C and I are a little too much alike. And by that, I mean that he’s basically me in male form.
With his sensory processing disorder, health problems and the terrible twos, we’ve been dealing with some pretty intense behavioral issues. I’ve started to really crack down on the bad behavior. The result is an epic battle of wills between two people who are basically the same.
When he dumped out his cup of Cheerios all over the couch and floor this morning, I’d had it. I started with a calm, “Pick up your Cheerios.” It escalated and suddenly there I was, frenzied and uncaffeinated, running around picking up all of his cars and trucks to take them away for the day. I really thought that would work, considering his unreasonable devotion to his vehicles.
Somehow, we got to the standoff. There he was, all 28 pounds of him, sitting defiantly on the couch. I was right in front of him, staring him down. “C, look at me. I’m YOU, 25 years later. You will not win. I will wait you out.”
And there we sat. For two hours and fifteen minutes, we sat. There was a lot of this:
Ultimately, I offered to help him clean up the Cheerios. We cleaned them up together and went about our day.