As a mother, there should never be any doubt that I love my kid with everything I have, that I believe her to be exceptional in every way and better than everyone else’s. That being said… shiiiiit.
Intelligent? Check. Beautiful? Check. Confident? Double check. Graceful? … Well, she is half me, after all. She is so smart and articulate that it’s easy to forget sometimes that she isn’t older and more mature, but then she comes across something that displeases her and it snaps you right back to “Oh yeah. You’re a kid. A little kid. A little kid who’s about to get punched in the head.” Don’t worry, I don’t do it. I just fantasize about it. And sometimes threaten it. But if you threaten something in an English accent, it sounds much nicer, so it’s cool. That’s how I get by in saying some of the otherwise socially unacceptable things I really want to say. It’s all in the delivery.
My Beeb is my favorite, and I tell her so all the time (when we finally have another one, I’ll probably differentiate by saying she’s my favorite Big and the other is my favorite Little, or something like that. We don’t need any Cain and Able drama added on around here). But DAMN she is getting on my nerves lately. I want to be a cool, good, understanding, emotionally safe, nurturing progressive parent. That’s my parental mission statement. And it was so much easier when she was little. Attachment Parenting– while we didn’t follow all of it, all the time- was wonderful when she was little. And I’ll mother the next one very similarly. But now that she’s up talking (whining) and walking around (doing the hop of frustration… if you’ve seen it, you know) and basically a small, emotionally unstable person, it is much harder to maintain a soothing tone, get past my own emotions and help her calmly weed through her own. Shut. Up. Just shut up. Why can’t we have chicken nuggets? Because I made an antibiotic-free roasted chicken with fresh rosemary and seasonal farmer’s market vegetables. Not because I hate you. If I hated you, I’d let you eat the Pink Slime chunks you so desperately crave!!! I want her to feel valued as a human being, and that she has worth, that she should feel comfortable standing up for herself and not like a second class citizen just because she’s young, but sometimes I just want to throttle the little monster. I’m not a tyrant for asking you to pick up your socks out of the middle of the foyer. This is not your apocalypse!!!
The whining. Have I mentioned the whining? Someone, please, kill me. It literally takes her an instant to go from normal, stable child to an unrecognizable hobbit disfigured with either outrage or angst for the slightest thing. Like, the slightest. Yesterday when I was making her a sandwich, I applied the mustard in a swirling pattern onto the bread before closing it, and she lost her tiny mind because I didn’t spread it with the knife. Even after I showed her that it had squished all over the bread naturally. I’m past the point of the good ol’ “there are starving children in China” and resort to the more modern “there’s going to be a starving child in this house if you don’t calm yourself with a quickness”. It gets mixed results.
I know that this too shall pass, because all in all she’s a great kid. I parent her the way I do for many good, solid reasons, and I know in the end she will be a pretty rad adult. Because that’s the end goal: to raise a well-adjusted, confident, smart, articulate, productive, happy adult; not to have a well behaved kid. She doesn’t take anyone’s crap, she’s assertive and confident in what she thinks (even when she’s dead wrong), and those are well-respected traits in a grown-up. When smashed into an adorable little person who is giving me a pissy look while they rant about the unfairness of having to pick up their toys after a long day of 2nd grade, they just make me want to choke her out. Not all the way, just enough to facilitate a nice, peaceful nap.
She’s in one of her growth cycles right now: Crankiness, sleeping more and eating more. She’ll be sprouting 3 inches within the next month, successfully out-growing all the new school clothes and shoes everyone just got her. But if this first wave of adolescent hormones drops along with her other symptoms, it’s a small price to pay for all our sanity.
Of course, then there are the mornings like today, where I’m so fed up with her from the last week, and even though she’s being good and joking around (she has a pretty great sense of humor and comedic timing beyond her years, I’m very proud), I’m still irritated as hell with every breath she takes, and then I’m the jackass, because now she’s just being funny and silly, and I’m two seconds away from losing my shit.
So today I’m going to decompress, drink my coffee, get some stuff done around the house today in preparation for watching a friend’s kiddoes this weekend (they’re still rather little, I hope they let me squeeze them!) and chill the eff out before my own progeny gets home from school.
If you see a story on the news tonight about a mother who went insane immediately after picking up her kid from school, ripping her clothes off and running screaming through the streets, it was me after her getting in the car and instantly throwing a fit about the length of the line for the slide at recess.
Coffee Blog Make the bed Laundry
- Unload the dishwasher
- Reload the dishwasher
- Pick up kitchen
- Tidy up the guest room
- Pick up the living room
- Sort mail
- Plan dinner
- Return library books
- Pick up offspring
- Don’t lose mind
- Kid bedtime