Tim is my four year old. And anyone that’s survived motherhood up until toddlerhood knows that toddlers are full on, no limits, balls to the wall punks.
Case in point. Tim hasn’t slept in his bed for TWO MONTHS. Why, you ask? He decided he’s scared of his bed. Honestly, I blame YouTube. Because he’s not really scared of his bed. But he wants a reward for sleeping in his bed.
I offered to take him to Dutch Bros, or even let him get a small styrofoam plane in exchange for the bed slumber. Nope. Not good enough.
He wants me to take him to Disneyland. For sleeping in his own bed. I kid you not.
In other news, he’s not allowed to watch YouTube anymore. But he’s still holding strong, as evidenced by him currently sleeping inside his Paw Patrol tent in the living room.
When Mike and I first started dating, Tim was not having it. He was not yet two years old, and, we learned, not the most resilient creature on the planet. He was quite awful to the men in his life – when he was with Mike, he would cry for Dad. BUT, when he was with Dad, he would cry for Mike. I give them both major props for handling it the best they could. They would let him make phone calls, take him for work visits. I seriously have the best husband, and ex husband, around.
But that’s how Timhole came to be. Mike nicknamed him Timhole. Because, you know, toddlers.
A few weeks ago Mike and I took Oliver (1), Ethan (9), and Tim out to dinner. We let them know that we could get dessert if they all had good manners. Oliver didn’t really agree to that, but the other two consented.
Except Tim didn’t want dessert. You see, this particular restaurant has candy machines by the door. And Tim really, really wanted a gum ball. So I agreed. Good behavior = gum ball.
Good behavior is not what we had. Tim was kicking his shoes off under the table so he could retrieve them (I’m no dummy), spinning around in his seat, trying to engage our table mates in conversation, asking the waiter for glasses of water (he had three – I think he was starting a collection).
Parents out there know that four year olds don’t handle “no” the best. Their coping skills are not yet refined. So I dreaded telling Tim no gum ball until the very last second. I changed the subject. I put it off as long as I could. Finally, when we received our check, I broke the news to him, totally anticipating having to bolt for the door with a Hulk-like Tim under my arms.
When I said no gum ball, Tim shrugged his shoulders and said “Okay.”
Um, what?
I legit broke out in a cold sweat. This was not what I was anticipating at all.
We finished paying, and I was trying to get past the door as quickly as I could, knowing full well that Tim will for sure lose it when he sees the gum ball machine and it finally clicks that he can’t have a piece of candy.
We make it to the lobby, and Tim bolts for the gum ball machine.
He quickly spins the dial, lifts the door, and pops an imaginary piece of gum in his mouth.
I shit you not.
He turns around to look at me, smiling, and with a mouthful of fake gum says “mmm, this is good.”
We got to the car and I helped him buckle, all while he’s happily smacking his fake gum. Mike and I looked at each other incredulously. Mike shrugged, and said that if he’s happy with fake gum, he’s going to load up his pockets with it whenever we go somewhere.
I wanted to tackle that punk to the ground and make him spit it out.
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