My first born's hair was getting rather shaggy and he inherited from his father a tendency to sweat profusely at the slightest rise in temperature and/or physical activity. Thus, today I took William for a haircut.
He asked if he was going to the place where you sit in a car while your hair is being cut, but that place is twice as much money as the cheap place on the corner, so the cheap place on the corner is where we went. He got in the car without protest. He happily entered the establishment and began playing with their bucket of broken Power Ranger Zords.
When his turn came up he doddled at the toy bin. Jadzia came right up and said "I want to do it" so her turn was first. I'm growing her bangs out and she likes pony tails so we kept the back long too. In other words her hair ended up looking exactly the same. If she didn't have a brother, Jadzia would never enter a salon of any kind.
William's turn, take two. He refused to sit in the chair because "He didn't know how he wanted it." I got out the boys haircut book and went through it with him. He answered "No" and "I don't know" to every selection. He repeated over and over that he just didn't know what he wanted and started to cry.
The stylists tried to help by offering a lollipop and telling him it wouldn't hurt. He knows it won't hurt. He's had hundreds of haircuts. He did fine every other time, including his first cut when he was a baby. Why the protest?
We let four people go in front of us. William stopped crying and seemed calm, but he exhibited passive-aggressive-on-the-verge-of-tantrum behaviour; rocking in his chair, stomping his feet, evil-glaring at me. I told him I wasn't going to leave until his hair was cut.
Finally I dragged him kicking and screaming to the chair. Since he was fighting, the stylist had limited options. I held his arms while she buzzed him with #2 clippers. This was one of the worst experiences of my life, right up there with treetop walking and childbirth. He behaved as if he was being tortured. Even though we all know that haircuts don't hurt, he screamed "Ow!" over and over.
The result was perfect for an army private or prison inmate, and actually kind of cute on my brown-eyed little man.
The fight didn't end there. He tantrumed while we went to buy toilet paper (because I need to wipe bums more than I need to avoid making a scene in a store). He told me he didn't like me no less than four times. By the time we got home, the fit had become about him wanting to have a bath.
Alas, to get to the bathtub, William had to pass a mirror, which set him off again. "I don't like my haircut!" "I don't want to go to school with this haircut!" "I want my hair back right now!" Jadzia enjoyed his bath while he tantrumed, only getting in when the water was cold (and probably peed in).
Later, I messaged my husband to tell him I would never ever ever ever take William to get his haircut ever again. It should definitely be a father-son thing.
Showing posts with label tantrum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tantrum. Show all posts
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Putting the kids to bed
Adam is working late tonight so I had to put both kids to bed. This is normally not such a big deal. I let William play with his toys or watch a movie or whatever while I put Jadzia down. He's usually happy to get a few extra moments of playtime.
Today Jadzia, independent young woman that she is, did not take a nap. So even though the kids regularly go to bed at 8:30, I decided to try and put her down at 7. I told William my plan, but he didn't think that was such a good idea.
"Could you please put me to bed first?" He asked.
"Are you sure you want to go to bed so early?" I clarified.
"Yes."
So I put the markers away and left Jadzia to play by herself. As William and I were engaging in our regular toothbrushing ritual, he asked if he could have a bath. Since it was early, I agreed. By this time Jadzia had followed us into the washroom. I undressed both children and ran a luke warm bath that was still too "hot" for William and he refused to sit down for the first five minutes.
Once I got bored of watching them spash each other, I told them bath time was over and dried them off. I told William that he could go play with his toys and I would put Jadzia down. He protested.
"No, I want you to put me to bed first."
"I can read you stories first," I bargained. "But then I have to leave right away and not lie down with you."
"And after you put Jadzia down you will come back and lie with me," he negotiated.
I agreed to his proposal since Jadzia seemed happy enough in her bedroom talking to her books. Of course her tune had changed by the time I finished the first of William's stories. I read the second story to the sound of Jadzia wailing and banging on her brother's bedroom door.
I promised William I'd be back as soon as Jadzia was in bed, then I turned the lights off and left.
Within 30 seconds, William was out of bed, stomping around the hallway. When I told him to go back to his room, he began opening and closing Jadzia's door, whining, and generally being a pain.
"You promised you would stay in bed while I read to Jadzia," I reminded him.
"I'm hungry and thirsty," he whined.
Since this was one of those rare nights when he actually ate dinner, I didn't really believe him. "You're not really hungry," I told him, my annoyed voice creeping in.
"I AM HUNGRY!" He burst into hysterics.
"William, if you don't stay in your room while I read to Jadzia, then I will NOT lie down with you!"
Not wanting me to make good on my threat, William retreated to his bedroom, where he continued his melt down. I apologized to Jadzia for all the commotion, then read her some books and sang to her. Luckily, she was tired enough to not be too distracted by the tantrum going on across the hall.
When I got back to William's room I gave him a hug, then talked to him about how I couldn't be in two places at once. He insisted that he still needed a snack.
I got him some fish crackers and cheese and milk. He sat at the table chatting with me, calm as could be. I wish I could recover that quickly after a total emotional breakdown. Of course he had to brush his teeth again, but after that he went to bed without a fight.
By 9:30, he was asleep.
Today Jadzia, independent young woman that she is, did not take a nap. So even though the kids regularly go to bed at 8:30, I decided to try and put her down at 7. I told William my plan, but he didn't think that was such a good idea.
"Could you please put me to bed first?" He asked.
"Are you sure you want to go to bed so early?" I clarified.
"Yes."
So I put the markers away and left Jadzia to play by herself. As William and I were engaging in our regular toothbrushing ritual, he asked if he could have a bath. Since it was early, I agreed. By this time Jadzia had followed us into the washroom. I undressed both children and ran a luke warm bath that was still too "hot" for William and he refused to sit down for the first five minutes.
Once I got bored of watching them spash each other, I told them bath time was over and dried them off. I told William that he could go play with his toys and I would put Jadzia down. He protested.
"No, I want you to put me to bed first."
"I can read you stories first," I bargained. "But then I have to leave right away and not lie down with you."
"And after you put Jadzia down you will come back and lie with me," he negotiated.
I agreed to his proposal since Jadzia seemed happy enough in her bedroom talking to her books. Of course her tune had changed by the time I finished the first of William's stories. I read the second story to the sound of Jadzia wailing and banging on her brother's bedroom door.
I promised William I'd be back as soon as Jadzia was in bed, then I turned the lights off and left.
Within 30 seconds, William was out of bed, stomping around the hallway. When I told him to go back to his room, he began opening and closing Jadzia's door, whining, and generally being a pain.
"You promised you would stay in bed while I read to Jadzia," I reminded him.
"I'm hungry and thirsty," he whined.
Since this was one of those rare nights when he actually ate dinner, I didn't really believe him. "You're not really hungry," I told him, my annoyed voice creeping in.
"I AM HUNGRY!" He burst into hysterics.
"William, if you don't stay in your room while I read to Jadzia, then I will NOT lie down with you!"
Not wanting me to make good on my threat, William retreated to his bedroom, where he continued his melt down. I apologized to Jadzia for all the commotion, then read her some books and sang to her. Luckily, she was tired enough to not be too distracted by the tantrum going on across the hall.
When I got back to William's room I gave him a hug, then talked to him about how I couldn't be in two places at once. He insisted that he still needed a snack.
I got him some fish crackers and cheese and milk. He sat at the table chatting with me, calm as could be. I wish I could recover that quickly after a total emotional breakdown. Of course he had to brush his teeth again, but after that he went to bed without a fight.
By 9:30, he was asleep.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Angry Bear
Today my sweet lovable son was somehow replaced by and angry growling bear. When William has a tantrum he roars, really. First, this morning at the Early Years Centre, William took a toy into circle, which is frowned upon. Rather than sit with his toy boat quietly and covertly, he drove it through the center of the circle, so that all the behaving children could see what he was getting away with. When I took the boat and asked him to sit (unreasonable, I know) he roared and growled, bellowing "I want my boat." I took him aside, calmed him down, but as soon as he got back to the circle, he roared and growled again until we had to go home. On the way his growl switched from "I want my boat" to "I want sit in circle."
Later on, when it was time to change William's diaper, he again did his ferocious bear routine and refused to go. When I finally got his diaper off, I asked him if he would like to pee on the potty. "No!" he screamed, and peed on the floor.
I hoped that he would be in a better mood after his nap. Reasoning that I would have more chance of sanity if we got out of the house, I put both the kids in the stroller and walked to the library. We had to leave before we'd checked out anything because William was throwing books.
After dinner, I was going to give Jadzia a bath because she put food in her hair. I asked William if he wanted to have a bath too and he did. I had to cut the bath short, though, because my son kept splashing water all over the side of the tub, even when I told him repeatedly to stop.
They say that when children misbehave, they're actually communicating. I'm guessing that William's bear routine stems from a combination of his sister getting attention (she's been sick the last two days) and icky rainy weather. I can't do much about either of those things so I'll just have to hope my growling bear, turns back into a teddy bear tommorrow.
Later on, when it was time to change William's diaper, he again did his ferocious bear routine and refused to go. When I finally got his diaper off, I asked him if he would like to pee on the potty. "No!" he screamed, and peed on the floor.
I hoped that he would be in a better mood after his nap. Reasoning that I would have more chance of sanity if we got out of the house, I put both the kids in the stroller and walked to the library. We had to leave before we'd checked out anything because William was throwing books.
After dinner, I was going to give Jadzia a bath because she put food in her hair. I asked William if he wanted to have a bath too and he did. I had to cut the bath short, though, because my son kept splashing water all over the side of the tub, even when I told him repeatedly to stop.
They say that when children misbehave, they're actually communicating. I'm guessing that William's bear routine stems from a combination of his sister getting attention (she's been sick the last two days) and icky rainy weather. I can't do much about either of those things so I'll just have to hope my growling bear, turns back into a teddy bear tommorrow.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Basement door plus screaming toddler equals...
So yesterday William and I were having one of those days. Instead of waiting until I said "no", William would jump right into toddler tantrum mode before I had time to respond to any of his requests. Lots of screaming, lots of fun.
Later on, I was calling my husband to ask if he was going to be late (and beg him not to be). Since talking on the phone, even for 30 seconds, has nothing to do with William and is therefore unacceptable, my toddler screamed. I left the basement where we were, and shut the door behind me so I could hear the phone.
This was a mistake.
The door to the basement opens into the stairs. Immediately my son effectively locked me out by standing at the top of the stairs, his body pressed against the little windows (I think it's what they call a French door). As he howled, I told him "Go downstairs, William. Go down. Down! Down!" But he wanted to go up, where I was, so he banged on the glass and yelled louder.
I remembered that there's another door to the basement from outside. I put on my coat and shoes and ventured out into the snow, climbing over a frozen-solid garden hose treacherously placed on a flight of cement stairs. The door was locked. I went back inside and got my house key, but it didn't work.
I actually looked up how to pick a lock on the internet, but I obviously I don't have a lock-picking kit, so I grabbed a hair pin. Macguiver, I am not. Apparently it's actually very difficult, if not impossible, to pick a lock with a hair pin.
William was still screaming. Reasoning that he couldn't possibly stay there forever, I started to make dinner (I could see the door, and my hysterical son, from the kitchen). Of course he was still at it when I had the dinner in the oven.
I tried to talk him down, like a hostage negotiator.
"William would you like to have a snack?"
"Yesssss"
"Okay, go sit on the couch and I'll bring you a snack."
"WAAAA!"
"Would you like me to come watch tv with you?"
"YEsssss"
"Okay, just go downstairs and sit on the couch and we'll watch tv together."
"Waaaaaaaaa!"
I tried to throw a cookie down the stairs, but it ended up on the first step and it didn't even calm him down.
Finally I opened the door just enough to get my arm through. I grabbed his shirt and, as gently as I could, nudged him down the stairs, while holding him so that he didn't fall. By the change in pitch of his cries, I could tell he was just as dubious about the safetly of the manouever as I was. Luckily, I was able to get the door open, and the incident ended without broken toddler bones.
I gave him a magic mommy hug, and he was completely happy as if nothing had happened.
Later on, I was calling my husband to ask if he was going to be late (and beg him not to be). Since talking on the phone, even for 30 seconds, has nothing to do with William and is therefore unacceptable, my toddler screamed. I left the basement where we were, and shut the door behind me so I could hear the phone.
This was a mistake.
The door to the basement opens into the stairs. Immediately my son effectively locked me out by standing at the top of the stairs, his body pressed against the little windows (I think it's what they call a French door). As he howled, I told him "Go downstairs, William. Go down. Down! Down!" But he wanted to go up, where I was, so he banged on the glass and yelled louder.
I remembered that there's another door to the basement from outside. I put on my coat and shoes and ventured out into the snow, climbing over a frozen-solid garden hose treacherously placed on a flight of cement stairs. The door was locked. I went back inside and got my house key, but it didn't work.
I actually looked up how to pick a lock on the internet, but I obviously I don't have a lock-picking kit, so I grabbed a hair pin. Macguiver, I am not. Apparently it's actually very difficult, if not impossible, to pick a lock with a hair pin.
William was still screaming. Reasoning that he couldn't possibly stay there forever, I started to make dinner (I could see the door, and my hysterical son, from the kitchen). Of course he was still at it when I had the dinner in the oven.
I tried to talk him down, like a hostage negotiator.
"William would you like to have a snack?"
"Yesssss"
"Okay, go sit on the couch and I'll bring you a snack."
"WAAAA!"
"Would you like me to come watch tv with you?"
"YEsssss"
"Okay, just go downstairs and sit on the couch and we'll watch tv together."
"Waaaaaaaaa!"
I tried to throw a cookie down the stairs, but it ended up on the first step and it didn't even calm him down.
Finally I opened the door just enough to get my arm through. I grabbed his shirt and, as gently as I could, nudged him down the stairs, while holding him so that he didn't fall. By the change in pitch of his cries, I could tell he was just as dubious about the safetly of the manouever as I was. Luckily, I was able to get the door open, and the incident ended without broken toddler bones.
I gave him a magic mommy hug, and he was completely happy as if nothing had happened.
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