellaneous objects in our VCR and DVD players. He picks his nose, laughs at farts, and wants to "see" all things gross. He runs like a linebacker knocking over whatever is in his path; like a miniature Chris Farley, breaking things just by turning around. Not only does he jump on the furniture, he jumps from one piece to another like he's playing a game of Frogger. He doesn't sleep anymore but wakes up and crawls in our bed kicking us, hitting us and one night he even tried to sleep on my head.
Then just when I think Dobson would throw up his hands and say, "I'm baffled", Sadie enters a room and regardless of what he is doing, he comes over, kisses her on the forehead and says in a sweet kind whisper, "Hi Sadie". And for a moment I see a glimpse of my sweet boy angel.