When I think of my life as a parent, I often smile and think how there was no other role in this world I was cut out to do. But, when I come down from that angelic smile-inducing dreamland I remember that I actually often feel more like a prisoner. A prisoner of the never-ending parental war that is.
With this war, comes the learned survival techniques that are comparable to that of walking a minefield.
Do you dare head down to the cold room to retrieve that loaf of bread when you must pass through the playroom first? For if you do, you will most definitely run the risk of being spotted by the enemy? The enemy, who just happens to actually be playing nicely. And when you are spotted you will have to painstakingly renegotiate an escape route back upstairs due to enemy fire such as this;
“Mom whats for lunch? Don't make sandwiches, because we had those yesterday and I don't want them today. And I don't want the blue bowl because I don't like the blue bowl today, I want the green one. Octavian always gets the green one and I never do.”
“Can I go upstairs now? How about now?”
“Micah doesn't want to play down here anymore, can you take him up with you?”
“Mom…Mom….MOM?!”
This is the point when you start sweating and thinking of every other possible lunch you could make for them that would not involve going downstairs. But, there is nothing else upstairs to feed them because you forgot to reload the pantry the day before! So now you must head down and of course, you are spotted by the 22-month-old. The 22-month old who now, no longer wants to play and is heading into the cold room right behind you and refusing to come out. Even when you turn the light out and move to close the door. Fearless little bugger.
Every day is a juggle of personalities, moods, lack of sleep or routine. And with this brings the daily challenges of tiptoeing around my kids' individual quirks of the day. Now, I have a few kids, but I expect that whether you have one kid or twelve kids the feeling is much the same.
For instance, my 22-month-old finds screeching like a pterodactyl an effective emotional outlet. You know, the kind of screeching that makes you and everyone around you want to rip your ears right off the sides of your head and then eat them, for fear of ever having to hear that sound again. Believe me, it makes for a fun time when you are visiting friends or out at the park…no really it does….fun….sooo much fun.
We have tried everything we can think of to curb this behaviour. We’ve tried ignoring him. But, when the instant involuntary reaction is to scream right back at him; STOP IT!!! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!! Shockingly, it doesn't prove so effective. We’ve tried covering his mouth and saying no while he continues to scream through our hands. We have even resorted to a spray bottle filled with water and giving him a spray when he would do it. We grabbed ahold of this idea from our oldest son who was training his cat. It seemed logical….cat….child…sure let's give it a whirl. Initially, it seemed helpful. Until he realized how much he loved it and in fact often grabs the spray bottle we use for hair and has a gay old time dousing himself with water until he is completely soaked. So admittedly, we now find ourselves trying to predict his next want or need and quickly meet that need prior to the screech. Yep, he’s learning whose boss……most times it's him.
You see it has been SEVEN VERY VERY LONG MONTHS and at this point, I would like to tell every parenting book and web advice page to go straight to hell! IT WILL NOT PASS IN A MONTH OR TWO!! Nope, wrong, check your facts you bunch of misleading liars! Whooo…..thanks for that, I feel a bit better now. Luckily for him though and perhaps me as well, is that that little turd will turn around and melt my heart with a belly laugh or sweet smile followed by a “more.” You see, we thought that his screeching had more to do with a lack of vocabulary, therefore, making it frustrating for him to communicate with us. But, many times after a long and very frustrating battle of getting him to “use his words” and him screeching. I will often hear him in his bed at nap time saying; “more,” “numnum,’” “cheese,” “milka” after refusing to say it at lunchtime. Ahhhhhhh
My 5-year-old, on the other hand, is the bottom of our sibling group of three who are fairly close together. Unfortunately, his older brother and sister are thick as thieves and often exclude him. His sister prefers to also torment him whenever she gets the chance. From this, he has learned that whining and moaning for extended periods of time drives them (and me) up the wall. With this, he has formed a habit that now extends to anytime he is tired, sad, or feeling put out. By put out I mean being told no, to toys in bed at bedtime. No, to playing on the iPad longer. Yes, you have to eat supper which is always his least favourite meal of the day. You have to comb your hair, brush your teeth, get dressed, blink. Let's just leave it at pretty much everything.
Of course, being the stealthy experienced parents that we are, we have this situation completely under control. Nope. Many times I find myself preparing for situations that will trigger this behaviour and attempting to do just about anything to keep him from melting down. Because once he does, it is a long journey back from insanity to sanity.
Catching my drift with the mind field reference?
Now I could go on and on with tales such as these. Tales of our 7-year-old daughter's tendency to colour on her walls in retaliation to me getting angry with her. Or how she will turn the Xbox off when she and her brothers are playing and she doesn't like the way the game is going. Truthfully, I think my 5-year-old would do the same but he can’t reach the console. Or how my 9-year-old son constantly confuses his distractibility at homework time as a problem others are causing and not something he participates in. Or how he will escalate this issue tenfold, by complaining that the breathing of his nearest sibling is causing him to be distracted. Tiptoeing and more tip-toeing.
Now here's the part of my writing that I often find myself summing up my story by looking at the brighter side of things. And thank God for myself and my kids, there is always a brighter side.
Like the brighter side of a nervous little brother whose older brother takes time out to accompany that anxious little boy to his first few gymnastics classes. Or my five-year-old sitting and talking with his 4-month-old brother while he smiles and laughs at him. But most of all, the many times we are gathered around the dinner table laughing about what happened during the day. Taking turns saying our days' best and worsts. (you don't have to have a worst but you always have to have a best.) Or listening to our five-year-old say a prayer before our meal which tends to sound more like a wish list for God and not so much a dinner prayer;
“Thank you, God, for my toy dinosaur and hopefully my new Lego set that is just like my brothers but I didn't get one and I really wanted one. And thank you for my bestest of having time on the iPad today and my good lunch with a juice box and…and….oh and dinner! Thank you for dinner. Amen.”
