Here’s a glimpse into my life today…I spent the better part of an hour fighting with my three year old about his pee. He took a bath after playing in the mud outside this morning and while bathing decided to let loose the waterworks. He was thrilled. He told me in no uncertain terms how excited he was to have peed in the tub. “Look, it’s my pee!” He was very proud. I felt it best to drain it away, wash the tub and child and begin afresh. He begged to differ. I won because I’m bigger and stronger.
To say the least, he took this badly and yelled at the top of his lungs for quite a length of time thing like, “It’s MY pee! Give it back!” and “I want my pee back!” and “It’s not FAIR! You took my pee!”Seems he was quite attached to his pee. I tried a few tactics beginning with, “Yeah, you know…it’s just gross to bathe in your own urine….seriously” and moved onto “No, I’m not going to bring it back. It’s not going to happen” and descended finally into rinsing him off and then leaving the room. He continued to yell and scream and cry. I came back in a few minutes later and sat next to him. “What do you need, Miles?” His teary response was anticipated, “I want my pee back.”
This is a moment to chuckle…because it IS kind of funny, yet, I was not in any mood to chuckle. I was already pissed that I spent even that amount of time 1)arguing with a three year old and 2)arguing with a three year old about his pee. I wish I had been in a mood to find the humor and move out of that but extenuating circumstances being what they are I’m just having trouble getting a grip most days on the tangibles…this felt like an intangible and for that I had no time, which is kind of sad, really.
The last thing we talked about it in this intangible discussion was interesting in hindsight. I said, “Miles, drink some stinkin’ water, man..you can make MORE pee” to which he replied, “I can’t, I don’t have any tools.” I tried to explain that the tools he needed were already in his body and that he just needed to trust me that he’s got it all covered but he just wasn’t having it. He wanted things the way he envisioned them and there was NO other solution. He finally settled on the couch because I commenced to vacuuming.
In the quiet aftermath of his tantrum though I’m able to take something away from it all I guess. It feels prophetic, a word of wisdom, a moment of enlightenment from the mouth of a three year old, an attitude of a three year old. I want things the way I want them. There is NO other solution except the one I have in my head. It’s hard for me to hear that there is another way, that what I want is perhaps not such a good thing in the grand scheme of my metaphorical hygiene habits. It’s hard to grasp this kind of thing in the middle of it all. I just hope I can rebound from my tight fisted tirades as quickly as my three year old.