Big Meanie

Funny, at no point do I remember challenging Monday to "do it's worst."   It sure seems to think that I did, though.  (Boy could I go for a little Jim Caviezel as The Count of Monte Cristo right about now.  And some chocolate.  And a nice adult beverage.  And a babysitter.  Probably best in a different order though.)
I think about that quote frequently-- "Do your worst, for I will do mine!" though admittedly, usually just the first half.  I'm not big on the ideas of revenge being "sweet" or the whole "an eye for an eye" thing.  Okay, so I don't agree with the quote at all.  I'm just pretty sure Monday (and far too often, any other day that ends in "y" lately) seems to live by the quote.  But as a parent, that doesn't work.  You can't do your worst back.  Somehow, you have to manage to do your best, even when everything else (little people included) is throwing it's worst at you.  And mannnn, did they throw some of their worst at me on Monday.

There are few things I've experienced that are quite as intense as three children under the age of four all simultaneously crying -- loudly, while climbing on/clawing at you, all for different reasons, while you try to remain cool and calm and, 1) try to set a good example and not succumb to the insanity that would happily take over your brain in no time flat, 2) try to accurately assess each child's reason for the crying, and 3) come up with a solution for it all that will end things as quickly as possible, and in the best, most loving and effective way possible.   Right, I forgot to mention this happened after one child had already been crying for a solid 60 minutes because he didn't want to get a tissue for himself and then wipe his own nose, both things he is fully capable of doing, and does regularly, for himself.  My nerves were shot.  I'd like to think if we didn't live in a one bedroom apartment, I could send him to his room and have him come out when he was done crying since he was beyond reason at that point and just crying to cry.  But because we have neighbors who are home during the day, and who can hear any tearful child letting their woes be known in the bedroom, that's not really an option.  At least not if I'd like to stay on their good side.

One day our apartment will sell and we'll get to buy a house with a yard where random people can't sit and smoke all day, leaving the nice breeze coming in through the open windows all permeated with cigarette smoke.  One day I'll be able to put things away without having to play Tetris to make five people's things fit into one closet.  And one day, I'll be able to send ridiculous children in the middle of growth-spurt induced temper tantrums to their rooms without having to worry about the neighbors we share a wall with, or the baby who is asleep in the bedroom... because there will be more than one bedroom, and there wont be any shared walls with neighbors.  One day.  But today is not that day.  Today is actually Thursday, and I have a million things I should be doing other than this, but my willpower/self control muscle is still recovering from Monday's exhaustive use, and so here I sit.

Tuesday was better than Monday.  Shockingly better.  I'm pretty sure someone actually switched out the children from Monday with my real children.  It was nice to have them back again.  Wednesday was schizophrenic, cutting back and forth between flashbacks of Monday and then Tuesday, then back to Monday again.  And on Wednesday, I had to acknowledge that with my nearly-4-year-old, we've entered into that stage that lasts through....ohhh, probably age 25.  But hopefully not that long, really.
  He got in trouble for doing something I'd just told him not to do, so he was sent to the bedroom for a timeout to get away from the situation and think about what had just happened.  The baby monitor is always on because there's almost always someone napping or playing in there during the day, so when he started thinking out loud to himself, I got to listen in.  He started talking about how mean I was to him.  Then he said to his sister, when she came into the room (she'll voluntarily put herself in timeout to keep him company or check on him), that I 'made him sad because I was mean to him and I didn't like him and he just keeps getting in trouble (he seemed to think it was my fault he kept getting in trouble) and it makes him so sad because he keeps not obeying and then I'm mean to him.'  I'm mean to him?  He thinks I don't like him? I've made him sad?  Ohhh, how I wanted to rush in there and hug him and hold him and reassure him I love him and adore him and cherish him beyond words... but that would make what he was in trouble for obsolete in his mind, and I'm positive he'd be back to doing it two minutes after he came out of his timeout.  That's not the result I'm looking for, and I certainly don't want to teach him that when he's facing dealing with the consequences of his poor decisions, all he has to do is lay a little emotional guilt on and then he'll be immediately released from the consequences, reassured of his wonderfulness, and left with the unspoken understanding that he doesn't have to take responsibility for his actions, especially if someone else has made him sad.

I know he knows I love him.  He's hugged, snuggled, kissed, patted, read stories to, taught, played with, fed, included, encouraged, and shared with allllll day long.  I don't call him names or say mean things to him, but I do make sure he is aware that he is making decisions when it comes to his actions and his behavior; I make him think through the possible outcomes and consider how he'd feel about those outcomes, and then I make him own the consequences of his decisions. That makes me mean.  That makes him sad.  That makes him think I don't love him or like him.  That makes him ask in prayer, "Please help Mama be nice to me. " (No, I'm not even kidding.  He was in timeout for taking something from his sister and then knocking her over, and he was praying about ME being nice to HIM?  Um, better rethink that one, buddy!)

One day he'll realize that all of this IS me showing love to him-- when he's one of the sadly small percentage of young adults who are aware of the fact that they are responsible for their lives and the state of them, and aren't trapped in the helplessness of thinking that all of their problems are someone else's fault.  When he comes to appreciate how empowering it is to be aware of the concept of cause and effect, and use it to evaluate his options and make the best decisions possible, with the knowledge and concern that they affect everyone around him.  But today, I am mean.  Today, he thinks I don't like him.  Today, I might have to call my husband and have him reassure me that my babies know I love them more than words, and that this is a short-term discomfort while working towards a long-term goal: raising happy, healthy (mentally and physically), well-adjusted, self-aware, kind, compassionate adults.  Man, it's exhausting!

I know most parents want their kids to have it better than they did.  I want that too, but more than that, I want them to be better than I am.  I know that starts with my example, so no matter if Monday, or any other day, vows to do it's worst, I will do my best.

Now then, where's my chocolate and the DVD remote?

Sick Days

Something I always tell friends who are thinking about having kids (once I'm done gushing about all the overwhelming awesomeness, make-you-cry-happy-way-more-often-than-you'll-admit moments, and general feeling of your heart being too big for your chest... mixed in with the most exhausting, most frustrating, most YOU'VE-GOT-TO-BE-KIDDING-ME!! moments-- basically, the most wonderful and rewarding emotional roller coaster you'll ever be blessed to ride) is that you don't get sick days.  Even on non-sick days, you don't get to clock out at 5 and leave your job, go home, put your feet up and leave your work and related concerns 20 miles away on your desk.  Your "work" and "related concerns" are running around your feet, hanging on your legs, or snuggled in your arms until you put them to bed; they're on your mind while you finish picking up the house so it's ready for tomorrow, and while you clean up dinner after they're asleep; then they're back to being snuggled in your arms because they had a bad dream or got too cold and need to cuddle to warm up... and then they're right there again in the morning when you wake up, ready to resume their position as your shadow or hip attachment, depending on their age and level of mobility.

Obviously you don't get sick days in that working environment.  There is no resting and taking it easy so your body can just work on getting better when there are ever-hungry children to feed, a baby to nurse constantly, bottoms to wipe, diapers to change, spills to clean up, dishes to wash, laundry to keep up with, dinner to think about, a house to keep on top of-- or let go, with the knowledge that it'll take a week to recover it if you do, and plants to repot (I know-- only I would do that while coughing my brains out, feeling like I have razors in my throat, and not enjoying a pretty case of pink eye, but my palm tree (anniversary present 2 years ago) was root-bound and so sad, and my orchid (mother's day gift last year) had roots going everywhere that were waayyy too long for the pot it was in...it needed to be done, honest!).

Yesterday, in the middle of one of my three minute long coughing fits, which have been so violent the kids stare at me with terrified and extremely concerned looks on their faces, probably half expecting me to start coughing out internal organs-- or at least some brains, I couldn't help but want to be 7 again, so I could just be all curled up, sick and pathetic in bed and not have to do anything for everyone.  Not only would I not have to do anything for anyone else, my mommy would come and take care of me.  She probably would have even repotted my plants for me.  Ohhh that sounds wonderful.   Hey Mom, want to come visit?

Don't worry, this isn't an extremely wordy invitation to a pity party, it's just a reminder to go thank your mom for all she did to take care of you, no matter how she felt, and, if you don't have kids of your own yet, to revel in your quiet time in bed with no one but yourself to take care of the next time you're sick.

I keep reminding myself of another dear Mama friend, who has... well, a few more kids than I do, and her telling me about one particular time all the kids were sick, throwing up everywhere, and then she came down with it, too.  You can imagine how totally not fun that must have been.  Whenever I don't feel well, or my kids are miserable and pathetic, I think of her and that story and realize it could be worse.  So, soo much worse.

So today, I'm thankful I only have three little ones while feeling like this, I'm thankful I have the best baby ever, who easily goes back to sleep every time I wake the poor little guy up with another coughing fit, and I'm SUPER thankful no one else in our house seems to have caught whatever awfulness I have (and here's hoping they don't decide to make a liar out of me, as they typically like to do, and come down with it immediately after I click "publish").
Three cheers for nursing babies, elderberries, goldenseal, garlic, and echinacea!  And an extra cheer for blanket forts, which allow sick mamas to sneak brief moments of rest while the kids are playing inside the fort and are unaware of the fact that Mama is resting for a second.  That is, of course, until their "!!!Non-busy, stationary Mama!!!  Must pester and need something immediately!!!" Alert goes off.
My mom always told me about that alert system (apparently I had one, too), but I didn't realize just how incredibly accurate and effective it was until I had little ones of my own and tried sitting to do nothing for a minute.

But seriously-- go thank your mom.  Right now.

And then build a blanket fort.  You know you want to.