I waste a lot of energy being resentful for not getting to do the things I want to do. These include:

• living alone on a desert island with no responsibilities and no whining
• reading a book for more than 5 minutes
• having a daily massage
• drinking wine every night
• et cetera

But today, when I took my son to Monkey Joe’s, our local bounce-around-on-massive-bouncehouses-and-burn-energy place that we go to twice a year, I realized I tend to overlook what Max wants. I just fit it in in between my needs, wants or errands. But he was so happy. Just carefree and silly. And naturally, when I wanted to go, he wasn’t ready. But he went, because he’s use to complying. I could learn a good lesson from him.

“Some cars are different and some are just right.”

I’m 30. I’m at the age where I realize I’m turning into my mother (or have always been her and not realized it). But that’s another blog. What I didn’t expect is that my son would be so much like me. He’s three, but he’s just as stubborn and bossy as I always have been.

The bad thing is, we’re both quick to anger. If he doesn’t get his way, he either starts whining or talking back. Which gets me mad. We end up in a shouting match that I’m not proud of.

He’s like me in a lot of good ways, too. He hates sports, to my husband’s chagrin, and is artistic. He’s cuddly.

But when the devil gets in him, it’s all I can do to not throw him out a window. They say whatever gets on your nerves about someone is something you do yourself. I’m fain to admit it, but it’s true. When he yells to me from another room, I scold him…from another room.

The main problem is my guilt. I get so uptight and either want to yell at him (or worse) or DO yell. I know I’m probably not scarring him for life, but I just wonder why raising a toddler is so hard for me. It’s an awful feeling to feel alone in this, though I’m determined to believe I’m not alone in feeling this way…