Thursday, February 18, 2010

Might as well.

I'm sitting here. In the kitchen, with Lily.

Tyler is in class. Dinner has technically been over for the past half hour. Well, at least it is for London. And myself, if you don't count the fact that I have to now sit here in the

ultimate smack-down of wills

Lily vs. Me,
and a big bowl of corn chowder loaded with potatoes, zucchini, bell pepper, fresh thyme, and chicken apple gouda sausage. Delicious.

But not to Lily. I might as well be feeding her cow turds sprinkled with horseradish.

She is screaming, sobbing, flailing, cursing (little kid cursing: "I don't yike you Mom!" "You're a meeeanie!" "I hate hate hate!"). She has attempted escape 4 times now. I turned my back a few times and found her 1) attempting to grab a banana, 2) running away with London, 3) shoving fistfuls of the grated cheese in her mouth (the cheese I grated to top her soup with) and 4) hiding under the table.
I plopped her bum right back in the chair. Who's the boss now?

I will not lose.

This epiphany came last week. After a full 24 hours of being subjected to Lily and London's bout of full-on anarchy, or tyranny (an impossible mixture of both)... it all came to a crashing halt in the evening hours before bed.

You see, as a parent, you begin with such lofty ambitions.

(Sidenote: it is really hard to focus on this post with your child screaming in the background. I will prevail, I will prevail, I will prevail.)

You rub your protruding belly, encapsulating your perfect child, and prop a parenting guide to read for the evening (oh look at you, always one step ahead of the game)...

Discussions will outweigh arguments.
Choices instead of direct command.
No eating in the car.
Expression instead of repression.
Please and thank you's.
Calm voice of reason
Positive reinforcements
Daily lessons learned
Clean clothing.
Hugs and pats and homemade cookies before naps.
Boogers, what boogers?
No child of mine will have boogers.

And one day it happens. You've been usurped. You cave in to the incessant, infinite demands.

Pink cup instead of the green one.
She doesn't like that shirt.
One more story.
One more story after the one more story.
Candy to quiet the shopping trip.
Candy to quiet the checkout rush.
Candy to quiet the drive home.
The 19th repeat of "The Fox and the Hound" instead of that radio talk program you've been dying to hear.
No splashing in the bath.
If you splash one more time, I'm taking you out.
No, no I'm not.
Empty threat 9,834 of the day.
Four more bites.
Nevermind, Two more bites?
Ok, a brownie instead.
We color with crayons.
Don't eat them.
Well, they are non-toxic.
Will you be quiet?
If I let you eat the crayon, will you stop screaming?

It was after a day like this that I was wrestling London into her pajamas. She has dry patches of skin that plague her chubby thighs throughout the winter, and so normally, I will apply a medicated cream when needed. Her legs were just fine this evening. Soft and delicious. It was an ideal opportunity to get them to bed 3 minutes earlier. Only she was having none of it.

"No! No! No! Medseen! Medseen! Medseen! (Medicine), " She demanded. (stall tactic)

No, you don't need it tonight baby.

"No! No! No! Medseen! Medseen! Medeseen!", she cried.

It's okay, just help Mama put your pants on, lovie.

"No! No! No! Medseen! Medseen! Medseen!" she screamed, kicking her legs in protest.

Okay, okay, okay. I crumbled. I turned around and proceeded to her closet to retrieve the medicine. When suddenly, like a ray of light directed to my weary heart, a lightbulb flickering dimly and now beaming bright, it struck me. I turned around slowly, bent down and looked her squarely in those triumphant, smug little eyes and yelled,





It came out with a voice like thunder, I kid you not. Some sort of primal, animalistic bellow. Rumbling and man-ish. A war cry. Like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, shouting "Freeeeeeeedom"
as his intestines lie scattered on the floor beneath him.

Startled, she stared back in wide-eyed shock. Pitiful and horrified, she collapsed to the floor in big alligator tears.

Oh, baby. Mommy's sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.


So yeah, I've been working on not losing control like that again.

It's now been about 27 minutes since I began this post.

Lily just took her first bite of soup.

(Another evening that serves as testament of my superb mothering skills. McDonald's at 8pm for dinner. Oh yes, and Lily crying.)


Daron and Jamee said...

A new table?

That comment seems so superficial to your post.

I think you are a great mother.

Cindy Martinez said...

This is the greatest post ever! I could not keep from smiling and laughing!

Alexandra (my 20yr old) recently told me, "Mom, you were good at the treats of punishment.....but you NEVER followed through". Yes, my kids had/have a way of sweetly manipulating me! Ugh!!! I must have done something right because I do have 4 AMAZING teens/young adults!

jenniferoharra said...

So funny! I love it - great post!

Joan said...

You are GORGEOUS in your "blog profile", profile pic :)
WOW. Stunning, Rae.
Oh, and I empathize entirely...tis the lovely life of a mother.

Natalie in Sparks said...

Yes the whole "pick your battles" concept is harder than you think it will be. Especially if they seem to make everything a battle!
I think your soup sounds delicious, and I wish that I could have enjoyed it with you! And don't worry, you are doing a good job with your girls.

Amy said...

Where do I find your profile pic ???

Rae's Corner said...

It's up now.
Thanks again for the pic amo.