The bedroom isn't prison, it's a fallout shelter...STAY IN IT!

Today was a fairly long day. There were no ups or downs, just a monotone, shit line mapping out this morning to this minute. If this day were a specific noise, it would be that long hum, signaling the happy going from terminal to deceased. My day's cardiac monitor went flat at 11:00 this morning. Some days you just can't please a single person, even if that person is only 3 and is,usually,easily pleased with a plastic coat hanger. Did you ever get the feeling that your kid dislikes you? I know crazy right,but I spent half the day thinking about this and the other half not caring. I'm sure he doesn't...all the time...and it's just him feeling out his boundaries, but I'm sick of being tested! Of feeling like I can't have fun with my kid and he can't have fun with me, because I have to spend the majority of my day correcting certain behaviors. I know, I know, all kids test you. They push and push to see how far they can get you toward the edge. I've sought out and heard a lot of good advice regarding this never-ending battle of wills. The word control leaps to mind in each of these tidbits. I am a control freak and it would seem this is not conducive to my son, or his plans. I've let go of A LOT of things. Mealtimes are no longer dueling matches. Potty training is becoming less of an expectation and is progressively achieving more of a "do it, or don't", non-chalance. I've walked away from marker on the wall, let blocks fly across a room, watched juice glasses being emptied out onto rugs and furniture and I've done it while stifling the urge to throttle him within an inch of his life. My mother has a good theory. As long as it doesn't hurt anyone, the punishment should fit the crime. So, as long as there's no one around to bean in the head with blocks, it's okay he throws them and I make him pick them up and subsequently, take them away from him for a day or two. When the juice hits the rug or the marker adorns the wall, I hand him a towel and take the cup and/or the marker, informing him that he has to ask for it when he wants to actually drink from it,or use it for it's intended purpose. It's a good theory. Sometimes it works, sometimes he stares at the towel incredulously, like maybe I've just dropped it by accident. He's learning to control certain aspects of life around him and I feel like,everyday, I lose a little bit more control and a little bit more of my mind. I understand the concept and I know that you have to pick your battles, but there are far too many battles and I'm sick of conceding most of them, because they're not "important". Imagine? I'm 33 and I'm pissed because I'm not allowed to fight with my son for many reasons; most importantly his lack of understanding the actual concept of reason. Honestly, if kids actually came with a manual and we were smart enough to read it, would you bring them home? My mom asked me that once. I can tell you the answer would be a resounding, "NO". Okay, that's a partial lie. I love being a mom...most days. I love raising my kid, but I'll tell you, it's awful to feel your kid doesn't like you and trust me, I know how bizarre and ridiculous that statement sounds. I used to tell my mom I hated her all the time and that was when I was old enough to know the hurt I was causing. So am I crazy to be hurt by the notion? Ev's not stupid. He knows he doesn't like broccoli. He knows he doesn't like having his ears cleaned. Does it stand to reason that he might not like his mother because she's not fun, like daddy, doesn't spoil him, like Noni, won't baby him, like Auntie. There's a look that you get when you don't like someone or something, that can't be covered up especially by someone who isn't aware they're giving the look. I swear I've seen this look in his eyes and I'm positive I need to get over it, as it will only get more sneer-y and hurtful the older he gets. This is the role I've chosen to take on with him, but just once, I'd enjoy not having to think about relinquishing the control or the good time or the lollipop, in an effort to teach a lesson that won't be comprehended the first 10 times he's taught. Tonight, he pushed his small bookshelf over because I wouldn't let him watch a movie one half-hour before bed time. It wasn't an important battle, but I chose to fight it, because I'm sick of "letting go". I'm pretty sure he pictured me under the bookshelf as it came thundering down. I put him to bed early, after making him pick up every item he'd launched around his floor. I did it not because I needed the night to be over, which I did, nor, because he was tired, which he was, VERY, but because in those few minutes he'd made a choice. That shelf, hurtling toward the ground was a very deliberate action, made by a very smart three year old, who, I believe knew exactly what he was doing. His choice was, do I want to make it through the night or do I feel like I've lived long enough? He chose the latter and, despite that, I spared him. That, is control. (Side note: I would NEVER kill, hurt, torture or maim my son, but I'll be damned if he doesn't bring out the urge from time to time.)