When my third child and second son turned three he began what we called the "only in public tantrums." He was an angel at home, but as soon as he set foot in a store or market, WHAMMO! He was on the floor writhing and screaming, wailing and yelling. Shoving himself all over the floor with his feet while I hid, waiting for it to pass. (It passed at three and a half.) Yes, those were the "threes" with Ben.
His older brother was never a tantrum thrower, he preferred to climb - and taste - everything. His threes were spent scaling the furniture, scaling the windows, climbing the walls (literally) and then jumping off whatever it was he had conquered; then he would sample everything: 'Oh a rock!' lick. "Hmm, hay," crunch. "Sticky stuff from a caterpillar," slurp. Yes he was the taste-testing climber.
My oldest was a very particular three. She had to have everything arranged just so, and was generally happy - until she wasn't - and it was then that she would throw the most beautiful tantrum - eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open wide AND NO SOUND! She was our "silent tantrum thrower." It was magnificent.
Noah, however, is going to be a whole new experience. He is just plain destructive. Mischievously destructive. He has the benefit of older siblings, so he is QUITE the talker with an impressive (and scary) vocabulary, very inquisitive and curious, and thinks he is older than he really is. This is NOT a good combination. Especially with a sick Mommy.
Yes, I have pneumonia, and am quite under the weather. This, however, doesn't stop Noah. He sees it as an opportunity. "Mommy can't breathe and is stuck on the couch? Excellent!" And there goes the family size grated Parmesan cheese - ALL OVER the kitchen, and in a bowl, and in the computer keyboard..... "Look, Its SNOWING!" and he gleefully licks it off the floor. "MMM delicious!" He smiles at me with grated cheese all over his face. My sick self sighs. Well, its just cheese right? I sink into the chair and let him go to town, burying his trains in piles of "snow", filling bowls up with the cheese so he can stick his face in it and eat it "like a cat." Eventually I summon the strength to get the vacuum. He claps and dances as we "suck up the snow" and then "suck off" his toys, cleaning them of the cheese.
I flop onto the couch, trying to breathe normally, and he is off on another adventure. This one involves spraying the Toy Room with Lemon Juice. It smells very fresh and clean now. Next its on to stealing gummy bears. I find him hiding in the closet, mouth and fists full of the little bears, about to be eaten. He grins at me and darts out of the closet. I manage to wrestle the candy from his fists, and he is off to bigger and better things.....like shoving play doh in his ears and eyes. "I'm being a pirate!" "Pirates don't put play-doh in their ears." "Oh." and he is off again. This time eating the play-doh. I hear my husband in the next room, "Noah, we don't eat play-doh!" "Oh." and his little feet come running full speed into the living room. He grins at me, with play-doh in his teeth. Yuck!
No worries though, because a few minutes later I find him on top of the kitchen counter stealing more gummy Bears out of the cabinet they were hiding in. The gummy stuff will get the play-doh out of his teeth, right? Because his toothbrush is currently shoved so far down the drain I don't think I can get it out..... and yes, he shoved it down there, clogged the drain, turned on the water and flooded the bathroom..... what is it with Noahs and floods!?
Speaking of floods, I thought a hot bath would help me breathe better. So I filled up the tub, poured in some baking soda, and sat in the quiet steaminess, trying to breathe better. All of a sudden a happy face peers at me. "Hi Mommy! I am going to help you!" and he shuts the bathroom door, trapping the two of us inside. He grins again. "You need toys!" and into the bathtub goes a bunch of toys - dinosaurs, plastic things, and cups. "You need more of this!" and he dumps ALL the baking soda into the tub. "Noah, Mommy doesn't need anymore help!" "Yes you do! Here!" and he squirts a Thomas the Tank Engine bath toy at me - cold, nasty, filmy water hits me in the face. Gross. Cold. Next thing I know he has stripped off his clothes and removed his diaper. "I am coming in too!" And in he climbs before I can feebly call my husband (who is washing dishes and can't hear me anyway). Now its the two of us in a bathtub filled with WAY too much baking soda. He is happy as a squirmy clam. Then come the anatomy questions. "What are these for?" "They feed babies?" "Can I taste?" "Why don't they work right now?" "How come I don't have any?" Then the conversation moves below the belt. This is even more hysterical. "Why don't YOU have anything?" "Why do I have TWO parts than hang down?" "Are they attached?" "Why does it float?" "Can I make it big?" "Will it fall off?" Eventually, anatomy questions exhausted, I get out of the tub and leave my wet, squirmy, newly-minted three year old for my husband to tackle. Soon he is dry and ready for more action!
As I try with futility to rest in quiet, I discover Noah has taken all my candles and built a precarious tower - using a St. Francis statue and a statue of the Blessed Mother to prop it up. I carefully unstack the candles and inspect the statues for damage. That's when I notice that there is salt all over the small alter we have. I follow the salt trail into the kitchen where Noah is emptying the rest of it into one of his toy trains' coal cars. Apparently his trains run on salt.
Out comes the vacuum. Again.
And this is how it goes. One day is more destructive than the next. He gets into everything; his mischievous little grin lights up his face when he has been caught red handed stealing food, or pennies, or his siblings' toys. I know I have even more destructive days ahead, but for now, its time to hunker down, and realize that he is going to grow out of the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very bad Threes all too quickly, and that blessed Mommy Amnesia will hit once again.
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