Miss P turned 3 on Tuesday, and like clockwork, her new age brought a whole new level of defiance and tantrums.  I love her madly and would throw myself in front of a loaded gun for her, but man, she’s become a little turd at times this week.   You’ll ask her a question and she’ll just stare at you without answering. Or blinking.  THAT LOOK.  The one that will make me even crazier when she’s a teenager.  She’s already perfected it.  When she’s not doing that, she’s having a colossal tantrum.  Welcome to 3! Mommy’s going to need some new tricks up her sleeve…and a run to the liquor store.

And Mr. B isn’t fairing so well, either.  He got been getting in to trouble at school and has had a hard time at home lately, and I’m at a total loss for what to do.  I feel like a failure as a parent, that I’ve raised a child who has ZERO self control.  And I worry that, as we move forward to this new, possibly less-tolerant school, that he’ll be marked as ADHD or get sent to the disciplinarian’s office more times than Joan River visits a plastic surgeon.  He’s a good kid, he really is.  I have to remind myself that he’s FIVE.  And a boy.  All normal behavior.  And his “trouble” at school is not mean or malicious, he just prefers being silly and disruptive.  Mind you, Mr. B is wicked smart.  He’s reading at a 2nd or 3rd grade level…in kindergarten and at any given moment, he’s reading.  A book, a sign, a receipt, the nutritional guide on his bag of Cheetos.  He can focus, he just chooses not to.  Or more likely, he can’t help himself by his love of silly things and laughing, and uses that as his guide.

I think what’s really going on though is a little fallout from our weekend.  Since we didn’t really give the kids a proper Spring Break, we did some research, cashed in hotel and airline points, and took the kids to Disneyland this past weekend.  Three whole days spent traipsing around the Happiest Place on Earth.  The kids had a total blast.  Riding rides non-stop, feeling as if the whole day was based on their agenda and not ours, meeting all sorts of characters, and being so excited that I was sure someone, at some point, would pee themselves.  Alas, they did not. 

Mr. B, being finally tall enough to ride most of the rides, went on just about every thing he could, sometimes twice. 

And Miss P?  She was so enchanted by the whole thing.  We stood in line on Thursday to meet Rapunzel, and Flynn happened to stop by.  I thought P’s heart might stop right then and there. There is absolutely no question of my daughter’s sexual preference right now, and if she could have figured out how to stalk Flynn around the park, I bet she would have.  Mind you, I can’t blame her.  Most of the moms in line were a little dreamy-eyed towards Flynn.  I think even Jon might have had a little man-crush on him. 

Miss P didn’t nap for three straight days and loved every minute of it.  All in all, the kids were fantastic.  We didn’t have too many meltdowns, they were patient (for the most part) in all of the lines (and there are a lot of lines), and we really enjoyed ourselves together.  By the end of the first day, though, my legs were tired, my arms were sore from carrying around either a small child or a large backpack, and I could have used an ice cold beer.  Don’t ya know it, they don’t serve alcohol in Disneyland! 

Miss P had breakfast with Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White, Aurora and Mulan, which was so adorable.  Mr B kept trying to maintain his macho facade and get all whiny about having to dine with princesses.  But of course, once they came around to the table, he jumped out of his seat, took his hat off (like a gentleman should, right?  Am I right, ladies?) and strutted over to meet the fair maidens, get their autographs, maybe even sneak a hug, and get his picture taken along with his sister.

 

As a reward for being so supportive of all the girlie stuff, I took Mr. B on the Tower of Terror.  I don’t know what he was expecting, but certainly not the elevator ride to hell and back.  Have y’all been on this thing?  You get in an elevator car with about 20 other people, belt yourself in to a metal seat, and hold on for dear life.  The car then drops down an elevator shaft at speeds just slightly faster than free fall.  But not all the way down.  Oh no, that would be too simple.  First, the doors open so you’re looking out at the park.  The moment you get comfortable?  This sucker pulls you down about 20 feet.  You’re looking out another door, and right as you’ve turned to your companion to laugh it off, the car plummets down about 170 feet.  Then it shoots you back up to the top and you do the whole thing all over again in complete darkness.  I nearly shit my pants.

I took one look at B’s face once the plunge started, and I instantly felt regret.  What the hell am I doing to my kid?  Is he going to be scarred for life?  He looked like he was going to cry, yet he never did.  And when the ride was over, though, his face was a mix of exhilaration, pride, and sheer terror.   I was so proud of him and his courageousness.  And he didn’t even have a streaker in his underpants!

While I know there are only so many memories that can hold their place in our  kids tiny brains, I really do hope this experience lodges itself in there somewhere and stays put for a while.