The Title is the Hardest Part

So this evening, as I was putting J-Bo in Time Out for the 3rd time in less than 15 minutes he screamed a deep, loud, angry scream, from way down in his gut while making an I-am-so-mad-at-you-Mommy face and glaring at me with fire-breathing dragon eyes. This particular time was after he had been standing in the kitchen backwards on a chair rocking it back and forth and climbing up the back of the chair like steps on a ladder while periodically turning around to squish a clementine orange into the counter or throw it across the room or onto the floor.  He had already been in Time Out twice for pulling Mommy's hair and then holding on and laughing as I desperately tried to release his death grip.  Each time, as I forced his little legs to bend into his Time Out chair and click-clicked the buckle closed over his thighs, my child threw this same wild tantrum. 

Well there I was, standing in the kitchen, about to enforce Time Out #3 when I suddenly had the realization that my child expresses his anger JUST LIKE ME.  His acting out was not unlike that of his mother (me), who has struggled all her (my) life with trying to find an appropriate way to channel that negative energy when it occasionally consumed her (me).  There was a time when I had my Lego's and the solitude of retreating to my room, and then there was my Tetris addiction during high school, which allowed me to zone out and listen to music while scowling and squinting at the TV screen and manipulating little shapes into stacked straight lines, and then, in my early adulthood, I wrote a lot of garbage and sad love letters and heart wrenching poetry that immediately induced guilt upon some unlucky guy(s), but even now, I sometimes find that the best way to field that genuine feeling of madness is still to have a good, from-the-gut scream and cry.

I'm not perfect.  I'm just me.  And as a parent I suppose it is my job to teach my child the necessary coping skills he needs to deal with all the times in life when he won't get his way or he is treated unfairly.  I am not going to be one of those coddling parents who is always concerned about hurting his ego or wounding his psyche.  If he misbehaves, there will be consequences.  Will he hate me for it?  Not forever.  Trust me; I know.

But why so soon?  Seriously?  17 months?  We couldn't even make it to the stereotypical "terrible twos," huh?  I am going to attribute my child's "willfulness" (yes, THAT's what we'll call it) to the fact that he is basically a genius, and every temper tantrum is just one more sign that he is far too advanced for conventional toddler-hood, and this frustrates him immensely.  His brain functions ahead of his ability to communicate, and I know what that is like too, not so much the being a genius part of course, but just the whole brain working faster than the ability to relay those thoughts.  I get that.  As I sit here typing, the only thing slowing me down is that stupid keyboarding class I didn't take, etc.   And I digress.

Today I have finally settled upon the theme for my blog.  I am sticking with "Uncaged:"  By definition, it means "released from or as if from a cage; free from restraint."  I am good with that.  It leaves me limitless, and it allows for me to write about any subject I want, implying that my blog is not simply about one specific topic, hobby or overall concept.  I have decided that being uncensored is not the exact approach I want to take though, as Mr. McQ fears I'll write something unflattering of him, and my mother reminded me today that employers and really anyone can see this blog.  They both answered my prior post in their own way and helped me realize that my writing, even as an outlet for my anger, still needs to be disciplined; I have to channel it in a way that is more mature than one of those from-the-gut screams and put myself in my own sort of Time Out I guess.  I accept the challenge, and I still intend to express myself honestly, but through the means of creativity and thoughtfulness.  Does it mean I will never swear in my writing again?  Probably not.  Does it mean I will always be soft and kind and generally PC?  I doubt it.  But it does mean that I will make a conscientious effort to choose my words wisely.  That is a lesson I continue to work on every day anyway.

I dozed off twice tonight while waiting for Jack to fall asleep so I could sneak out of his room.  The hunched over position in which I was sitting, cross-legged on the floor with my arms up on his mattress and my head resting on them, made my limbs all pins and needle-y, so much so that when I finally tried to leave, I had to wait another five minutes just to be able to stand.  I am pretty sure that most of my blog posts will be about that sweet angel of mine, yes, the same one who pulled my hair and screamed at me with all of his might.  He is, after all, his mommy's son.  The love I have for my child is more powerful than anything else I could ever feel.  I understand him...and I love him exactly as he is...my willful, angry, silly, wild, destructive, imaginative, mischievous, and dangerously adorable little genius.