I just screamed the following at my kids: “WHAT DID I JUST SAY? SPEAK NICELY TO EACH OTHER!” But they evidently did not like my tone because the Tyrant pointed her finger at me and said, “No! Stop it! Don’t do dat, Mom!” and the Pterodactyl did his eye-blinking thing which means he’s about to cry.
When kids become old enough to theoretically listen to their parents, most parents find themselves saying all kinds of things they swore they’d never say. I’m not one of those parents, as I did not make any promises regarding what type of parent I’d be. But I do find myself saying lots of things I never thought I’d have to say.
For example, yesterday while swimming, I had to repeatedly tell my 4-year-old son (the Pterodactyl) to stop grabbing my breast, sticking his finger in my ear and trying to pull off my bathing suit top. And then when in the bathroom, the Tyrant (she’s 2) had to be (forcefully) told not to put her head into the toilet to see her brother’s poop. I didn’t really care about her seeing her brother’s poop, but the Pterodactyl gets really freaked out about anyone other than me looking at his poop, and even me seeing it has a rigid routine. I have to tell him not to worry, he can try again later, then act all surprised when I see that he has in fact produced.
Of course, children say all sorts of unexpected things, too. The Pterodactyl just this minute walked up to me and said, “You may not put fire on a rose.” Awww, you’re thinking. How sweet. Please note that last week he said, in reference to his little sister, “I told you we shouldn’t of buyed another baby.”
And right now he’s telling the baby she has poopy ears, and she’s holding her ears and crying. And so I find myself yelling, “HEY! ENOUGH WITH THE POOPY EARS TALK!”
So on it goes. I’ve told my son that we do not flush our nightlights down the toilet, that pretending to pee on people is rude, and that it is absolutely not okay to put your sister in a gym locker and leave her there. I have instructed the Diva that she may never again use Sharpies as face paint, that stubbing her toe does not require wrapping her entire foot in a roll of toilet paper, that being 7 years old does not mean you can give yourself medicine, and that pretending to brush your teeth is not at all the same as really brushing them, a fact that seemed to surprise her. I have repeatedly instructed the Tyrant that she may not: eat dog food, wash her hair with body lotion, paint her sheets with lip gloss or slap my face in public. Unfortunately she seems to not understand basic English.
I see all this, however, as a positive form of communication since there are so many things that I don’t say to my kids. I’m currently seeing a shrink to help me parent my son, and I’m also seeing a different shrink to help me deal with the fact that I need a shrink to deal with my son. The first shrink told me to figure out my “moment,” the signal to myself that I need to take a few deep breaths and regroup. For her, she said by way of example, she can feel her heart rate speeding up.
I knew exactly what she meant. For me, it’s when that little voice inside my head starts saying, “Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.” It honestly happens just about every day. But so far, I’ve never said that aloud. Well, that’s not true. But I’ve never said it aloud to my kids and I’m rightly proud of that.
When kids become old enough to theoretically listen to their parents, most parents find themselves saying all kinds of things they swore they’d never say. I’m not one of those parents, as I did not make any promises regarding what type of parent I’d be. But I do find myself saying lots of things I never thought I’d have to say.
For example, yesterday while swimming, I had to repeatedly tell my 4-year-old son (the Pterodactyl) to stop grabbing my breast, sticking his finger in my ear and trying to pull off my bathing suit top. And then when in the bathroom, the Tyrant (she’s 2) had to be (forcefully) told not to put her head into the toilet to see her brother’s poop. I didn’t really care about her seeing her brother’s poop, but the Pterodactyl gets really freaked out about anyone other than me looking at his poop, and even me seeing it has a rigid routine. I have to tell him not to worry, he can try again later, then act all surprised when I see that he has in fact produced.
Of course, children say all sorts of unexpected things, too. The Pterodactyl just this minute walked up to me and said, “You may not put fire on a rose.” Awww, you’re thinking. How sweet. Please note that last week he said, in reference to his little sister, “I told you we shouldn’t of buyed another baby.”
And right now he’s telling the baby she has poopy ears, and she’s holding her ears and crying. And so I find myself yelling, “HEY! ENOUGH WITH THE POOPY EARS TALK!”
So on it goes. I’ve told my son that we do not flush our nightlights down the toilet, that pretending to pee on people is rude, and that it is absolutely not okay to put your sister in a gym locker and leave her there. I have instructed the Diva that she may never again use Sharpies as face paint, that stubbing her toe does not require wrapping her entire foot in a roll of toilet paper, that being 7 years old does not mean you can give yourself medicine, and that pretending to brush your teeth is not at all the same as really brushing them, a fact that seemed to surprise her. I have repeatedly instructed the Tyrant that she may not: eat dog food, wash her hair with body lotion, paint her sheets with lip gloss or slap my face in public. Unfortunately she seems to not understand basic English.
I see all this, however, as a positive form of communication since there are so many things that I don’t say to my kids. I’m currently seeing a shrink to help me parent my son, and I’m also seeing a different shrink to help me deal with the fact that I need a shrink to deal with my son. The first shrink told me to figure out my “moment,” the signal to myself that I need to take a few deep breaths and regroup. For her, she said by way of example, she can feel her heart rate speeding up.
I knew exactly what she meant. For me, it’s when that little voice inside my head starts saying, “Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.” It honestly happens just about every day. But so far, I’ve never said that aloud. Well, that’s not true. But I’ve never said it aloud to my kids and I’m rightly proud of that.
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