I Don't Like Mondays

I don't know if the R.A. was upset that the 49-ers lost (I never would have pegged him for an SF fan but stranger things have happened, particularly where the R.A. is concerned.) but this morning the R.A. woke up on the wrong side of the mound of pillows he sleeps on and under.  The boy woke up NASTY.  His yowling had a more pronounced bite to it, sounding more like an angry howling.  To make sure there was no question as to how infuriated he was, the R.A. also kicked mightily at his door. As my husband and I stumbled around each other in the kitchen getting breakfasts and lunches packed, the yowling and banging intensified.  I confess that I think we dawdled a bit in a pitiful attempt to postpone heading upstairs.  We were going to be starting out at a pronounced disadvantage as my husband would be presenting the R.A. his juice in an unacceptable cup.  Unfortunately the officially sanctioned R.A. juice cups were in the dirty dishwasher.  We knew enough to anticipate the R.A's significant and impending displeasure.

Bracing ourselves, we headed upstairs.  Even after my husband let the R.A. out of his room the R.A. was not satisfied.  He caterwauled viciously.  Initially I think it was because his man-servant (his father) didn't hustle fast enough for the R.A's liking.  Not only that but then his father had the temerity to attempt to give him the unacceptable juice cup.  The R.A. would not even deign to touch the offending cup and his father had to exchange it for a juice box which was grudgingly accepted while ranting (no doubt about the substandard service.)

I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when the R.A. finally stomped out of his room.  He returned my cheery "Good Morning!" with a yowling snarl (translation: What's so good about it?  Who said you could address me? Get that alarmingly insipid expression off your face!) accompanied by a look of thunder.  Apparently I had further annoyed the R.A. by having the audacity to have the bathroom lights on.  Caterwauling furiously he hip checked me out of the way and turned off the lights.  Most mornings I do comply with the "no lights" rule however this particular morning was especially dark as it was overcast and I wanted to at least be able to see the sink when it was spitting time.  So I turned the lights back on.  The R.A. did not take kindly to my overt insubordination.  With a yell worthy of Braveheart, he lunged at the light switch.  We tussled for a bit before I managed to wrangle him out of the bathroom.  I then raced back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.  The lock is broken so I then had to lean on the bathroom door to keep the R.A. from getting back in which he was attempting to do by throwing his entire body weight at the door, all the while screeching in fury.  The R.A. appears to be scrawny but he is freakishly strong.  I really had to brace myself to keep him from forcing the door open.  Mind you, I did all this wrestling and bracing while simultaneously still brushing my teeth and I am proud to state that I did not dribble one drop of toothpaste during the entire struggle.  R.A.'s mom's got mad skillz!

After a while the R.A. grew bored of the tedious endeavor and decided to head downstairs.  As my mother, who is recovering from surgery, was asleep on the couch, the R.A.'s dad attempted to discourage this endeavor:

R.A.: Yowl! Yowl!  Cateryowl!
R.A.'s Dad: I know you want to go downstairs but your grandmother is sleeping down there.
R.A.: Yowl! Yowllll! Yowl! Yowl!
R.A.'s Dad: No, don't go down those stairs!  Don't you do it!
R.A.: Yowl! YOWL! YOWLLLLL! Yow-elll!!!
Silence
R.A.'s Dad: (in quiet tone of desperation): I'm coming.

Although I'm sorry that the R.A. did descend to the living room and interrupt his grandmother's slumber, it did mean I had the rare luxury of showering with the lights on.  Thank you, R.A.'s Nana for taking one for the team!

Despite doing exactly what he wanted, the R.A. was still very unhappy and spent a good deal of his time ranting.  He paced the living room caterwauling and waving his arms, bringing to mind a mini Mussolini (if the Italian dictator wore dinosaur footie pajamas backwards with the feet part cut off - yes, the PJ's are supposed to be that way.  It's a loooonnnggg story...)

After a while my husband realized he couldn't postpone it any longer and had to get the R.A. dressed.  He half carried, half wrangled the R.A. up to his room where the R.A. loudly articulated his displeasure at being treated in such a manner.  I surmised the dressing didn't go so well when the R.A. appeared back in the living room in nothing but a Pull Up.  At that point I left for work.  I don't know if that was the state Mr. January left for school in.  I was still riding a high from being exposed to so much artificial lighting first thing in the morning and was basking in the glow of knowing that my entire ensemble matched.  I am fairly certain the R.A. did head off to school in more clothing as there's probably some school rule about it.  Of course it was probably whatever his father could wrestle him into so might have been an old Thomas the Tank Engine costume and his sister's Hello Kitty wellies.  At least he would be dressed in more than a Pull Up.

Unfortunately the R.A.'s mood did not improve as the day progressed.  After I let him out of his room following his afternoon rest I attempted to straighten out his pillows and blankets.  As it was dark by then, I felt the task required the use of lights.  The R.A. heartily disagreed.  Every time I turned the lights on and headed into the interior portion of his room the R.A. yowled and turned them off.  We did this several times before I shuffled him out of his room and into mine.  I closed him in my room and then sprinted to his room.  By the time it registered what had happened and the R.A. made his way back to his room, the task was done.  He stood in his doorway, took in the situation, ranted at me and then turned off the light.

Hard core crabbiness does make a young alien hungry and the R.A. spent most of the night noshing.  At one point he had a hankering for some Nutter Butter cookies.  This led to another instance of Greco Roman baby wrestling as I tried to wrench the container out of his hands - the R.A. is allergic to peanuts.  Regardless, he was infuriated by my unreasonableness. According to him it's just another instance of my busting his chops - Honestly, what is that woman's deal?

It's only 7 PM.  I don't think I have any strength left for more wrestling and I fear the R.A. is banking on this.  Kitchen God help me!

Update: Apparently maintaining such a high level of nastiness can take it out of a brilliant yet pint-sized alien.  By 7:30 PM the R.A. had tucked himself on the couch and proceeded to sit cozily while his eyes rolled back in his head, his typical getting ready for sleep pattern.  Of course the minute I put his PJ's on him he perked right up as if they were laced in caffeine.  Currently he is in his room doing things that involve yowling and clattering trains.