The past few days have been a little troublesome. Tuesday was the kids' last full day of preschool for the year and my last day of both of them going on the same days. I chose to alternate their days next year so that I could have one-on-one time with each of them, something I think all of us will enjoy, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous about sacrificing my one day a week I'd come to have certifiable "me time."
This Tuesday should have been a big celebration: Maybe my annual hair-cut and some serious reading time on the sofa. Instead, my entire day got eaten by chores, errands, and some cooking that was giving me trouble. Then the kids both had awful days at school filled with potty accidents, a trend that continued when they got home despite my efforts to save the day (Candy Land, chocolate chip pancakes, family movie... nope... nothing worked). It was just "one of those days."
At 7pm Chloe came in from holding her chicken, Lessy, complaining she was too cold to wash her hands. This is her new excuse pattern, one I find irritatingly intolerable, so I usually just quip something back to her that indicates I am in no way, shape, or form going to carry her/blanket her/do whatever for her, and so her only alternative is to stay cold/hungry/too tired....whatever.
She usually begins to protest immediately, which lets me know my zero tolerance in this case actually is a positive. This time, though, she just sort of slumped there looking pitiful. My brow furrowed and I went and felt her forehead. Holy smokes she's hot!
Yes, it turns out Chloe had a fever. I broke that first fever with some simple lavender oil, but in the middle of the night it kept creeping and creeping up. I dosed her with ibuprofen to get it back down, but by morning it was 104.5.
Brian has my car. My wonderful family Honda CR-V I adore. Apparently, when he rebuilt Chevy's engine (his car) we didn't have a torque wrench for some important bolt that has to have a certain amount of pounds of pressure... or something. He explained it to me. It did not involve food, farming, or family, so most of it did not get processed. :) Anyway, the end result here is that the engine loses compression when you accelerate. Which means that the 25 minute drive to the doctor's office in morning rush hour traffic resulted in A LOT of birds being flipped and horns honking at me as I stuttered through each.and.every.stop.light AND, let's not forget, the lovely round-a-bouts on my way to the doctor. Oy.
I got to the doctor and Chloe's fever is still very high. She hadn't mentioned her tummy feeling yucky, but sure enough, just as I take a seat holding her in my lap on the doctor's office's very nice non-washable fabric sofa, she throws up. In a split second decision I have to think was pure instinct, I aimed her so that all of it would go directly on me - not her, not the sofa. That's one of those times you know you're a mom. :)
I sat all through her doctor's appointment, coaxing her to submit to a swab and attempting to get a urine sample out of her (the last one took an hour - remember?) all the while reeking of vomit and shivering because I was soaking wet. Brian saved me by driving all the way home from work, packing new clothes, and hoofing them over to the doctor's office for me, where he found us all huddled in the bathroom anxiously awaiting some pee that would never emerge (because she just threw everything up). I changed, waved the white flag on the pee sample, and this time the nurses had pity on me and sent us packing with the equipment to collect her sample at home. We also got a prescription that would work for both strep throat and a UTI. Because yes, she has both. :(
Her fever spiked at almost 105 before I finally broke it for good. After I got her fever down she was able to eat and drink and, mercifully, at 6pm I collected the requested urine sample and promptly put it in my fridge next to the milk. I labeled it so no one would think it was apple juice. :)
Her fever spiked at almost 105 before I finally broke it for good. After I got her fever down she was able to eat and drink and, mercifully, at 6pm I collected the requested urine sample and promptly put it in my fridge next to the milk. I labeled it so no one would think it was apple juice. :)
All I had to do this morning was take the sample to the doctor's office then hit Meijer for a few groceries. Simple, right? Not so much. Liam has a cold. He is also transitioning from affable toddler to strong-willed preschooler, which means he, rather like a velociraptor, is testing me for weaknesses at every opportunity.
We made it through the grocery, despite none of us feeling very well (for a variety of reasons). I am halfway through self-checking and bagging my groceries when Liam simply WILL NOT stop yoinking the m&m's that just so happen to be at kid-hand-height right next to where a mother would have to park her cart to scan all her groceries (grumbles).
I notice he is not only yoinking them ("yoink" is a Simpsons-ism, if you didn't know), but also attempting to OPEN them. I say no thank you repeatedly. I use my calm and loving words: "Liam, Mommy knows you want the chocolate, but that isn't proper food and we're not buying it. When we get home I'll make you a yummy snack, ok?" No dice. He simply will not give up. So I warn him, "Liam, you are not listening to Mommy. Mommy said no thank you. The next time you reach for the chocolate, you will sit in the time-out seat."
The time-out seat in the grocery store is the baby seat in the cart with the strap. He HATES it with a vitriol I find astounding. I am scanning. Out of my third eye I watch him sneakily reach for the damn packet of m&m's. Wordlessly I pick him up and plunk him in the baby seat, snapping the belt home.
He screams.
And SCREAMS.We made it through the grocery, despite none of us feeling very well (for a variety of reasons). I am halfway through self-checking and bagging my groceries when Liam simply WILL NOT stop yoinking the m&m's that just so happen to be at kid-hand-height right next to where a mother would have to park her cart to scan all her groceries (grumbles).
I notice he is not only yoinking them ("yoink" is a Simpsons-ism, if you didn't know), but also attempting to OPEN them. I say no thank you repeatedly. I use my calm and loving words: "Liam, Mommy knows you want the chocolate, but that isn't proper food and we're not buying it. When we get home I'll make you a yummy snack, ok?" No dice. He simply will not give up. So I warn him, "Liam, you are not listening to Mommy. Mommy said no thank you. The next time you reach for the chocolate, you will sit in the time-out seat."
The time-out seat in the grocery store is the baby seat in the cart with the strap. He HATES it with a vitriol I find astounding. I am scanning. Out of my third eye I watch him sneakily reach for the damn packet of m&m's. Wordlessly I pick him up and plunk him in the baby seat, snapping the belt home.
He screams.
AND SCREAMS!
I have discovered I can diffuse a tantrum with something rather surprising: a hug. So I hug him and kiss him. I tell him I'm sorry that he has to sit in the time-out seat and I know that it's no fun. Usually if I can take the wind out of his push-back sails by empathizing with his plight, he's left with little amo. Not this time.
He screams even louder. His decibel level is truly a sound to behold. Somewhere in the store, I'm sure, glass shatters.
I abandon this method and resort to finishing my scanning as quickly as possible. I am more than halfway through my purchase, so I surmise it would take me just as long to pay, load, and explain to someone that the remaining groceries left unscanned need to be put away. So I scan scan scan. 3 to 5 minutes more and I'm done, snatching my receipt like a hawk, shoving my bags into the cart, and making a beeline for the exit.
He screams even louder. His decibel level is truly a sound to behold. Somewhere in the store, I'm sure, glass shatters.
I abandon this method and resort to finishing my scanning as quickly as possible. I am more than halfway through my purchase, so I surmise it would take me just as long to pay, load, and explain to someone that the remaining groceries left unscanned need to be put away. So I scan scan scan. 3 to 5 minutes more and I'm done, snatching my receipt like a hawk, shoving my bags into the cart, and making a beeline for the exit.
I am 10 feet away from the door. It's so near. Then out of the corner of my eye I watch an older man step near us and eye me with absolute hate. He yells at Liam, "Shut Up, Kid!!!"
I stop dead in my tracks. My mouth is actually gaping open at him I am so shocked.
My instinct is to hit him. Hard.
While I'm processing how to address this man, he eggs me on, "Yeah I said it. I said it."
I don't remember exactly what I said back. I remember something to the effect of explaining he's having a temper tantrum, yes, but that gives you no right to cuss at my son.
"You need to get him out of here! He's making everybody miserable!"
I again looked at him incredulously. I think, "that's what I was trying to do, asshole! I'd be out the door and gone by now if you hadn't CUSSED AND YELLED AT MY 2 1/2 YEAR OLD SON."
In my silence, his embarrassed wife apologized. I thanked her. Then they made a beeline for the exit and so did I...right behind them...with Liam's screams echoing in the double-doored entrance.
I stop dead in my tracks. My mouth is actually gaping open at him I am so shocked.
My instinct is to hit him. Hard.
While I'm processing how to address this man, he eggs me on, "Yeah I said it. I said it."
I don't remember exactly what I said back. I remember something to the effect of explaining he's having a temper tantrum, yes, but that gives you no right to cuss at my son.
"You need to get him out of here! He's making everybody miserable!"
I again looked at him incredulously. I think, "that's what I was trying to do, asshole! I'd be out the door and gone by now if you hadn't CUSSED AND YELLED AT MY 2 1/2 YEAR OLD SON."
In my silence, his embarrassed wife apologized. I thanked her. Then they made a beeline for the exit and so did I...right behind them...with Liam's screams echoing in the double-doored entrance.
In the car with the windows safely rolled up so that Liam's screams were muffled enough only to torment me and Chloe, I cried. I was shaking with rage and I cried at the hatred and judgment of a perfect stranger. The lack of love, of understanding, of empathy amongst some of my fellow humans shocks me. I do not understand how you go through life like that. I do not.
I've had plenty of tantrum-throwing kids in the check-out lanes next to me before. I always shoot the parent sympathetic, kind, and reassuring glances. Glances that say, "It's ok. I understand. You're standing your ground. You're a good parent. Don't worry. Yes, buy yourself that bottle of wine - you need it!"
This incident got me thinking a bit. That man would have been perfectly happy with me if I had simply given in and allowed Liam to have some chocolate. He would have been labeled, "a good kid," because he would have been complacent and happy. Since when do either complacency or happiness have anything to do with "being good?"
You want obedience in a child, but obedience to things that matter and for the right reasons. If I gave Liam that chocolate, then I lose more than this one battle with him, and I begin raising another spoiled, entitled child that the generations ahead of me always complain about. Yet, when we try to parent our kids in public *they* start throwing tantrums of their own (because let's face it, that's what this guy did).
Parents are getting thrown off airplanes and out of restaurants - why? Because they're parenting their children the way they need to! Kids are getting arrested and zip-tied for making small mistakes at school, mistakes that when I was a kid would have meant a phone call home to the parent, for the PARENT to deal with. Now cops are called? What the heck, America?
Zero tolerance does not work with children because children - SMART children, will ALWAYS consistently and without ending continue to test their boundaries, be them parental, social, or intellectual. This is how they learn - trial and error, triumph and mistake. When you push a zero tolerance policy onto parents and children this way, you negate trial and error. Instead you raise brainwashed, complacent drones, with no more ability to think and decide for themselves than a chicken with its head cut-off.
Of course, maybe that's what you want Corporate Baby Boomer America. But we Millennials aren't going to take that crap sitting down. :) Despite all the bad press we get (from Baby Boomers, ahem), my generation is set to be the next greatest generation. We are a generation of believers, of optimists, of team-players, of caring group-think and can-do-attitudes, of old-fashioned work ethics, of PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY, and I think we, like, totally rock. ;)
And we actually outnumber you, Baby Boomers, so now it's our turn. Back-off, shut-up, yourself (jerk), and if you don't have something nice to say to my toddler, then don't say it.
I've had plenty of tantrum-throwing kids in the check-out lanes next to me before. I always shoot the parent sympathetic, kind, and reassuring glances. Glances that say, "It's ok. I understand. You're standing your ground. You're a good parent. Don't worry. Yes, buy yourself that bottle of wine - you need it!"
This incident got me thinking a bit. That man would have been perfectly happy with me if I had simply given in and allowed Liam to have some chocolate. He would have been labeled, "a good kid," because he would have been complacent and happy. Since when do either complacency or happiness have anything to do with "being good?"
You want obedience in a child, but obedience to things that matter and for the right reasons. If I gave Liam that chocolate, then I lose more than this one battle with him, and I begin raising another spoiled, entitled child that the generations ahead of me always complain about. Yet, when we try to parent our kids in public *they* start throwing tantrums of their own (because let's face it, that's what this guy did).
Parents are getting thrown off airplanes and out of restaurants - why? Because they're parenting their children the way they need to! Kids are getting arrested and zip-tied for making small mistakes at school, mistakes that when I was a kid would have meant a phone call home to the parent, for the PARENT to deal with. Now cops are called? What the heck, America?
Zero tolerance does not work with children because children - SMART children, will ALWAYS consistently and without ending continue to test their boundaries, be them parental, social, or intellectual. This is how they learn - trial and error, triumph and mistake. When you push a zero tolerance policy onto parents and children this way, you negate trial and error. Instead you raise brainwashed, complacent drones, with no more ability to think and decide for themselves than a chicken with its head cut-off.
Of course, maybe that's what you want Corporate Baby Boomer America. But we Millennials aren't going to take that crap sitting down. :) Despite all the bad press we get (from Baby Boomers, ahem), my generation is set to be the next greatest generation. We are a generation of believers, of optimists, of team-players, of caring group-think and can-do-attitudes, of old-fashioned work ethics, of PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY, and I think we, like, totally rock. ;)
And we actually outnumber you, Baby Boomers, so now it's our turn. Back-off, shut-up, yourself (jerk), and if you don't have something nice to say to my toddler, then don't say it.
/end rant
*woosh* and breathe. I'm going to go channel my anger into something productive, like bread baking. I will have happy fun food to post tomorrow. Thank you for letting me ramble, lovelies. It always helps to get things out of my brain and onto the page. :)
