We had a picnic lunch in living room the other day.  I had promised an actual picnic…but it was too cold, so we did it indoors.  This is the kind of game that is super fun for Raines and I.

And Pax, too…I think.  That kid is something else.  But whatever else he is…he was excited about that picnic lunch.  Like a crazed little knome.  Until, of course, he puked.  This is a common theme.  Fat-boy a runnin’ an a eatin’ and then…a pukin’ and a wipin’ it up and repeat:  a runnin’ an a eatin’ an….

The Lesson:  Picnic lunches are not conducive to Keeping The Chubbie Calm.  Or seated.

So after the puking incident(s)…I decided to assert my authority.  You know, BE THE MOM.  Instead of a bystander whose blood sugar was too low to do much else but eat.  And we were having chocolate chips for dessert so…yeah.  Easy.  Like feeding candy to a baby.  (uh…literally)

I explain to Pax that he must sit.  (Like a dog.  But I do not say that.)  Pax sits.  I bring out the chocolate chips.  Pax starts to get up.  “SIT, Pax, sit!”  Pax sits back down. (Again, dog.)  I slowly bring forward the treats chocolate chips.  “Pax, take just one or two…”

He lunges, grabs the container, and immediately starts shoveling handfuls into his mouth, chips flying everywhere.  Raines screams in horror.  I grab the container from Pax, and, without hesitation, he punches me in the face.

I take some deep cleansing breathes, realizing that grabbing it back is hardly the lesson I want to be teaching.  Sigh.  Live and learn.  And to be honest, the punching-in-the-face thing wasn’t the first time.  It’s kinda his hallmark, and started as a newborn.  Seriously.  I calmly put the lid back on.  “Pax, gentle hands”  I remind him.  “Gentle!”

He ignores me and lunges for the container again.  Finding the lid on tight, he screams in frusteration, chocolate dripping from his mouth. He tries to open it once more, then throws the entire container of chocolate chips across the room.  Across. The. Room.  Then runs away, mouth still full of chips.  I carry him back, “Pax you must SIT to EAT” and put him back on the blanket.  He freaks and starts rolling around, kicking his legs and screaming.

I ignore him.  Looking at Raines, who is frozen, I ask in an overly calm, borderline psychotic voice, “Raines, would you like some chocolate chips?”  Raines is not sure how to answer.  But he reaches sloooowly across and takes some chocolate.  Once the chocolate is safely in his mouth, he relaxes.  “Mom,” says Raines.  “What are we gonna do with this kid?”

Good. Question.

Pax calms down and now sits, at the veeeeerrrrry farthest edge of the blanket, with his back to us, pouty chocolate-covered lip out.  A bird could perch, that pout is so good.  It is now naptime.  (Oh, boy)

I carry Pax upstairs, rubbing his back.  He seems calm.  Snuggles in, even.  This means nothing.  I walk into the bedroom, and close the door. I put him on the bed to change his diaper.  Pax goes batsh*t kick-crazy, aiming for my face. I wait it out.  (Yup.  Knew!  It!)  Once the clean diaper is on, I walk over to turn on the sound machine.  With my back turned, Pax:

Turns himself over:  “Erhn!  Erhn!!”  (grunts)

Slides off the bed:   “Eesh Eesh!”  (happy sounds)

Plans his escape: “HEEEH HEEEH HEEEH” (heavy breathing)

Runs for the door: pad pad pad pad (quick little footsteps)

And then?

Finds the bedroom door…closed.  WAAAAAAAAH  (screams)

This ain’t my first rodeo, kid.  BRING. IT.

(Which he then did.)

My little Pax.  My little Chubbies.  So much love and kisses and hugs….and so much crazytown.  All in one delicious little package.  And possibly a red-headed one.  

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