Pelted With Sweaty Socks, Spit At and Sucker Punched in the Back

Yep. The title of this entry represents my moody middle child in a nutshell today. It's hard not to throttle him and knock his bratty little ass to the ground when I'm this mad. Of course I never would. You can call me a mean mom like he just did, but I'm telling the truth and coming clean about my feelings without holding back.

Kade knows to stay away from me right now and is currently behind his closed bedroom door repeatedly spitting at it. He's not even supposed to be here (at home) right now. He supposed to be in preschool but instead I let him play hookey from school today so I could take him and his little sister to the local airport for a special behind-the-scenes tour. Yeah, I treat him to something really cool and special ... airplanes, pilots, airport firefighters and state-of-the art 2005-model $89,000 airport firetrucks up-close and in return he treats me to a bitchslap and booger snot infused saliva. Angry doesn't even begin to scratch the state I'm in. That's why he's banished to his room. That way I won't be tempted to reduce myself to his 3-year-old tantrum throwin', sweaty sock chucking, perma-frown sourpuss self.

Now I've just returned from barging into his room in response to his incessant knocking on his closet wall, his latest antics to see if he can wake his napping sister while he's supposed to be "resting". Why is he in his closet anyway? He furrowed his brows at me and whimpered like a hurt puppy when I told him he has to remain in his room for now but cannot knock on the walls for fun.

Without sound, I can't demonstrate the ogre tone I used to express my annoyance but I think it would probably send you running for the hills, or to the bar for a nerve calming shot of whiskey. I didn't scream, but my tone was nasty. I've just had enough, today, to beat an old cliche. I'm really at a loss. I work my damndest for these kids, giving up my career (that was probably not going anywhere anyway thanks to a few poor job choices on my part) to stay home and raise them all warm and fuzzy showered with constant stay-home mom attention and love. I'm sure I'm not the first career woman turned house wench who finds this a thankless jobs when spit and fists start flying.

With my 5-year-old now in full-day kindergarten I had hoped that I could log some long overdue hours playing with Kade, whose continuous acting out might indicate that he's pretty attention and affection starved. I'm not a child psychologist, so I don't know for sure. Believe me, I've spent many moments guessing why he is so difficult, whiney and sour grapes so much of the time. So far, and we're only on day two without Aiden from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., I've spent most of my time blocking Kade's punches, trying to figure out how to stop him from crying every few minutes and feeling sadly disconnected from him.

Just now he's emerged from his in-room time-out and tragically said, "You never play with me, mommy." Sad but somewhat true. I replied, "That's because you sometimes hurt mommy and spit at mommy when we play, so sometimes I don't want to."

"You already did that talking," he whines, pointing his play screwdriver in my direction. I'm closing my laptop now to start over again with Kade.