Call me...

Call me a bad mother. Not as in bad-mamma-jamma, but bad as in: for shame!

I am having difficulty dealing with Adrian's new spate of little-person behaviors. Maybe it's because I'm used to him being such a compliant happy chap, maybe it's because we're both stubborn, but there are days when I think: I wish I could sign you up for school because you are getting on my nerves.
And it's not that he's mean or bad or even mischievous, it's that he has so much energy and can't seem to put a lid on it when the lid needs to be put on. And the emphatic refusal of any suggestions that might help him to productively spend the energy is quite trying. Example? How about jumping rather than hitting things with toys? How about putting on some music and dancing rather than using baby toys as nunchucks in the vicinity of the cats? How about we go outside and kick the ball around rather than jumping off the couch?

Which brings us to grievance time: some obnoxious neighborhood kids have walked off with Adrian's soccer ball(in addition to his two kickballs). These are probably the same kids that come up into our driveway when we're not here to play in his sand table. Just a tip, kids: if you're going to play with other people's stuff when they're not around you might want to put it back the way you found it. I have a feeling they'd probably make off with the table if they could shift it. It's a pity that I haven't caught them, but I am thinking of posting a large sign in the front yard that says:
NO HALLOWEEN CANDY UNLESS ALL OF ADRIAN'S TOYS ARE RETURNED.

I am prematurely a cranky old lady.