Kids Will Be Kids

I am not one to easily admit my faults (just ask my husband), but I WILL confess that patience is not my strong suit once my kids reach about the age of two. When I was pregnant with my eldest daughter I knew while she was still in the womb that she would be a little firecracker, and at the oh-so-fun age of five I have yet to be proven wrong about my first impressions. When she was an infant I would have to bounce her while walking (she knew the minute I would sit down, whether it was on a couch, a rocking chair, or even the yoga ball), and while riding in the car she would literally cry for the entire drive, even if we were driving for over an hour. And yet despite all that, I would always keep my calm, which always impressed my husband (who wasn’t quite as able to keep his composure). But once she reached that ripe old age of two (and stepped so easily into the shoes of a toddler in the terrible twos), my patience began to wear thin. The same happened with my son, who went from the sweetest, most easygoing baby, to a rambunctious, non-stopping toddler that I sometimes think has been replaced with a goblin. I like to think I have quite a lot of patience with my kids, but I know I am easily pushed into the red zone of anger when their behaviors don’t quite reach my expectations.

And THAT is really what I believe anger with my kids boils down to: a let down of my expectations as to how I believe my children should act. I know I have pretty high expectations for my kids, especially my oldest daughter, who has always amazed me at how exceedingly smart and above the norm she is. But because I KNOW how much potential she has, I often let slip my mind that she IS only a kid. Thus I should expect her to act as a kid would, and not always be dismayed when she does. I often catch myself exclaiming, “You know better!” even though at the same moment I recognize that she is just a kid, and kids need repetition and can’t read minds (so they may not know what demands we are putting on them that they aren’t meeting). Often we get caught in the trap of thinking of our kids as little adults, but they aren’t. Kids are kids, and should thus be treated as such. This doesn’t mean they don’t deserve respect and dignity, it just means they are kids and so we shouldn’t be surprised when their behavior reflects that. Making my expectations known to my kids, again and again and again and again, is just something I need to keep doing as a parent. And maybe sometimes I need to look at my expectations and reevaluate whether they are even reasonable for my kids. I’m not saying to not see what they are capable of, because we all know kids are capable of so much and should thus be guided to reach their potential, but pushing too hard has never really gotten me anywhere with my kids.

I suppose instead of constantly telling my kids, “You should know better!” I should perhaps at times adopt a mantra of, “Kids will be kids!” Easier said than done, right? 

Naughty, Naughty, Naughty

When my daughter went through the “terrible twos” I felt as though her naughty behaviors would never cease. Once she finally lifted her head from the mire of limit pushing and outbursts and flashed her sweet little smile with no ulterior motives, I knew that when all seasoned parents had consistently told me, “it was just a phase,” they were right.

After my daughter got out of the “terrible twos” my son quickly took her place with such fierceness I almost began to loose the conviction that his unpleasant behaviors were indeed temporary. My sweet, innocent, lovable little boy had turned into a complete terror that was (and still is) easily encouraged by his sister’s easy humor.

The fact that my daughter has pretty much grown out of the “testing” phase is encouraging, and I know my son will eventually figure out what his (and my) limits are. But I have come to realize another encouraging point behind my son’s outbursts: his pushing the (my) limits is only a fraction of all the limits he will attempt to push when he grows up.

As a parent, I often consider my children’s imperfect conduct as flat out irritating and exceedingly trying on my patience. But in reality, who doesn’t push their limits every once in a while? True, young children seem to be on a 24/7 mission of pushing every button mom or dad has, and performing every appalling deed, so it can be a bit overwhelming. But if you think about it, we as adults have so many more venues where we can express our dissents, but our children have such a much smaller sphere of influence that we lucky ones that happen to inhabit that sphere feel constantly attacked.

Ultimately, the “terrible twos” is not just a phase. It’s definitely a more overbearing part of childhood that can really push parents to their breaking points, but though our kids learn to restrain their pushing (hopefully), they will never completely stop. And honestly, do we truly want them to completely stop pushing the limits, propelling past their comfort zones, reaching to the stars? Each person they test, whether it’s their parent, a friend, or a complete stranger, is just another person who either does or does not earn their respect and trust.

Of course, I AM writing this while all of my children are asleep and the whining and crying and screaming and fighting and tantrums have all been quieted for the night, so I can easily look upon these “terrible twos” with much more rational clarity than I do when I’m in the direct line of fire. ツ

Five Stitches

 There are times I feel extremely overwhelmed by everything I feel I “need” to do when it comes to my children, and when I actually accomplish everything I set out to do I secretly embrace the title of Super Mom. But when things happen that throw the whole Super Mom image into a swirl it can almost be earth shattering.

My middle child, who is my only son, recently had his first major incident resulting in a trip to the ER. After stumbling over his feet (something that happens quite often to my little klutz child), my son whacked his head on a display case at the store and gave himself about an inch long gash on his forehead. I don’t handle blood well, especially when it’s a lot of blood, and instead of jumping into my Super Mom persona I fell into the freaked out mom that only made matters worse by freaking out the other children. Thankfully my sister was there to pick up my slack. Without hesitation she had my son up in her arms and rushed him to the restroom, where she proceeded to clean up his wound and get it bandaged. Even after the blood was cleaned up, my stomach churned with queasiness. My two-year-old son had to ask for me before I could bring myself to come to his side. 

Once at the ER I was by my little mister's side, even through the part when he was getting his stitches (though I couldn't watch). But in my mind it still wasn't enough, since the main trauma had already happened.

That day still haunts me, not because of the blood or the stitches or the ER, but because I failed my son by not being HIS Super Mom.

I know that we are not always perfect parents, and it’s our continual striving to be perfect that makes us good moms and dad, but that moment of weakness has greatly humbled me as a mom. I just hope that next time my super hero signal flashes I am better able to answer the call.