Are you sure it's not Monday?

Although I spent the day convincing myself that it was indeed Tuesday, the day's events and mishaps clearly pointed to it being a Monday.

The following incidents drew blood.

Incident 1
Bubba's school sent home homework where Bubba was required to 1) cut out puzzle pieces, 2) paste the puzzle pieces to the corresponding matching definitions, and 3) color the picture. So I wrote on the board the three simplified steps (bold) so that Bubba would not be frustrated about remembering the steps or the sequence. A lot of good that did.

Bubba immediately flipped out when he realized he had to cut out something. Granted the puzzle pieces had enough corners and curves to frustrate even the most adept scrapbooking queen. We were finally making progress with me helping him rotate the paper as he maneuvered the scissors.

In hindsight, I suppose that wasn't the smartest accommodation. He hit a straight line and was snipping out of control and caught part of my index finger. Of course he was fascinated by the blood. We eventually got through step 2 and then I didn't even remind him about the coloring bit.

What was the purpose of this homework I wonder? Let's give a kid who struggles with self-regulation and motor planning a tedious task to do with scissors! I scribbled a note to the teacher regarding the issues with the assignment, complete with my bloody fingerprint.

Incident 2
Moosie has been weaning for the past few months; he has been attempting to nurse for two seconds and then goes on with his life. I've been letting the weaning process happen naturally because it is easier. (Hey before you judge me, it really wasn't that weird. And if you had that one magic thing that could calm any storm and prevent World War III, wouldn't you think twice about giving it up?)

Well today Moosie bit the tip of my nipple and it hurt like hell. So as I was crying and trying to assess the damage to my bleeding nipple, I decided that he is officially weaned. I showed Moosie the damaged goods and told him, "You broke it. No more nursies." He was pretty pissed, but now maybe he has something concrete and visual to help him go through boob withdrawal. I'm sure Freud would have something to say about the way I handled things, but whatever.

Meanwhile Bubba is laying in bed anxiously questioning Daddy: "Why did [Moosie] bite mommy's private parts?" [He learned the term 'private parts' from school, we use anatomically correct terms at home.] "Is mommy only going to have one private part?" Can't wait to hear what Bubba says at school tomorrow. Last year there was a big ordeal because Bubba drew breasts on his snow person. He said it was "a girl snowman." I don't see the issue. I've probably screwed him up too somehow. Oh well. I'm the one bleeding.