People who told me four-year-olds are reasonable are big, fat LIARS

Recently my boss informed me I am now closer to 50 than I am to 18. Thanks, boss. 50 is the new 30, right? RIGHT?

But don't worry, I don't have time to pout about growing a year older. Why? Because I am an adult and have grown to appreciate life my kid turned 4 last week and I can state unequiocally that four is the new annoying as SH!t. I know I am not supposed to say that, but it's been rough. Like I find myself wondering if I am "cut ouf this mom gig" rough. And all those people who told me that it gets better at four are now #1 on my beat down list. Fine, it's only been three or four days (I have lost count) but Lord do I feel like a fool for imagining a super shiny, magical switch that would get flipped on day 1460 of life.

This is the norm EVERY DAMN DAY.

(just a few of the clips I send to Mr. Swirley post preschool drop-off)

When it comes to waking up, we have tried soothing music, jokes, backrubs, sunshine and wet willies ... all to no avail. As for daily life, pretty much everything elicits a quivering lower lip and temper tantrums 24 hours a g-damn day.

- A book was left open? CRY.

- The heel of a sock feels "weird"? CRY.

- He didn't want the milk poured INTO his cereal? Kid LOST HIS DAMN MIND.

- Hot computer was put down on his cake pop? Wait, that just happened to me and I almost cried.

- Willis the cat looked at him? CRY AND STOMP.

- The chair is squeaking? CRY.

- The chair isn't squeaking? CRY.

- He walked down the stairs first? CRY.

- He walked down the stairs last? CRY.

- He slammed his head into the corner of a table? No tears. A baby throws a rattle and it grazes his knee? NIAGRA, BABY.

You get the idea.

I know childhood is fleeting and we need to embrace it yadda, yadda, yadda. I also know that EK likes to lift his little foot right over the proverbial line and smirk. What does Daniel Tiger say, "When you feel so mad that you want to roar, take three breaths and count to four." Screw you, Tiger. When I want to scream, I count to four and run outside to shake my fists at the sky.

I hear 11 is good. And it's certainly closer than 4 to 18, so we'll have that going for us if we make it that far.

No one ever accused me of being rational. Click here to like Swirleytime on Facebook for interesting stories, links and a lot of self-deprecating humor. Follow me on twitter @swirleytime.

No one ever accused me of being rational. Click here to like Swirleytime  Facebook for interesting stories, links and a lot of self-deprecating humor and follow on twitter @swirleytime.

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    Annie Swingen

    Chicago-based hyperbole enthusiast. Mom to a kid and sometimes my mom. Overboard (1987) obsessed weirdo. I like the funnies in life.

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