Asheitude

Where the hell did my sweet Ashe go? If I didn't know any better, I would think my sweet middle child was kidnapped by fairies and I'm dealing with a changeling with an attitude that would fit nicely with an asshole.

Ever since he turned five, Ashe has got this 'tude that is driving me nuts. He HAD manners! Now it's like he purposely shoved them under his bed to gather dust. And I'm about to start gathering pamphlets for boarding schools to send him off to.

Lately, instead of asking for something, Ashe will saunter, yes, saunter, up to me and tell me to get him something. When I give him "The Look" and ask him how does he ask, he looks me in the eye and says "Now".

Every night during dinner, Ashe asks J for help on a video game afterward. It's their bonding time. Lately though, instead of asking, Ashe will turn to J and say "Dad, after dinner you WILL help me with (insert game here)."


His ass has been in time out so much lately the carpet on the landing is starting to get butt grooves.


And if he's not trying to throw his 35 pound weight around like he's the king of the house, he's turned into a drama queen that would put any A celebrity to utter shame. This kid could win an Oscar for best dramatic performance. I guess I should be thankful I don't have to pay cash to watch such amazing performances, but you know what? I never liked dramas anyways.

Despite the fact I give the kids ample warning for bedtime (hey kids 15 minutes, 10 minutes, 5 minutes, 1 minute...) the moment I say "OK bedtime" Ashe turns on the waterworks and cries while throwing himself ON THE FLOOR, wailing about the indignities I force upon him.

After a long day of child rearing, all I want to do is give the tiny golf clap for his acting skills and tell him to give it up. Instead, I'm finding myself picking the boy up, and carrying his butt upstairs, while he wails on and on about how awful of a mom I am, and how he doesn't WANT to go to bed, and that I am SO MEAN, MOMMY!!!!!!!"

You know what kid? You don't know what mean is. Mean is if I tossed your ass into bed, duct taped you to your mattress, and locked you in your room. Mean is if I didn't read you your damn Zelda book, refused to get you a cup of water, and forced you to sleep without a nightlight. Don't push me kid, cause I'm getting really close to showing you what mean is.

Age two is tough. That's when they start getting their independence. Three is hard because they have more words in which to argue their independence. Four plateaus. But five? Oh my god. Five just sucks. I seriously cannot wait until school starts for him. I am going to ask someone to video tape me doing the happy dance as I pass his attitude behind on to someone else for a few hours.