Pecked by Ducks

As I wrote in Happy Birthday Vicky, Vicky was our 3rd au pair. Au pairs come for a great year and then they go home. This is the third time we’ve done this so the boys know by now how it works. One au pair goes home when her year is up and another one arrives.

This year, with our finances so tight, the choice for me was, stay home full time and not get a new au pair, or get a new au pair and go back to work outside my home full time. Clearly I chose work and a new au pair.

Max is finally starting to sleep through the night more often than not and he is in pre-school 5 mornings a week and Quinn’s bus gets home at 4:25. I thought now would be a good time to transition. But never having experienced a rough transition for my kids between au pairs, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Quinn, other than being particularly obstinate lately seems to be doing okay. He’s cheeky after playing video games and sasses when he doesn’t get as much time as he wants. So always. Which results in him loosing games for the next day. So basically he can play every other day. Yah effective consequences <not> . Wait, can I also add a sigh? <sigh> So basically status is copasetic with Quinn. He’s doing okay, pushing on his boundaries; and his parents, while trying their best, feel like they are failing miserably. Like I said… par for the course.

Max on the other hand has been a complete and utter mess.

It started the week after Rocio (our new au pair from Mexico) arrived. I decided to keep the boys home from school on a Wednesday so that we could go to the NC state fair. There was no way I was going to go on the weekend. There is only so much out and about torture I can endure. Add massive mobs of bodies, long lines, the inability to maneuver with a stroller and people who don’t take responsibility for themselves or their children and you have my idea of hell on earth. So we went on a Wednesday.

Another nice twist is that Max had been saying he didn’t want to take his nap. With starting preschool 5 mornings a week, he wasn’t getting to sleep until 1pm which meant he wasn’t waking up until 3 or 3:30. It kind of wrecked the day, and then he didn’t fall asleep well at night. I mean, he’s 3 and a half and it’s around time, so I had been thinking about letting him try no nap anyway.

This led me to thinking that not having to interrupt a day at the fair was the perfect time to try no nap.

Seriously?

Sometimes I think there might actually be something wrong with me. Or at least with my follow through on the thought process ability.

So… no nap, 1 corn dog, a couple of - fresh from the hot oil then into sugar - mini doughnuts, some fresh-squeezed lemonade and a little sample cup of local chocolate covered peanuts later, it was 2 pm and Max was having a full-on sugar, fried food and fatigue induced meltdown.

I was looking at this puddle of screaming, irrational, inconsolable kid and the only thing I could think was, OMG this is totally my fault.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I ignored him and bought his brother an obnoxious, plastic, horn-shaped noise maker. Then I got down into Max’s face, and between screams, so I knew he could hear me, I said, “We are leaving. If you would like a horn before we leave, you will need to calm down and ask nicely. I am counting to three.” I counted to three. I got to three. I turned the stroller around and started pushing it toward the exit.

Then he really flipped. He started screaming like someone was torturing him and straining against his stroller straps so hard, I really thought he was going to injure himself. I have never seen either of my kids do anything like that before so frankly I was stumped and a little scared. I got back down onto his level and calmly told him, between yells, that this was his last chance. Then I began mentally preparing myself for the humiliating walk of shame, back to my car, with an apoplectic child.

I slowly began counting and miraculously, he started to calm himself by two, and I stopped counting before three. I unbuckled him and then sat on that stupid stroller, hugging and rocking him in my lap while he finished calming down. I even bent my rule about a completely snivel free voice, when asking nicely, and bought him the horn when he brokenly whispered “Mommy, please may I have a horn please?” into my now snot and tear besmeared shirt.

My poor baby managed to survive even my most ill conceived, if well meaning “brilliant plan”. <sigh>

To be continued, tomorrow…