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?