Erik and I were simply bored today. I sometimes feel frustrated that finding things to do with him in any traditional sense is difficult, and the entire day ahead of us alone tends to intimidate me sometimes. The Magnadoodle provided 15 minutes of entertainment, as he asked me to draw different variations of construction equipment. He did attempt to draw a bicycle upon my own request. We read books and played with the excavator his father gave him for Christmas, although he made me push the buttons to operate it (it's loud). He managed to give me a fat lip as he accidentally swung a toy at me later in the day. As I felt the rigid plastic crush my already generous bottom lip into the sharp ridge of my lower teeth, I wondered if I would ever feel like the normal little kid-things would not shove me directly over the edge of this ridiculous emotional cliff of mine I have been perched on for the past three years. We had one small, unimpressive battle over what would be served for lunch, resulting in one time out, but other than that, the acting out was kept at a minimum today. He has finally determined that I am no longer bluffing when I name a consequence for his next behavior, and, therefore, he is much more in control of himself, although he seems as if he wants to explode at times. I have made it clear to him that being frustrated and angry is perfectly acceptable and have tried to validate any emotions he is feeling but have also made it quite clear that punching, kicking, and hitting one's own mother is something one should avoid.
The snow is still streaking past my office window. This is not the kind of snow I sigh softly upon seeing while listening to Burl Ives holiday songs but the kind that pelts the world sideways, jamming in my satellite dish, forming a small glacier, and interrupting my afternoon of porking out on BBC America shows and merlot tasting. This may be the first day I make the trek out in my winter gear over the tundra to chip at it. Winter has arrived.