A Word From The Wise

I lost my temper today.  It was bound to happen after only getting 4 hours of sleep.  The early birds woke complaining of hunger so I brought them downstairs before the sun even rose.  So after several hours of eating, playing, dancing, cluttering & repeat they are still going strong, not a nap in sight.  I am exhausted, cranky, and need more caffeine.  I was about to walk into the kitchen to refuel with a cherry coke, which is something I should not be drinking with a history of kidney stones mind you, when something caught my eye.  Lil R had a book, a book where it is not supposed to be.  She was not reading this book.  No.  She was eating. yet. another...  If you've read my previous posts you know this is an ongoing problem.

"NOT FOOD!" I boomed.  I swiped the book from her hands and out of her mouth in such a way that she began to cry.  "Good," I thought, "that'll teach her!"

Big brother R immediately stopped playing and went over to comfort his whimpering sister.  Meanwhile I stormed from the room like a pouty teenager to go cool off.  He then came directly to me to have a little talk.  I was still fuming, futilely wondering, "Why? Why does she eat stuff that's not food?"

"Mom," he began, patiently waiting for me to make eye contact.

At first I wanted to yell at him too.  Snap a "Get out of here! Leave me alone!" while I wallowed in my mean-mom guilt for losing my temper.  But when I looked at his sincere little face, I just couldn't.  My heart was tongue-tied.  The smoke was now clearing.

Making sure I was really listening, he calmly continued, "Mom, you can't yell at Baby Ro."

I sat there stunned and listened intently to this child of mine.  "You must use your inside voice", he wisely instructed.  "Yelling is for outside."

I started to stammer like a child who's hand was caught in the cookie jar.

Then he proceeded to hit me with the exact thing I tell him during one of our time-out talks after he has a screaming tantrum.  "If you get mad just scream in a pillow and then you won't yell anymore, and you won't be mad anymore, and it'll be all better!"  He said it so cheerfully, so judiciously, so sensibly.  He is very animated when he speaks, his head tilting and nodding, his shoulders, hands, and arms were poised in one of those "I don't know" poses.  He smiled at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my response.

I sheepishly pouted.  Now what am I supposed to say to that?

Here I was, a grown woman, a mother of two, the disciplinarian, or so I thought, and this small, physically frail but strong in heart & spirit, three-year old boy, just taught me a lesson.

"Now promise me you'll never do it again," he recited again from memory with a gentle sternness.

I felt myself blush with embarrassment.  This was the most awkward situation I have ever found myself in as a parent.  I didn't know what to say.  Perhaps I should've gone with the old standard "I make the rules and what I say goes!" followed by a rude "Just mind your own business" for smarts.  Or maybe instructed him with one of the classic place-putting lines "I'm the parent and you don't speak to me that way!"

But he was right.  How could I argue with my very own rules?  How could I possibly deny something I've said to him?  Then, foolishly perhaps, I dove straight into the sea of awkward.  I opened my mouth and out came a "But..."  ...insert my big stinky mom foot here...

I stammered, "B...b... but... how am I supposed to stop her from putting things in her mouth and eating things she shouldn't?  She doesn't listen to me."  I shamefully admit that I actually whined.

Is this really happening?  Am I desperately seeking parenting advice from my own three year old?  Nice.  In that moment I imagined a slew of future Mother's Day cards with a big 'ol X over the word BEST or GREATEST.  "To the X mom"  Yep, that's me.  The stuttering, push-over X parent.

"Well," he started with a long sigh, sounding wiser than his years (heck, even wiser than my years) shaking his head, "I just don't know.  He then finished with a final matter-of-fact, "But don't yell at Baby Ro."

I immediately felt ashamed as hot tears stung my eyes.  I became the child and he was now the parent. 

I was a slobbering contrite mess scooping him up in my arms and apologizing in a whisper.

When I finally put him down and let go, he stood there with that bashful, smiling, head-cocked, tilted shoulders, hands-behind-his-back, stance that he does when he is so pleased with himself.

"Bubba, I am so very proud of you." I gushed, holding his pale little face in my hands, looking in his deep dark eyes, and planting a kiss on his fuzzy head.  "I love you! Thank you for teaching me."

He made that clicking sound, a sort of  tongue-click/lip-smack, as his chest swelled with pride.

"Your welcome!  I love you too!" he cheerfully chimed and sprung from the room to continue playing where he had abruptly left off.

I dried my eyes and felt humbly solemn as I walked into the next room.  I saw the two little angels playing and giggling.  I scooped up lilRo.  Big brother joined in the love fest and we all hugged and kissed each other.

I returned her to the floor and went across the room to the computer desk.  I was basking in the happy Hallmark-moment watching my beautiful, intelligent children playing merrily.  Lil R smiled at me, her cherub cheeks glowing, her evenly spaced baby teeth showing in a cheesy grin.  She then picked up the book and began to once again feast on it's spine.  Well, that lasted about as long as a commercial.
 
I let out a defeated sigh as I searched for the nearest pillow.