I Know, I Know...

If you're expecting some grandiose explanation for our absence, I'm going to disappoint.

I have reasons but they're not exciting.

One, this new schedule with the kids in school 30 minutes from the house is KILLING ME.  I'm just flat-out exhausted.  Getting out the door is easy approximately never.  No matter how much work I do in advance or how early I wake up, The Threenager in the house is the wild card.  I cannot predict how he will react to anything.

Other than I can say with a fair amount of certainty, he will not want to get dressed.  

Saturday his laundry revealed just how laid back I am getting with his attire.  In the seven days between washing, Rhys wore three shirts.

Three.

Meaning, he wore his blasted Avengers shirt FOUR DAYS IN A ROW.

I'd love to say that alleviated the battle but it didn't.  Sure, he wore it.  But agreeing to get dressed was still a battle.

As is drinking milk.  He wants milk all the time and he can only have three glasses.  Per doctor's orders.

Also eating dinner.  

When we have the same exact conversation every night:

Rhys:  What's for dinner, Momma?

Me:  Blah, blah, blah and blah (It doesn't matter what I made.)

Rhys:  But I don't want that!

Me:  I'm sorry, baby, but what I cook for dinner is your only option.  That rule has never changed.

Rhys:  BUT I DON'T WANT TO EAT THAT!!!

Me:  (Repeat previous statement.)

Rhys:  I WANT SOMETHING ELSE!

Me:  (Repeat)

Rhys:  (Runs off screaming to his room)

Me:  Finally.  

Every night, y'all.  Doesn't matter if I grill out some hot dogs and bake up some French fries or I make fried rice and sweet and sour chicken.  Both are equally disgusting.  

Life is just so affirming with a three year old.  

Meanwhile, my precious, adorable, LOVING school daughter is watching all this unfold and wanting to just FIX IT.  But she can't.  Her trying only makes The Threenager more angry.  

And, y'all, I do not believe in poking the bear.  

If he runs off into his room to pitch a fit, GO WITH GOD, KID.  He can rejoin us when he decides to calm the heck down.

So, I guess, maybe it's not the schedule as much as it is Rhys.  HE is exhausting.  

The schedule is a bit more taxing than I imagined.  We leave just after 8 am and aren't back until around 2 pm.  Sometimes Rhys falls asleep in the car coming home and I get to spend an hour in the car while he sleeps.  But sitting in a car, even if I'm reading a good book (which I am doing regularly now), is tiring.  At least physically for me.  Then we don't get inside until 3:30 ish which gives me very little time to get things unloaded, reloaded and start dinner.  Before I can blink, it's 6 pm and I'm spent.

Which is perfect timing because so are the children and in case you weren't aware, tired children are just SUPER FUN.  So the Witching Hour is filled with whining and phrases like, "I HAD THAT FIRST!"  My goal is kids tucked in by 7:30 pm.  Not because they need to be in bed that early but because I need them to be in bed that early.  

Word.

The second reason is even less exciting.  My phone is all kinds of jacked up.  I made the horrible mistake of updating it when it told me to and it's been possessed from that moment on.  I can text from my computer and so my computer stays in my lap most of the night for texting purposes.  And I just about can't stomach staring at the computer for longer than required. 

Chris is currently at the Apple store having hands laid on it.  Praying for a miracle.

But if I can't get the pictures off my phone, what is the point?  I can't write well enough to describe the delicate intricacies of our life fully.  I need those 1,000 word photos to do that.  

For instance, I have a picture of Rhys screaming bloody murder over hot dogs and fries.  You simply cannot fully appreciate his fits without that picture.  

And so the almost month long absence can be blamed on The Threenager and The Possessed Phone.

Not earth-shattering at all.  

Perhaps once the phone has met with the healers at the Apple store, I can get on top of this.  It's certainly not how envisioned spending the first month of school.  Exhausted and frustrated.  I was expecting this transition to be joyful and restful.  So far, it's been neither.  

Although, at some point, The Threenager will decide the battles are not worth it.  It's up to me to be the adult.  Which I succeed at most of the time.  I will leave you with this example of me NOT being the adult.  Because I need prayers and sleep.  Well, mostly prayers.

Rhys was trying to find a toy.  He kept saying a word I did not for the life of me understand.  Like, zero clue what he was talking about.  The longer it takes me to find any toy, the more irritated Rhys gets.  His patience level is at negative 2.  

So he SCREAMS at me.

My patience level when being screamed at by my three year old son is at a negative 26.  

Mommy don't play that.

Discipline was promptly enforced.

He wasn't thrilled.

In fact, he decided to run away.

Y'all, he ran to the front door, unlocked the deadbolt and ran into the yard screaming, "I'M GOING TO GO LIVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE!!!'

To which I responded, with amazing maturity, "NO ONE ELSE WOULD TAKE YOU!!'

And then I scooped him up from the yard and marched him back inside.

When did three year olds decide to run away?  I wasn't prepared.  Seven year olds, yes.  Three year olds?  Really?  

And there you have it.  

Prayers and sleep, y'all.  I need prayers and sleep.