The truth?! You can’t handle the truth!

Look at that face. Just look at it! That is the face of an angel, isn’t it? This seemingly angelic toddler has been waging psychological warfare on me all morning long. It’s like he was trained by highly vicious and manipulative master of breaking down a prisoner.

He’s going to make a fantastic black ops interrogator one day, of that, I am certain.

First thing is first. Knock over Mamma’s coffee (also known as the only thing that makes her not crazy cranky in the morning). Grrrrrr. As I get up to make another, I see he has procured this cheap little toy plane on a spring gun that I hate. Mostly, he can’t work it by himself (spring loading anything is a touch out of his wheelhouse) and second, it’s meant for outside so when you pull the trigger it really flies. I mean, to the moon, practically. Though when he gets his mind made up on something…he’s like a pit bull on a mission.

Another great trait in a black ops agent, by the way.

Coffee is brewing. I load that stupid plane gun thing since I still haven’t had a sip of said coffee and he’s already doing his persistent repeating thing.

Have I not mentioned this yet? When Jp wants something he will ask for it by one or two words over and over again. Think ‘ΓΌber tenacious broken record player that can follow you’. There is no running, no hiding, no escape. I have to admit…there are days that he can break me down like the future interrogator he was born to be. “Fine! Fine! Eat Cheetos for breakfast! Aaaaarrrrrgggghhh!”

So we are back to the plane.

I load it up and supervise to make sure that is pointed away from his face (you’ll shoot your eye out, kid!) and he lets it soar. Up, up, up it goes…directly onto a decorative shelf that I would need a ladder to get to. He looks at me, totally bewildered, like it’s the first time he’s ever noticed that shelf was even there, and innocently asks, “Airplane?”.

Parsnickity! I can’t get that thing down! I would have to go to the garage, get a ladder, drag it in the house, set it up, move the ginormous TV, scale the ladder, acquire dollar store plane, and it would just happen again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Good riddance, in my opinion. Rest in peace, borderline-inappropriate-toy-that-my-husband-drug-home.

Jp does not agree.

Thus begins an hour and a half long battle of wills that would not be tamed. Remember the repeating thing? He did it for so long (intermixed with big, fake crocodile tears) my brain started to go numb and I was seeing spots (maybe from my eye twitching so badly?). He threw in some other items that he can’t have at 8:30 in the morning just for good measure.












For. An. Hour. And. A. Half.

By the time my husband woke up I was frazzled. I had tried everything in my arsenal and was one more “Plane?” away from dragging the ladder in and then checking myself into the loony bin.

The kid is a natural.

I’m just going to have to learn how to guide that skill so he uses it for good and not for evil. πŸ˜‰

With that face…they will never see it coming…



Amber Perea View All →

I'm just living minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day.

31 Comments Leave a comment

  1. I’ve lived with this battle of wills for so many years. It’s different with my autistic one than it is with my little monster in that, with autism, they just seem to get stuck in a loop… it’s not a matter of will as much as it is a broken record that can’t get out of a groove. My other one is just plain stubborn.

  2. you mean like Quinn repeating at midnight “I want powerpuff girls on” 500 times. He doesn’t understand that they are not on at midnight and that he should be sleeping at midnight. God Bless your heart.

    • He’s taking out his aggression on me that his wife chops off his son’s hair when he’s not looking! πŸ˜‰

      My kid is a doll, with or without the locks. πŸ™‚

      That plane. When it finally comes down it will meet it’s final resting place in the trash. πŸ™‚

  3. Just wait for the other half of the black ops expert to kick in… the ability to clam up and say absolutely nothing when you desperately need the information to save the free world. I am a real life government investigator and I cannot under any circumstances get my 10 year old son to describe his day at school. His mom says no water boarding so I am all out of ideas. Great post.

  4. I know JP is young but he’s pretty smart. Have you heard of the “asked and answered”? I saw it on pinterest the other day and just started that technique when my son keeps asking me the same question even though I’ve said no a bazillion times. Its been working so far. If you think JP is too young you could use it in the future.

  5. Oh man, the repetition kills me. I seriously start to feel like my brain just goes into autopilot self preservation mode – I don’t even hear myself saying “No. Because I said no. Because I DID.” over and over and over again. I’ve said those exact three things today to all three of the demons running around my house a minimum of four hundred times. Mixed in with actual explainations as to why they cannot do things – like chucking giant dinosaurs at the television screen.
    Go to the liquor store. Buy Baileys. Substitute for creamer. Problem solved lol πŸ˜‰

    • LOL AWESOME! It’s a level of patience that I didn’t even know was in me, that’s for certain. What is with it? Just over and over on repeat.

      I wish I could say that it never works. Sometimes I give in. Which is why he probably still does it…lol. πŸ™‚

  6. My son does the exact same thing. “Candy Mommy” no BJ is 6:30 in the morning “Mommy Candy”… Except mine likes to tap you on the leg twice before repeating himself. I think he thinks the only reason I said no is because I wasn’t focusing on the question. So, tap tap “Mommy Candy” tap tap “Candy Mommy” over and over. I really think his tapping and repeating is a form of torture in some countries. It makes me insane!!

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