He rages again.
It's the fifth time since I've been up, counting from the blood-curdling time-out screams that awoke me. I have no idea how many
it was before that. Kyle's on kid duty in the mornings since it's
summer, a blessed reprieve from the glass-walking that is morning time
with those two.
This time, it's because WALL-E is on, because Tova picked it
while he was throwing a fit in his room. That's part of what he does
now -- something disrupts his despotic rule over our family and he runs
to the stairs, hitting and slapping them as he goes up to his room to
lay on his bed with the blankets over him. Sometimes it's because we
force him to share a toy or tell him not to hit us/Tova/a cat. Other
times it's completely baffling, like when he asks to color with markers
and we acquiesce, retrieving the marker tote from the top of the fridge,
only to have him scream in a primal way as we return with them.
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