About once a week, I find myself sighing as I watch Zaden explode in another emotional rage and telling him,

“Dude, you’re really being immature.”

Zaden. Frustrated.

My wife thought this was funny the first time I said it, but now that I tell him this on a somewhat regular basis (because hey, he is still BEING immature) she thinks it implies a complete disregard for the fact that he IS, in fact, immature.

I should anticipate the difficulties and tantrums that come with sharing a house with toddlers, and take them in easy stride.

Unfortunately, I am not Practically Perfect in any way. Mary Poppins’ measuring tape would declare me to be ‘Somewhat irritable and prone to reacting poorly to irrational outbursts from other people.”

My logical mind wants to rationally convince my son that he doesn’t need to spend his energy this way, and its totally disrespectful to affect the emotional environment of his entire family by screeching as loud as he can because he’s not allowed to draw on the walls.

Guess what, kid? Drawing on the walls is never okay. Until you’re old enough to afford your own can of spraypaint, that is.

(UPDATE: I’ve just been informed that apparently, this is “not okay” either. Something about laws against graffiti.)


It should be easy for Zaden to understand the basic rules we lay down, and not spend so much time screaming and fussing about it. Instead, this little testosterone-fueled ball of rage completely upends the sanctity of our home with wailing and bull-rushing his sister because she happens to be standing up in a path where he could conceivably knock her over at high speed, and for some reason this makes him feel better.

Like I said: he’s being immature.

The hard part is accepting this level of immaturity in our household, and allowing it to dwell with us, without trying to coach our kids into a level of maturity beyond their years.

So I think I’ll join in the fun. Allow myself to indulge in a little immature wailing myself. If I can make it silly enough, I might even get a laugh.