How you ignite such passionate ‘tude in my once-tough and flexible child.
No more. No. Now a tiny little wrinkle in his socks… or his pants… or his long sleeved shirt under his jacket… or his mittens — don’t even get me started on his mittens — turns him into a whining, screaming, tantrum-throwing mess. A puddle of conflicting emotions that somehow renders him completely incapable of using his astonishingly large vocabulary.
Maybe it’s my fault. My fault for living somewhere that requires that we wear a jacket for a good portion of the year, and boots, hat and mittens from November to March. Or that I get giddy as a schoolkid when I see the first snowflakes falling and can’t wait to get the whole family outside to feel them melt on our tongues. Maybe it’s my fault that I have encouraged him to enjoy shoveling the driveway with his tiny shovel, or making up games like sliding down the slide on his swingset into a huge pile of snow.
Because you know what? NONE of these things are fun if your three year old is blubbering over his clothes.
Or won’t leave the house because his boots “aren’t right”.
Or flailing his body around madly when his snowpants lift up his pant legs.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, I would have described Owen as resilient, open, flexible, tough. So tough that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash when he cracks his head on the floor while doing some silly stunt or has a fever of 102. But lately mere mention of putting on mittens melts him into a helpless heap. (Mittens, by the way, have to go OVER the ends of a long-sleeved shirt and UNDER the sleeves of his coat. If either of them get pulled up or down or sideways, IT’S ALL OVER).
We got a dump of snow a few days ago that was fluffy and light and glittery. We talked about sledding for days while the temp hovered around 0 (and below). Finally, on Sunday the sun came out and the air warmed up and it was sledding perfection.
You know, except for the fact that we couldn’t even get out the door because of the tantrum Owen was throwing over his clothes. Again. Finally in a desperate effort to meet our friends and actually have fun (YOU WILL HAVE FUN, DAMMIT), I said, “Fine. Don’t wear any mittens. I will bring them just in case and you can let me know when your hands are cold.”
The stubborn kid would not wear his mittens, no matter how cold he got. Our sweet friend even offered her kid’s mittens for him to try, and although that perked him up slightly, he didn’t go for it. So after a few runs of AWESOME sledding down a HUGE hill, he returned to his blubbering, whiny state. The perfect way to pretty much ruin a day of fun!
Benjamin’s parents are probably giggling reading this, because apparently he was famous for this same wardrobe issue. Especially with his socks. “Particular” does not even begin to describe it. So I guess Owen comes by it honestly. But honestly? That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Anyone else have “particular” children? Any tips for me for how to help him with the wrinkles (other than wearing a spandex suit from head to toe? I’d like that invented to go under snowclothes, please…)?