Sometimes when we talk about one thing, we're actually talking about something else!

I don't want to exaggerate, but my Wonderland column from last Friday is saving lives. Right now, as I write this. Which I think makes me some kind of savior. Scratch "some kind." Why equivocate?

Anyway, if it's not saving your life, it's because you're not reading it, and let me tell you, you should. If only because it hurt my head to write. I had to read, and then I had to think about what I had read, and then I had to string words together in orders that were both pleasing and meaningful. My life could not be more difficult.

Speaking of difficult, this morning did not go well. There was muttering and things being slammed and meaningful sighing, and then Henry freaked out about his new coat. Of course. It's not like he's immune to his surroundings. So, the coat. Its newness was unbearable. How could we even suggest that he couldn't wear his old coat, even though its sleeves end at his elbows? Even though we used our charms to get the coat on him and convince him that he would live, he was still ornery all the way to school. During the Coat Battle he had pitched his voice waaa-haaaay up high, above even where dogs can hear, to a pitch that I think would kill bats—just cause them to seize up in mid-flight and plummet to the earth. Then apparently he couldn't get it back down to a normal pitch, or maybe he just hates bats. As we walked to school everything he said sounded like air being let out of a balloon, so to cheer him up I suggested that we play secret agents on the way to school. This involves running from tree to tree, shooting lasers at squirrels and hiding from oncoming cars. I should have known that is the WORST GAME EVER, even though we play it every day on the way to school even when it's the last thing I want to do. HOW COULD I EVEN SUGGEST IT. He actually demanded to know why I would suggest such a thing. And then when I began to explain that I SUGGESTED IT TO TORMENT HIM, he squeaked, "You're interrupting me!" and before I could respond to that he added, "Why won't you answer me! "

Then I started in, I don't even know what I said or why I said it. Some nonsense about how his behavior was not acceptable and I don't need to be screamed at for trying to suggest something fun even though it's not fun for me, I would rather be at home reading a book (and then I was just talking to myself, because none of this was for his benefit, and anyway he was busy squealing EEEEE, EEEEE, INTERRUPTING, EEEE, not hearing a word that I said, which is probably for the best) and why did I bother trying to make everyone around me happy and maybe they should be the ones who try to make me happy for once and I'm so tired of everyone yelling and the constant ceaseless rage and oh my god Alice shut up—

Then Henry said, "You know what letter I like?" in a perfectly normal voice. And I had the good sense, at least, to abort my harangue, and find out.

He likes H, by the way. Which is so clearly the best letter in the alphabet.

I think I need a nap. Or a new and better life. One or the other.

Comments

[Anne]

We have this battle every year when we bring out the evil long sleeved shirts. Maybe he would enjoy his new coat if you sewed a letter "H" on it.

[Linsey]

Oh lord, I have this sort of battle every single morning with my 4 year old, right down to the YOU'RE INTERRUPTING ME and YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO MY WORDS! Glad to hear I'm not the only one. Sad to hear it still goes on when they're 5. ;)

[Sue]

You clearly have been spying on my family.

[Sara]

Our children are surely related. And what is it with the sleeves? My daughter says she wants to "feel her soft arms." We have to negotiate with multiple layers and headbands (the headband is meaningful, but don't ask why).

[Heather]

H is my favorite letter, too! Right on, Henry!

[Monica]

I hope you had a good nap, at least.

[All Adither]

I can't believe you didn't know how awful Secret Agents is. You're a real screw up.

Totally kidding, by the way.

[jennifer Kashak]

Oh man, he's good! He already knows how to stop a woman's tirade. Just ask her a question about something totally unrelated, "Do you know what letter I like?" I'm going to try this one on my husband, but it probably doesn't work on men.

[Rivetergirl]

I'm always amazed at how frustration turns the most loved things into the most hated. What's with kids and sour spells anyway, why can't they always be barfing up rainbows?

I always have to remind myself that my kid has emotions and it's my job not to kill her because of that. Oh and make sure she brushes her teeth.

I'm mom of the flippin' year.

[liz]

5 is so much fun. Mine is convinced that if she asks me to do/buy/fix/create something and I say no, this is a function of my not understanding her questions rather than a function of me exercising parental veto rights.

[patois]

How come those horrid children can turn off their misery/anger/angst in a nanosecond, leaving us with no one to get even with? How dare they?

[Lynne]

I am so glad it's not just me or my five-year-old.

[Nicole]

The tears are just streaming down my face right now. How can you know exactly what my morning was like? How?

OK, there were no Secret Agents, but we had plenty of stomping around the house looking for the missing snakes and that was enough.

[Pretty Lush]

Is this what I have to look forward to? Because five is rapidly approaching.Secret Agents sounds so fun. See, I wish my kid had any kind of imagination for that. She'd rather walk quietly and marvel over stupid flowers. The grass is always greener, I 'spose.

[andrea_frets]

I think I should try playing Secret Agents with my clients when they start to get annoying. That would be awesome.

[Amy]

Hee Hee. I know it's not funny when it's happening, but hee hee!

[nate]

I'll trade you for:"That wasn't a very nice thing to say! You hurt my feelings!!!"

(What did I say to inspire such a response? "No.")

[Anne]

It's true, we all turn into our mothers. We have a better idea of what they had to put up with too.

[Leaf, probably...]

You know what letter I like? A.

New coats are traumatic. Just the other week I had a tantrum over trying to buy a new one for this year. Mostly it was because I couldn't find one I like though...

[superblondgirl]

Hi, Alice. Welcome to my life. I think we are living parallel lives or something. What with the drama and screaming and then sudden normalcy. Honestly, reading your posts makes me feel so much better, because obviously my kid is not a psychotic freak. He is normal-ish. And if not, at least he's in good company, and maybe they'll end up in the same crazy ward. Or else we will. Either way works.

[Beth]

I read this stuff and want to send it to my ex, who always wants to pathologize our son's behavior, when in fact the kid is just being a kid. *sigh* And I think sewing an H on your son's coat would be super cool. Super Henry!

[hazelblackberry]

Try the nap first. It's easier and might just work. If you do decide to go looking for a new life just remember to keep the receipt.

[Magrak]

My daughter likes to "get some fresh air" on her arms and legs, both during freezing daytime and cold, poorly-heated night time. So she takes off her coat/covers and rolls up her pants and sleeves. However she keeps her winter boots on, so she looks all around bizarre as well as cold. My sympathies.

Her favorite letter is P because it is the first letter in Poopyhead. Age? Need you ask? 4.

[islaygirl]

this is exactly what i posted about today. minus the new coat.

[Tammy]

That was both hilarious and terrifying. And to think that I was recently beefing about the fact that my toddler Sam wanted me to pop open his poached egg for him so that he could dip his toast soldiers in it, and then he immediately freaked out and wanted me to reassemble said egg, yolk and all. My problems are naught compared to yours.

For what it's worth, Sam doesn't have a favourite letter, but his favourite animal is the manul. (No, that's not a typo. Look it up.)