My Little Picasso's

My Little Picasso's

Monday, January 7, 2013

Do I suck as a parent?

My holiday was lovely.  I spent almost two weeks with my mum and dad down in the depths of South Carolina, ran on the beach on Christmas Day, spent oodles of time with my sister, drank way too much coffee and wine, became obsessed with Downton Abbey, morning walks ... and tried to keep a three and one and a half year old in check. 

* Please see my previous blog entry.

My dear husband out of the goodness of his heart thought of the idea.  He would fly home Christmas night to then work the New Year's holiday, fly back down and drive us all back home.  I was thrilled.  Ofcourse if he didn't mind I would love to stay in South Carolina as opposed to coming back to cold Pennsylvania.  And cold it was.  An ice storm and half a foot of snow later, my husband still worked countless hours at the Hotel.  But I could play outside!

Little did I know that my two spawn became so comfortable at Grammy and Grandad's house that they decded to act like little terrors.  OMG.  I had never seen such behaviors before.  From both of them, but specifically Max.  Don't get me wrong; the terrible two's set in at about 21-22 months, yet it is getting worse.  Worse I tell you.  And the hardest part is that Charlie is learning. 

How "lightly" I have disciplined thus far is certainly not enough.  And may I use the term "lightly" lightly (touche).  I use time-outs, I smack the back of legs, I speak firmly and raise my tone.  I have found out very rudely this is not enough.  My first-born, bless his cute little behind, would laugh at me.  He would say something is funny when I was very obviously fuming and seething.  It comes down to they just want their way.  They do things, dangerous things, that scare me so I must discipline to stop them.  They want each other's toys and fight over these things even though there is plenty to go around.  Oh, and the fight over me is a whole other blog entry. 

(I am flattered and I am tired and I want to be able to drink a HOT cup of coffee, DAMNIT.)

As my discipline picked up, my voice got louder, the kicking, screaming, hitting, throwing down on the ground, tantrum-like whining got more intense and my offspring spent much more time on their beds than they would have liked.  Where do you time out in Grammy's house or let alone in your own house when there is so much in reach?  On the bed.  You go to your room, you stay on your bed, and don't you dare get off.  Sceaming tantrum, flinging pillows, hitting walls ensue.  "You'll stay there until you calm down.  And don't hit anything," I say VERY LOUDLY with pointer finger extended.  Now their tears begin.

So I exit, because now I am crying.  That's right.  I am that mum.  I cry after disciplining my children.  I refuse to let them control me, but I'm crying.  Am I awful?  Do I suck at this thing called parenting?

These are the hardest times for me.  I have a vast amount of patience.  I'll read you countless stories.  I'll sit with you as you very adamantly try to dress yourself.  I'll let you ride on my back in the grocery store.  I'll give you any amount of different foods just to get you to eat.  I'll stay up late, I'll get up early.  I'll stay in instead of go out.  I'll sit on the bathroom floor as you try to go potty.  However I will not let you run all over me.  You both are Michael and my result.  Our result of project parenting. 

And I am sorry my deary Max and lovey Charlie, but mummy is about to get meaner. 

Wait a tic ... I am not sorry.  It's for your own good. 

January 7th, 2013

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