There are days when things just don't go your way. I have just had one of these days. The day started with William waking up early in the morning, when all I was longing for was thirty, maybe twenty, ten... even five more minutes of sleep would have been so damned good. "I am still dreaming, let me sleep please!", I implored. But Tronk was there, running around the house in his PJs, asking for me and for all the things that come to his widely-awake head in the morning:
"Pullat? (that's how he calls the "pullup diapers") "No, Tronk, you are not ready for those!" and I am not willing to follow you to monitor how wet is your bottom! Aha! There are no diapers here. We have to go to the basement to pick some. "Here! You'll have your pullat!"
"Aranciata?" "Mi dispiace, non c'e'"
"Aranciata?" "Mi dispiace, non c'e'"
(Orange juice? Sorry, there isn't any)
"Latte? Latte?" "Ok, eccolo".
(Milk? Milk? Ok, here it is)
"Biscottino?" "Eccolo. Uno solo."
(A small cookie? Ok, here it is, but only one.)
"Cartone Pimpa?" "No, e' troppo presto."
(Can I watch a Pimpa cartoon? No, it's too early)
"Dov'e' macchina viola?" "E che ne so io???"
(Where is my purple car? How would I know???)
Stop! I suddenly realized that I needed the strongest dosage of caffeine that my manual espresso machine could possibly deliver. So I had one and I decided I would get the next one at the local coffee shop later in the day.
Then I was hit by one of those flattering and inquisitive emails that needs a carefully crafted reply. I started typing few letters in reply. Tick, tack, tack, tick, tick. "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmma! Ahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Tronk got hurt. His little hand was hanging on one side as if he was no longer able to feel it. Fortunately, the little actor was ok.
Me: "Vuoi andare al potty adesso?" (Do you want to go to the potty now?) Forget about the potty, there is poop here all over the floor. Who is having to clean the floor?
Some of the subsequent thoughts haunting me:
11:00 am. Hopefully, he will sleep.
11:30 am. I'll give him some yogurt. Maybe, that will make him sleep.
12:00 pm. Forget it, he won't sleep. "Cartone Pimpa?" "Eccolo!." (Can I watch a Pimpa cartoon? Here, watch it!) Now, hopefully, I'll have my shower.
13:00 pm. What? My jewelry box, empty? Tronk? Where did you put my jewelry??? Where?
|"Va via Mamma!" (Go away Mom!)|
I was almost sure my day would end in tears. The chicken I cooked for him was not up to his standard and he would rather throw it on his nice sweater or on the floor than to try to make a genuine effort to eat it. At some point, he said "Vai vai! Vai in cucina mamma!" (Go! Go! Go to the kitchen mom!) It was becoming clear that our day would continue fighting: food, toys (he wanted to use my permanent markers to color the couch), he wanted to fight about everything.
For some unknown reason, perhaps the fact that you cannot argue against a two year old, I was able to keep it together. I was hoping that the storytime, my favorite moment of the day with Tronk, would have soon put an end to our fights and to our anger and that we would soon be able to make peace. I was imagining that after reading the first book together, we could then magically laugh, forget all the unpleasant things that we did to each other on that day and hug. That's all I was longing for to get over such a daunting day. But I had the sense of foreboding that no peace would come between us on that day. So I asked John to come to sit next to us during storytime. In order to avoid having to change the book three or four times, I picked a new book, the one that had just arrived from Italy. The new book was keeping Tronk's eyes glued to the pages. Great choice!, I thought. After all, how could he not enjoy a story about a binky, his number one favorite toy? This is how Tronk's face changed throughout the story.
First page. Ecstatic smile
Second page. Still smiling
Fourth page. Worried
Oh shit, this book is about giving away the binky
Fifth page. Very worried
Hopefully, he will not take it badly
Last page - The girl decides to let the binky, attached to a balloon, fly away. He burst into tears. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Il ciuccio e' andato via!" (Noooooooo! The binky is gone!)
"She is grown up now! She no longer needs a binky!", I said to Tronk with a positive tone of voice.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Nooooooooooooooo! Nooooooooooooooo!" he uttered in complete despair.
"There is no way Tronk and I will make peace now. I have fcked everything up ", I said to John, who was still trying to pay attention to the book I had just finished reading.
I was crushed. Tronk? He couldn't have cared less. While I was soaking, he had jumped off the bed and he was happily pushing his shopping cart around the house as if nothing had happened. He had already moved on.