Though Dylan may have cherub face, he’s no angel. He weasels through mealtimes, slaps people that get in his way, and whines through any restrictions or limits to his freedom. So when I pick him up at school and they sing him praises, I’m like huh? I don’t know that song. It goes something like, “He ate all of his food; he had a good nap; he danced and played and he kissed Anabelle.”
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So I gave them the juice. I told them how he batters me, how he throws his giant car across the room with violent super strength (the thing is bigger than he is), and how he screams in my face like a pterodactyl when I feed him. His teachers laughed and looked at the seemingly angelic toddler in my arms and said, “Haha, Dylan you don’t do that do you?!” I can tell that they hardly believe me when I express his angry ways, because it’s the same doubt I show on my face when they describe his sweet “laid back” ways. But no, I’m not kidding. He’s a textbook brat with an early case of terrible twos.
My son is two different people and unfortunately, I’m not as shocked as I sound. Dylan knows how to work the system, playing good boy at school and bad boy at home. He knows he can get away with whatever in his own environment and what won’t be tolerated in the classroom. And unfortunately, I actually do know that song. I know it by heart…because that was me (sorry Mom). So this hell raising brat that acts out and reserves the brunt of his behavior for me, well, that’s my karmic debt…collecting with interest.
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