The Proof is in the Siblings

Today, the Royal Monkeys and I took a short trip up the road to visit a sprayground fun park that came highly recommended to me by this fine blogging mama.

My older two had a blast; Sir Screamsalot spent the entire hour or so sitting on a bench - grumpy, tired, and gearing up for his scheduled end-of-day Screaming Ninny Tantrumalooza.

He's been having these fairly regularly for the last week or so. I've been working on a compiling all the factors that feed into his behavior as of late and have created this formula:

1 Smart 2 1/2 year-old boy x

[(long summer days - shorter naps) +

(fireworks 4 nights in a row in our neighborhood {!} + low-grade runny nose virus) +

(his feisty temper + my feisty temper)] =

1 Mom trying her best.

+++---+++---+++---+++

While I know my best is good enough, especially after driving fifteen miles with a child that sets his volume level to 11 (one more than ten, you know...and if you're laughing with me on that, I adore Best in Show) and proceeds to thrash, flail, and kick in his car seat all the way home, knowing that I'm doing my best is a far different thing than feeling like my best is good enough.

It doesn't feel good enough when he's kicking and slapping at me as I take him upstairs for yet another time out.

Or when he screams at the top of his lungs in the line at store, drawing every bit of attention to himself (clever boy) and those ever-so-popular, "Aren't you going to do something about that kid?!" stares at me.

Or when I get upset with him for what is really just typical 2 1/2 year old behavior.

At the end of these Tantrumaloozas, my best feels like it will never be enough.

But this is life with a toddler. Mine have all been little ego-maniacs capable of swinging from joy to rage in the blink of a sky-blue eye. They're 100% emotion with 0% control.

I remind myself of this when I tiptoe in to Sir Screamsalot's room to check on him late at night, kissing his smooth little cheeks one last time as I watch him breathe in and out, his sweet face the very picture of peace and serenity.

I remind myself that I need to be 100% control and 0% emotion when he breaks down into a fit of tiny fury.

I whisper one last prayer: blessings for him and strength and grace for me.

And I tiptoe out, off to check on his older brother and sister, both of whom are well-past this difficult stage of their lives and are now each delightful, polite, and kind to a fault.

They are proof that my best is indeed good enough.

WM