In Which Connor Has An Attack Of The Killer Pouties

Connor was in an ornery mood today.  This morning I informed him that we were going to the farmer's market to pick up breakfast and some supplies for the dish I wanted to bring to a barbecue we were attending later in the day.  "No!  Don't Like!" he announced.  I told him that I was sorry he felt that way, but we were still going.  He pouted all the way there in the car.

Then I decided on the spur of the moment to have a henna tattoo done at the market, and I told Connor about it.  "No!  Don't Like!" he announced.  After that didn't work, he began chanting-- or at least as close to chanting as you can get when everything is in sign language-- "All done!  All done!  All done!" over and over and over again.  After about fifteen minutes of this, he decided that I really wasn't getting the hint, and threw in some ear-piercing shrieking.  It was great.  The extremely patient and long-suffering Gary finished my henna anyway (and did an awesome job, I might add)  but we probably didn't exactly make ourselves desired repeat customers.

So after that we went home, where Connor rejected all of his toys and just wanted to sit on my lap-- not an option, since I needed to cook shortbread for the barbecue.  So he got to sit on his daddy's lap instead,which was probably about the only part of the entire day he thoroughly enjoyed.  Jeremy put him down for a very brief nap, and he of course refused to cooperate by going to sleep.  Then I went in and told him it was time to go to the barbecue.  "No!  Don't Like!"  he announced.

Are you sensing a pattern here?

When we got to the barbecue he was doing okay until he saw that they had a ceiling fan.  In Connor's mind there is only one setting ceiling fans should be in, and that is on.  He calls them all "light," but it's obvious what he means because he always stares extremely intensely at the fan while he says it and gets really excited when someone turns it on for him.  But this wasn't our house (which is not equipped with ceiling fans) and it was kind of chilly, so I told him that he couldn't have it on.  In an attempt to stave off an attack of the pouties, Jeremy told him it was because the fan was broken, which was totally untrue.  Connor just kept looking up at the fan and signing "want light, want light!" over and over-- I don't really think he has the concept of "broken" down yet.  So I just told him that no, he couldn't have the fan on.  That went over really well.

That kid didn't want to have anything to do with me for the rest of the afternoon.  Any time I was holding him his face was screwed up into an extremely angry expression, and he was so mad at me he was actually using the third person to tell me (as in "Connor don't like!  No Mommy!") which is extremely unusual for him.  Normally he just skips proper nouns entirely.  He wasn't mad at Daddy, of course, because Daddy hadn't told him no.  That's my role around here-- I am the evil parent.  I'm also there for all the nasty medical procedures and shots and brushing his hair and all the other horrible things that happen to him.  Daddy is the fun guy.  Which gets kind of annoying every once in a while after about the eighteenth time Connor has informed me that he'd rather be with Daddy, but oh well.

We had a great time at the barbecue, but it was obvious that Connor was pretty tired so we left a little early and headed back home.  The little guy was fading; he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he was still pretty ticked at me so he wasn't going to go down easy.  He refused to sit up to read a bedtime story, and when I told him it was time to go to bed you can guess what his answer was. 

But I suppose we all have days like that sometimes.

~Jess