Learning a lesson

The Toddler is three and a half.

And has grandparents, parents, friends and neighbors that spoil him rotten.

To curb some of the gift giving, we do 'no present' birthday parties.  It works out super well for us.

At Christmas, I desperately try to reign in the gift giving, and will hold shipped presents for after the holiday...but still tell the sender 'he loved it!'  He gets the present eventually...usually mid January or so.

My parents LOVE to send packages...all the time.  Usually cute shirts or something like that.  Once, my mom sent an entire priority mail box full of white underwear for him...that she had unpackaged to pack easier, and they were all the wrong size...like WAY too small.   And there was nothing I could do about it, but hand them down to The Husband's co worker for his son.   At least they were brand new!

Lately, The Toddler is picking up on  the concept of 'prizes' and packages in the mail.

The last one that my parents, sent...in February around Valentines Day...he wanted Rocky so bad he could taste it.  For those of you not familiar with Thomas the Train and the racket they have going on in marketing, Rocky is the big ass maintenance train thing that costs a ridiculous amount of money.

My mom had no idea who Rocky was...she sent some new shirts.

The Toddler cried.

I tried to explain how that wasn't very nice and you should say Thank You anyway.

Yeah...that didn't fly.

He wanted Rocky.

Big Fit ensued.

We explained some more...he cried some more.  I called my mom and told her not to send any more packages for a while...

And by the way...The Easter Bunny is bringing Rocky...thanks to his friend Ebay.

Sooooo...received another package from my parents yesterday.

The Toddler was ALL kinds of worked up that Diesel was in this box.

Uhm...I'm doubting it.  (Diesel is another marketing ploy)

So I explained...'probably not...Nana sent you some really neat Thomas shirts'.

Oh hell.

What a fit!  There were so many tears, and hiccups, and gasps, and squalls....it was rather embarrassing.  He sat in Time Out to see if that would calm him down.  He got up from Time Out and shook the box to check.  He threw the Easter Bunny card my mom had packed.  His tail landed in Time Out again.

What a show!

I was appalled.

And really embarrassed at the whole debacle.

I got tired of talking and trying to make it less of an ordeal...I just walked into the kitchen and finished dishing out dinner.

He kept screaming.

So about fifteen minutes into the tantrum...I decided to teach him a lesson that I was taught.

He had to pick out toys to give up to another boy or girl since he was being so incredibly rude and ungrateful.

Yes...I know he is three.  Time to start learning some lessons I guess...

So after much deliberation, more tears and wailing, he is giving three of his big floor puzzles to daycare today for the other children to play with.

And he stopped crying.

And he called Nana and Pawpaw to tell them Thank You and that he liked the shirts.  But he did manage to throw in that he really wanted a toy in that box.  We made a little progress.

I felt a little better...and somewhat proud when he told my mom "Thank You Nana"

I explained the story about my birthday when I was six...and The Toddler was rather upset about it.  And told Nana he was going to buy me a girl present since I didn't have any.

Oh kay.

Background here:  When I was six...I had a big birthday party.  My parents didn't have a lot of money, and for mom to throw a big birthday at an actual restaurant for my class was a HUGE deal.

One Little Girl, that lived up the holler (or street for those that don't know what a holler is) was a good friend of mine.  She was VERY poor.  I mean DIRT POOR.    I lived in a trailer, she lived in a shack kind of poor.  She liked coming to my house because my mom just let her eat whatever she wanted. I remember her eating an entire bag of oranges one time at a sleepover... Looking back.  It was really sad.

So many layers of sad...that I can't even go into here.

I had no idea...I was six.

When it came time to open presents, I turned into a little bitch.

I received two of the same Barbie...and I made a scene.

I received something else that I didn't care for, and I made a scene.

Then, I proceeded to count my presents and realized someone hadn't brought me a present.

It was that Little Girl.

So I called her out...in front of EVERYONE at the party.

My mom was appalled.

Little Girl cried.

I was not nice at all.

So when we got home...I went to get into my presents, and my mom proceeded to teach me the greatest lesson of all.

I had to pack all, but one, of my presents up and we took them up the road to the Little Girl's house.

And I had to apologize, and give her my presents.

I will NEVER EVER EVER forget that.

So it's time to start teaching about being thankful, and not pitching a fit about not getting the toy you want.

I really don't want to have to repeat my mother's lesson on him.

And this is going to take a while.  Tantrums will ensue.  Life will go on.

Cause, Thirty years later, I VIVIDLY remember it....and how ashamed I was.  And the look on my mom's face.  And I remember her hand, reaching over mine, and taking the Barbie and putting it in the bag to take to Little Girl.  And I cried. 

And the fact that I did not get another birthday party until I was Ten kind of set it home.  And then, it was a family cookout at our house followed by the worst stomach virus I have ever had.

Sweet huh?