O PEPINO MALVADO (The Evil Cucumber)
Disclaimer: What follows is mostly a rant, a release, from a mother who nearly found out how long her rope is today. It's not really humorous in any way. No children were harmed, tossed out a window, or sold to the gypsies, so the only abuse happened to the mother. There's no need to call Child Protective Services. Just the Day Spa.

WOW Zach was bear today! A real pepino. That means cucumber, and for some reason, in Brazil, it means a pain in the rear.
The day started off okay, but then he hit Jared and pulled his hair (favorite tricks). Things started going down from there.
Jared built a large structure out of his foam puzzle pieces and took it to the kitchen to show me. Then Zach did his usual, destroying it. Because they both played a part in the mess, I asked them both to clean it up. Jared did his half in about 23 seconds flat. Zach took half an hour. Most of that was spent sobbing, "why?" when I told him to pick up the puzzle pieces. And let me tell you, I'm too old to enjoy sitting on a hard floor for 30 minutes. You'd think I'd asked him to do something truly horrible, like clean the bathroom at Grand Central station with his tongue (thank you, Weird Al, for that image!)
Then he was playing a Clifford computer game while I made dinner. Ryan was working late, so it was me vs. the boys. I called them down to eat, but Zach wouldn't come. So I hauled him down and sat him in his booster seat. I asked if he was going to stay there. He said no. So out came the buckles. There is nothing he hates worse than being buckled in (except in his car seat--he accepts that as a fact of life--but shopping carts and booster seats are apparent torture chambers). So he screamed and sobbed through the blessing on our food. Jared thought it was pretty funny because he couldn't hear the prayer, and later asked, "Did you say, 'Please bless the Legos?"
Immediately after the prayer, Zach tossed his dinner plate onto the floor, still screaming. This is the bottomless pit, the kid who out-eats me at almost every meal. He didn't want food?
Something snapped when I watched my culinary creation smear across my recently mopped floor. I'd had it. I unbuckled that dang booster and carried the little monster upstairs. His eyes had gotten very large and he was making a strange, half-sob, half gasp for air sound. He knew he'd crossed the line. He didn't fight me (he kicks and hits when I take him to change his diaper!) at all. I grabbed one of those door knob thingies that kids can't open and put it on the inside of his room, flicked the light on for him, and left him to cry it out.
I checked on him a few minutes later, and he had busted the door knob thingy off and opened the door a few inches, but hadn't attempted an escape. Amazing. He finally realized he was in deep Bandini! He usually tries to flirt and hug his way out of things (yes, I know we're in for it when he's older).
Then he climbed into bed and went to sleep at about 7:30. I was thinking, "well, at least he made that part of my day a little easier." Naw. He woke up at 8:30 and pitched a fit because I gave him water instead of juice. I thought he wouldn't have any fight left in him after a day like this!

And now, it's time for sleep. Sleep, blessed sleep, when I can't hear anyone screaming or singing giberish, or the big brother stoickly defending his precious Lego creations from the little brother, a.k.a. the Human Wrecking Ball, the Crusher, and the Destroyer. Aaaahhhh!