The Sound, the Fury, and the Snot…


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Swoops in on Saturday and decides he is the savior of the house? The one who knows everything? The one with all of the solutions?

Did I mention that this asshole came home with empty hands during Valentine’s Day, so I’ve been a bit peeved for the last few days? And then, just to “fill some space” that evening when I tell him about my day (cleaning, diapers, you know, the usual…except for that special steak dinner I made for you, you asshole.), He has the audacity to say “Sometimes, I just want to switch with you. I think that would be great.” Really, hommie?

Yeah…that’s some context. So here we go:

The boys have had runny noses all week. Ursa Major, a typical two-year-old, is extra grumpy about it. He’s getting a little cough from the post-nasal drip, and I’ve been concerned. Sometimes, when the snot gets really bad, I break out the aspirator. The Husband doesn’t like the aspirator on principal, because it sometimes makes the boys cry when I use it. I, being pragmatic, get over it, use the thing, and keep moving. The Husband, being the softy of the two of us, has told me on multiple occasions that he “doesn’t like” the aspirator, and wish I wouldn’t use it.

So I use it during the week when he’s not here. When the snot is ridiculously bad and I’ve run through a large supply of paper product wiping their noses (which also makes them cry)because children don’t like it when people mess with their nose

So, Ursa Major goes into a coughing fit so I decide to go up in there and try to get some good suction going. I get the snot, but of course, now he’s in a bad mood. He sees Ursa Minor playing with his absolute favorite truck and he just freaking loses it. Full. Blown. Tantrum. and it just lasts.

Me, sitting down in a heap: [Sigh]

Husband: “He’s probably mad because of his nose and he’s projecting.”

Me: “He was over his nose until he saw his brother with the truck. It’s about the truck.”

Ursa Major: [Tantrum]

Husband, calm voice: “Would you like a banana?”

Ursa Major, instantly calm: “Yes. Want Banana.”

Husband, satisfied: “Let’s get a banana.”

Tantrum over?

So they play blocks. Everything seems to be going fine. Husband is feeling good about himself. Clearly he is the Kirk of this starship.

No, not really, because when the banana needs peeling, here comes more tantrum.

because it wasn’t about the aspirator….

And the tantrum hadn’t stopped, despite all that syrupy sweet crap The Husband was doing to make him feel better. Because tantrums need to be ignored, not indulged.

So finally, I take over.

So Ursa Major is now sitting in a non-committal time-out. Also known as a chill-out. He isn’t in trouble, but I just want him to sit and be cool until he’s ready to play. Clearly attention isn’t what he needs. He needs to take a deep breath.


and here we are 4 minutes later, and guess what? All better.


Because I’m the Picard of this Enterprise.

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