Animal Planet

I absolutely understand how child abuse happens.  Better people than me, brought to their wits end by misbehaving children.

Today started out with my eldest running out of the grocery store, high tailing it toward the parking lot with his little brother close behind.  I am paralyzed as I stood at the counter, my club card flapping in the wind.   My thoughts as I sprinted into action were, scared out of my mind, cars cars cars, death and dismemberment,  and I'm gonna kill them.  

I re-entered the store to complete the transaction, one child under my arm, the other dragged behind by his collar.   The checker girl stared at me like I was the worst mother she's encountered in her life.  She nodded to the groceries and asked, "You gonna need help with those, too?"  I'm embarrassed, and if I'm honest, kind of pissed that I was being judged by someone whose biggest work challenge is remembering whether to ask 'paper or plastic?'.

I composed myself and exited the store with the intent of giving Charlie a good piece of my mind.  I got down to eye level and asked, "That was not a smart choice, Charlie.  You could have gotten hurt."  What does the insolent little beast do, he laughed in my face.  Embarrassment forgotten, I enter into full primal rage mode.  I wanted to hurt him, like really hurt him.  It was simply a question of whether to shake, pinch, grab, smack, or all of the above.

Fortunately, because A) I have a great husband who helps to ease the load, B) he and I are currently getting along, C) the mortgage is paid, D) my family is healthy (at least for the moment), I was able to calm myself.   My sense of reason kicked in.  Physical harm, especially in a public setting, was not the answer.  I settled on making the little bugger cry.  

I took away Charlie's TV for the night.  Nothing, no remorse.  Dessert gone, then his bike.  He continued to laugh like it was all a big joke.  State of calm abandoned, all I saw was red.

Finally I realized material possessions were meaningless to this boy.  I told him that if he couldn't listen and follow the rules of the store, he must be a baby and so I would have to treat him like one.  He would have to sit in the carriage instead of Gregory.  I would have to carry him or hold his hand at all times.  And worst of all, he'd have to start drinking from a bottle again.

Jackpot!  Tears and a resounding, "No, Mommy.  I'll listen, I promise.  I'm not a baby."    

Was I proud of my behavior?  No.  Was it effective?  Kind of.  Charlie listened for about 15 minutes, long enough for me to get the groceries and boys in the car.  He then focused on teaching his brother to roll down the window and scream 'Move it, lady' to the pedestrians in the crosswalk.  

As a parent,  it feels like you have to be on top of your game 100% of the time if you want to maximize those 'teaching moments' when they occur.  This of course is completely unachievable.  Life is never perfect and rarely are we ever at the top of our game, maybe on occasion prior to having children.  If only one other aspect of my world had been out of whack today, I could have easily snapped and gone to the dark side.   The outcome for Charlie could have been physical harm, and for me a nice ride in a police cruiser.  

My hat goes off to all parents struggling to do their best out there.  Celebrate the small victories where you took the high road and made your kid cry.  There was always something worse you could have done.

Utopia

"Do you ever wish we lived on another street?"  This is the question my husband guiltily asks as we stand in the kitchen, hiding from our kids.  Charlie has just tackled Gregory in an effort to remove the Tinker Toy hammer from his grip.  Gregory is about to use the toy train in his other hand to inflict blunt force trauma to his brother's head.  Screaming is everywhere.  We can barely hear ourselves think let alone talk.

I laugh, "Are you serious?"  He is.

"You mean another street like Heather Avenue?"  He does.

I tell him that at least once a day I wish I lived on Heather Avenue again or anywhere other than here.

When we got engaged, we bought a beautiful condo in a very desirable area of San Francisco, on Heather Avenue.  Restaurants abound.  Our gym was 2 blocks away.  I walked to the grocery store everyday to buy the freshest produce and meat for our dinners.  Each morning, Brian and I headed to the local Cuban cafe for delicious coffee before he hopped on the bus to go to work and I headed back to my home office.

Heather Avenue represents a childless utopia for us.  A place where our time, money, and sleep patterns were our own.  Where my biggest worry was our Direct TV reception being knocked out by high winds.  

But was it a real or imagined utopia?  Honestly, a little of both.  Life as DINKS (dual income no kids) in San Francisco was amazing, for the exact reasons mentioned above.  We loved our home and everything it represented - pride, security, success.  But our upstairs neighbor was ex Semper Phi who thought he was still in boot camp the way he stomped around on those floors.  And a few times a year, just for good measure, he liked to knock his fiance around.  Every decision made in our 4 unit building, like changing the color of our mailbox, had to be voted on by our homeowners association.  And quite possibly worst of all, no karaoke machine past 10 pm.  WTF!     

It's funny how the mind sugar coats our life experiences, and child rearing is no exception.  Right now I bitch and moan about my kids as they drive me to the brink of sanity each and every day.  I'm sure in 10 years I'll look back at this time longing for my boys to beckon, 'Mommy, come play with me.'  But the reality is they were probably pulling at my pant leg half whining, half screaming, 'Mommy, stop typing your blog and come play."