Weekends are suppose to be a time of rest. Frankly, they tire me out…more than heavy labor itself. That’s because when you have a two and a half year old who has finally learned that rebelling is a form of getting attention or getting his way you end up wishing your weekend would hurry up and end.

It’s not that Olie is a bad kid; he’s just acting out the typical role of a two to three year old. He has become quite agressive with Mama. It’s going to take him a while to learn that hitting is not okay. He got busted in class last week for the same unacceptable behaviour. He even tried to pick a fight with a nice kid at the park today. I’m trying to take the level-headed approach to discipline. It involves getting down to his level, eye to eye, grabbing his hands to prevent him from hitting any more, and explaining to him that hitting is bad. Yes, me Chuck. The one with the short fuse. The one has trouble controlling emotions. Actually, the ritual is quite theraputic. I feel myself calming down when I get a chance to look into his eyes. He gets me and that’s pretty cool. Mama is still working on it. She has slapped his hand back when he hits her. I’ve told her that isn’t going to work and it’s not really what we should be doing for discipline. She understands. Hell, we both came from abusive houses so we know what not to do. He is more aggresive with her than me. I tried suggesting that it might be an alpha male type thing. I dunno.