Tag Archives: battles

Well, hello, Miss Know-it-all

I’ve come to the conclusion that- after 11 years and 3 kids- I know absolutely NOTHING about parenting.

I console myself about this sad, pathetic little fact with the knowledge- yes, KNOWLEDGE, as in, I KNOW- that no one else really knows anything either.

Sure, some people will have claimed to finally have “figured it out”- that they cracked the code at last on how to deal with Baby Betsy or Little Johnny in any given situation, but- well, lean in close, will ya?

Closer.

That’s close enough-

Kids are smarter. They know how to change up their game! They’re continually holding onto that wild card with their grubby little hands. They hide their Ace so far up their sleeve that you couldn’t find it even if you shook out their shirt; and then, they’ll pull it out when you’re at your wits end- when your spirit has been crushed and your will has been broken- as a final nail in the coffin of your parental control.

What it comes down to is that kids ALWAYS have a game plan and its this: practice multiple plays, never use the same play twice, show no mercy and always wear your game face.

Maybe the old bribery trick worked last time. You were able to get through the shopping trip with no issues and all you spent (besides money for groceries) was the cost of a Snickers. You might be patting yourself on the back- $1 is well worth your sanity.

Next time, you won’t be so lucky. Next time, Little Johnny will have you screaming,”Fine! You can have the remote control car! I’ll even throw in rechargeable batteries! Just PLEASE stop whining for ONE minute!”

Maybe blackmail is more your thing. Its an admirable route, to be sure:”Be good or no sweets after dinner.” The problem is, you can only use that threat once. After that you have to get creative, and if kids know one thing, its that if they exasperate you enough, you’ll break down and start bribing them instead.(see above)

Or, maybe you’re the more MATURE parent. You’re reading this and you’re thinking,”I just put my foot down. No means no. My way or the highway. No ands, if or buts.” To that, I stand in awe of your parental utopia…

Also known as ‘Never, Never(gonna happen)Land’.

Nope. Just when you think you have it all figured out…

…you have kids.

Then you realize,”I know nothing.”

Let’s get ready to RUMBLE!

“Is she awake?”
“I don’t know- check.”
“How do I check if she’s awake?”
“Poke her.”
“If I poke her, then she’ll definitely wake up.”
“Mom, you awake?”
“I TOLD you to poke her.”
“I’M AWAKE!”
Thus begins the start of my day. I could try and act like I’m sleeping for a little bit longer, but it just postpones the inevitable.
Every day is like this- a fight to sleep a little bit longer, a fight to get them dressed in an outfit resembling something other than an extra from Les Miserables, a fight to get them to do their hair so they don’t -once again- look like street urchins…
My life, as much as I love it, has started to look like a dialed down version of a WWE match- without the pile drivers and what not…
…though those MIGHT not be far behind.
My parents got me a program by one of those M.D.’s with all the credentials that promises “for $400, you’ll have your kids saying ‘Yes, Ma’am and Sir’ in NO time!”
The problem isn’t always them fighting with ME, though. I often find myself shouting out to the Heavens, asking if there’s a program that will help with sibling bloodshed/maiming. I’ve yet to hear God answer me back, but it could be because I can’t hear Him over the cacophony in the background. To be honest, though, I think -if we’re going to go down the Biblical route- if God allowed Cain and Able to fight like cats and dogs for a reason, well, maybe there’s a reason for the continual boxing match in MY house; and if THAT’S the case, it shouldn’t be too long til I hear one of them shout out, “I’m not my brother’s keeper!”
And all this happens before breakfast.
When I pictured my life with kids, the daily battles weren’t part of the sweet scenery I envisioned. I know I was naïve, but I had a lapse in memory of how things had been with MY parents. I briefly forgot about the grand confrontations my brother and I had- one of which broke the back of a recliner and involved a stick.
I let it slip from my mind that “Yes Ma’am and Sir” weren’t part of our vocabulary- that we had embraced the word “No” from the time we could talk.
I had discarded the memory of when my mom tried DESPERATELY to get me to dress in something she had wanted me to wear, and I adamantly refused.
I don’t get to deny it any more, though. Those thoughts drift in and out of my mind- poltergeists, intent on tormenting me; reminding me, in every action my boys do, that I am their mother.
“Go do your hair.”
“I like it this way.”
“What way? You didn’t even DO it.”
“And that’s how I like it.”
They may win the battle, but I will win the war…
I hope.