My Little Picasso's

My Little Picasso's

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Parenting sucks.

Last night was double bath night ... both boys.

All was well.  Charlie was diapered and pajama'd.  He lay on Max's floor quite content.  Max's turn.  Four minutes, no problem.  Aquafor, diaper, pajamas.  Piece of cake.  Atleast I thought.

Max DID NOT want to get ready for bed.  He ran away from me all over the room, the hall, Charlie's room, his bed, the loft, EVERYWHERE.  At first it's cute, but when I am breaking a sweat it is not cute anymore.  I tell him I am going to put him on the changing table like a little boy.  He thought that was even funnier.  I wrestle him to the floor, he wriggles away ... many times.  I pin him down in Charlie's room and call for my husband to get Charlie.  (For all I know he's getting licked to death by the dog in the other room.  Oh no wait, Max has scared the dog to the highest point of the armchair she can get to.)  My dutiful husband comes in to help me with our out-of-hand toddler.  No, I tell him, he has to listen to me, I must do this myself.  So off goes dutiful husband with the now lazy sleeping baby.  Why did I send him away again?  I finally finagle a diaper, t-shirt, and pajama pants onto Max.  Now off we go downstairs for snack and then brush teeth and to bed.  OH NO, Max DOESN'T want to go downstairs.  So he smacks me.


I shut him in his room.  It took all of ten seconds for him to start crying.  This is where I, the dutiful mum, waited outside the bedroom for the customary 1 minute of his time out.  IT TOOK FOREVER.  It was the cry where you knew tears were streaming and he wasn't angry, he was upset because he upset me.  KILLER, but I waited.  When I finally went back in, he came to me arms outstretched, buried his face in me, I'm sorry looks, Ma-Ma ... I told him why he was wrong as he whimpered.

We went downstairs for milk and brush teeth ... no snack.  Back to bed.  Crying again.  And he cried himself to sleep.

Disciplining has got to be one of the hardest things a parent MUST do.  It kills you inside.  My precious little boy misbehaved and must suffer a consequence.  I have to be the one who dishes out that consequence.  Really?  I discipline because I care.  How cliche.  Yet, it is true.  I cannot and will not let my children grow up to be rude, ungrateful, selfish, punkish little brats.  (I know, a bit harsh, but come on, we all know some.)  And it all starts here.

So, as I sipped my wine and my husband reassured me I did what I had to, I knew I was doing the right thing.  Max still smiled and kissed and hugged me this morning.  Some mornings he might not, but he will figure out one day that I was right.  One day ...

August 16th, 2011

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