The Mental Patient

So, for anyone that knows me, I loooove my kids. They are what get me out of bed in the morning...  Literally.  

Well, the fact that they wake me up before 7am, is not actually the part I love, but I look at their faces and often see what's right in the world in their eyes.  

That said, it can't be overlooked that I absolutely feel like my daily conversations with my 3 year old are similar to those you might have with mental patient.  Now, before you start to judge me for calling my sweet, innocent boy a mental patient, let me present you with exhibit A:

Me:  Tommy, what do you want for breakfast?

T:  Roooooaar!!!

Me:  Okay Mr. Tiger, what do you want for breakfast?

T:  I'm not a tiger, I'm a wolf soldier!  (a Kung Fu Panda 2 reference, FYI)

Now mind you, I'm probably still working on getting my coffee infused in my system, so I really just want to friggin' know what he wants for friggin' breakfast.

Me:  Got it.  Sorry.  Wolf Soldier, what do you want for breakfast?

T:  I don't know.  I'm thinking about it.

(I wait, assuming - a thing you should never do with a mental patient or a 3 year old apparently, see the similarity? - that an idea for breakfast will erupt forth.)

Nothing.

The good news is that this pause has allowed me to sip a little of my coffee.  

Nothing.  It's okay, we only have to be at camp in an hour.

Nothing.

Me:  Okay, I'm making you cheese eggs.

T:  Nooooooo! (then, tumbling into a crying, tantruming mess) I don't want cheese eggs!

Me:  Stop!  Reset.  (What?  It works with my computer!) What do you want?

T:  I don't want cheese eggs!

Me:  (In my best therapy voice)  I hear that you don't want cheese eggs.  What do you want?

T:  I don't want cheese eggs!!!  (Tears still)

Me:  (I get down in front of him and am now on my knees.  I too am yelling)  I won't make you eat cheese eggs!  That's off the table!  What do you want to eat?!?  (since he's irrational apparently I'm going to be too)

T:  I just don't want cheese eggs!!!  (for god's sake! I'm not running a prison camp here.)

I just stare silently at him willing him to stop whining.  (a Jedi mind trick)

T:  (quietly) I want cereal. 

It worked!  I had channeled Yoda, and it worked. 

Me:  (in my best Yoda voice) Cereal you will have young Tom. 

T:  huh?

Me:  never mind. 

The truth is that cereal is a perfectly reasonable request.  Its amazing we both had to get so worked up. 

T:  (teary) Mom, I just don't want cheese eggs.

Me:  (not wanting to go backwards) Yes, I think I understand that.

T:  I don't want cheese eggs.  Not off the table either.

Me:  Got it.  No cheese eggs.  Not on the table, not off the table. (I feel like I'm in the Dr. Suess book "Green Eggs and Ham")

Then, as if nothing has happened...  He goes back to "guys" and returns to battle.

See what I mean?  Mental patient.  

Exhibit B:

We had a sitter over who is great, but I was trying to figure out If Tommy had broken something the other day or if my sitter had.  

Me:  Tommy, what happened here?

T:  It broke

Me:  Yes, I see that.  What happened?

T:  I didn't do it.

Me:  Okay (I say breathing)  What happened?

T:  It broke. I think Carrie's mom did it.

Me:  Was Carrie's mom here? 

T:  No.

Mental Patient.  

These conversations are peppered with ones that make total sense, and I'm momentarily led to believe he's capable of adult reasoning.  

Then, I'm shot back to reality when I see him walk by my bedroom door naked and talking to his penis.