Mediocre Marketing

I'm always both impressed and horrified when I find a medium to out-mediocre me. Which is why I was in bliss today when I went shopping at our new local market. Now I resisted those kiddie car shopping carts for a long long time, fearing the tantrum that would ensue should none be available. But on one fabulous trip to market, a grandparent who shall remain nameless went the easy path and so the Captain's days of cruising around in one of these bad boys began:

And so too did my laziness begin. If I am to tell the truth, these things have zero steering. And I'm not going to pretend that I've never knocked over a display or two trying to maneuver one of these puppies. But what's a mediocre mama to do? If it helps keep the hostility out of my shopping experience then I'll play ball. And so it came to pass, baby you can drive my car. No harm done, though probably a nasty cold picked up or passed in these horrible germ mobiles.

BUT...

Then some supermarket that shall remain named (Safeway) decided to take shitty parenting to a new level. So behold, now with on-demand:








Yes, for less than the price of a cup of coffee, you too can entertain your child with Thomas, Bob or Barney as you idle about, impulse shopping and viewing lovely advertisements from your video console. And boy did we ever, dropping nearly $200 in one shot. Whoever thought it up is both genius and devil, as it seems they are usually one and the same. Yep, this mediocre mama fell victim once again. Between that and the free sample stations, I'm contemplating just moving in.

Riddle of the sphinx

I was always one of these skeptics who thought Freud spent a little too much time with a bottle in his hand and had one too many trips to the opium den. Beyond a drug induced frenzy, it seemed a little implausible that the average 3 year old boy would want to kill his father and marry his mother. But after a recent growing infatuation, lets just say that we are hiding the sharp objects and locking the door at night.

To call it textbook would be...well...spot on. At bedtime the Captain says that the Deviant Dad gives a bad kiss; the Mediocre Mama gives a good kiss. Of late he's pitted us against each other more times then I care to admit to. And then there's the exhausting list of daily activities that cause fits and meltdowns if Dad does it instead of Mom. Like turning the light on in the bathroom, cutting up his food, or working a simple toy - no matter the task, it's "No, Mommy can do it."

The reality is that it puts me in a perplexing and delicate situation. Not wanting to trample over the Dad, but loving the affection. Not wanting the responsibility of handling all the daily little tasks, but not caring much for the meltdowns either. And then there are the war cries that pit us against each other, from "You're my best friend, Mommy" to "I don't wike, Daddy." And I know exactly how we got here.

My back surgery was exactly 11 months ago as of next weekend. And to date I still can't lift the little bugger and I still don't throw myself into the lion's den when offering up a physical punishment. When he's misbehaving, I have to call to the Dad to take care of it. Nothing I do can be handled with my body, and so my parenting tool is my voice. Is it any wonder that the Dad gained the reputation as the disciplinarian in my house? And I'm sure, being the Deviant that he is, he never envisioned that he'd have to play the bad-cop parent; in his head he's not only the good-cop, he's still the misbehaving child himself.

I know it's frustrating to the Dad and creates some difficult tension, but at the same time I actually think it's made me less of a Mediocre Mama, despite my usual pride in the contrary. Ever since the Kid was 2, I have had him climbing into my SUV, getting into his car seat by himself and handling any physical tasks on his own. And since I couldn't afford to have a kid thrashing about or lying in the middle of the street in protest, I had to learn to use my words more carefully. I had to make him want to do things the right way. And now, I'm his woman. As his teachers recently observed, there's a real love affair going on here. To sum it up, he's smitten.

I know this phase won't last forever. And I walk the line between head in my hands or head-over-heels myself. I just wish it hadn't set up such a twisted love triangle in the process.

Three's a crowd.

It seemed like we were passed the worst of it when the Captain turned 3 last month. Fully potty trained, totally indoctrinated into the Montessori fold and a fierce streak of independence beginning to unfold, the Mediocre Mama and Deviant Dad were finally starting to enjoy some gulp-free moments in our routine. Our function had finally begun to shift from constant kid-appendage to separate and detached. Perhaps we became too comfortable.

Last night after a particularly ornery day for the Captain, he announced that he was going to the potty. He disappeared into his "office" to do his business and moments later came out to announce that he had peed in the shower. We thought it was some kind of weird joke, but knowing him as we do we took the bait. Sure enough there was a big yellow puddle in the middle of the shower.

The logic of a 3 year old is always something to behold, truly you cannot argue with it.

Why did you pee in the shower?

I peed in the shower because I did.

That the subsequent time out and forced cleaup that followed didn't even seem to phase him was troubling at best. He took his medicine, no complaints, and a very insincere, "Oh, sorry," was all that we got. To say that I was pissed off doesn't really get to the heart of the matter.

And a mere minutes later, I noticed the other act of defiance before my eyes. The dog bowl, which was the Captain's responsibility to fill, was half full - the other half of the dog's dinner was floating in the water dish.

Is 3 just about testing limits or is there something much more sinister going on?