The Po-Po Card

I completely believe the parents who have told me that age 3 is worse than 2.  It's confirmed.  I've been struggling daily trying to manage Griffin's behavior; the clever little punk knows exactly how to push my buttons (ie, stares into space and pretends to not hear me when I'm talking to him, does basically the opposite of everything I ask, fake cries, purposely hits Vera or me, refuses to get dressed, get out of the bath, or go to bed, etc). 

OMG, which in our house means, "oh my Griffin", I am at my whits end! I've tried motivating him with Zelda, our Elf on the Shelf (p.s. she was a waste of $30), and I've gone down the whole Santa-will-bring-you-Christmas-presents route, but Griffin claims he doesn't want Santa to come to our house, and he doesn't want any presents.  So, my newest strategy, which has been successful about 80% of the time in the last week, is that I threaten to call the police.  I say ridiculous things like, "Griffin, do you want me to call the police?", "Do you want the police to come to our house?", or "The police don't like that..." Once, in my parental fit of rage, I even stormed into the kitchen and pretended to start calling them on the phone.  Admittedly I do feel a little mean playing the po-po card, since he's clearly scared by my threat, but it's also a little funny watching him squirm. Yesterday, when I told Griffin I'd call the police, he tightly grabbed onto my leg for security, and he pleaded with me saying, "Mommy, don't call the police, they're going to throw me in the trash." Oh Griffin...