This morning I almost put him in the car naked because he gave me the runaround about getting dressed (and it was to be dressed into something of his own choosing - he wears a superhero outfit for KinderBallet, among other circumstances) and we were late to the class (never mind that I'm getting myself ready to leave earlier and earlier each week to circumvent this same situation...). Not to worry, he'd assured me all week that he'd participate and listen to Miss Cynthia's instructions, because we agree that Miss Cynthia knows stuff about ballet that he wants to learn and she really wants to teach him. At the conclusion off the lesson, Miss Cynthia told me that Oscar was climbing instead of dancing. So, I asked him, "do you want to do ballet?", to an enthusiastically affirmative response. I find me a brick wall for a chat.
I have made a friend of one of the ballet mummies and we have fallen into a pattern of staying on at the community centre's cafe for a chat while her girl and my boy play, and my girl empties her Louis Vuitton bag (I tells ya, she knows her stuff, we just can't afford what we want, her and me!) and her smaller girl charms the pants offa me (her husband is Chinese and together they make gorgeous children). Our 'conversation' is punctuated by my asking Boy to bring Girl back from the foyer and he responds by way of picking her up and running out the door with her to the carpark. That was just the first time. Both times I had to recall my athletics running days (yes, it's as painful for me to remember as it is for you to imagine) to save them from the (albeit geriatric or community disability van) traffic.
Not one to rest on his laurels (don't make me even think about what that means, it just seems appropriate to insert at this juncture), he proceeds to wind open the windows of the cafe, lift himself up and climb out. Because I asked him not to open the door to the cold. Creative. Highly unauthorised. I threaten to eat his bacon sandwich. Temporary fix proves effective.
His friend comes crying to her mummy a few times reporting various ways Boy has flung himself about and created collateral damage. He spreads water all over the tables and draws in it with a straw (probably as retribution for not allowing a lemonade this week - I wanted to see if he'd be calmer, so I guess we answered that question today...give over with the lemonade embargo next week is my mental note to self) and, for good measure runs Girl out onto the asphalt of the carpark and I do my horse growl at him to get back inside (that growl is the evil one I employ when my horse is being dangerously touchy about me being around him and I don't want to hit him, cos I don't do hitting - thankfully, that hasn't happened since he was a young thing and is the least of my worries nowadays).
Deciding that any further attempt to fraternise (and geez, those conversations take unexpectedly refreshing turns) is becoming dangerous to the wider (and geriatric or disabled) community, we call it a day, we pack her bag (one Milky Way, one tissue packet, one pair of sunglasses, one unused condom, one set of keys...I decide I'm going to organise an op-shop bag with op-shop trinkets in it for Girl to play with when we're out, cos one day someone will get embarrassed...) and pack our respective children into our respective vehicles.
Well, my delightful little Gemini reclined in his booster as I drove away and offered, "Mum, I love your heart", from the bottom of his own. There's only one response to that, and it's not the sequence of choice adjectives running through my mind at the time. "I love you, my darling, and I really need you to listen to me". This week has worn me down and that's all I had at that given moment. Mind you, we stopped at 4 different places on the way home and he was my fun-child again.
He insisted on having his harness on (that I bought in Dubai in 2008 and hadn't really used much since), so to all and sundry it appeared that I prefer to have my four year old tethered to me while I shop, but every time I let it go to look at something I was pleaded with to take back my hold of the 'leash'. Just in case anyone cared for my excuse, I responded with a "yes, Puppy Boy". He's not out to get me, he just wants to have fun, and it's not my job to quell that instinct. It's just not always the safe way or the contextually appropriate way that he chooses to express his orientation to fun. We enjoyed one another's company for a section of the day today. That's not unusual, he's a really loving kid, mostly.
Then we got home. I prepared some crackers and cheese with him. And he began to unravel. Or I did. Or we both did. Him into an increasing momentum towards reckless abandon and me to, well, somewhere very dark. I heard banging, went into the room he was in with Girl on my hip (don't tell my osteo!), whereupon I had the agility to dodge a shoe that was aimed at me. I paused a moment, took a breath and...shut the door. The round handle of which is positioned about 1.5 metres off the ground so that he can't reach it. I knew that. And I waited in the kitchen. I strapped the Ergo around my waist, put on my jacket, clicked Girl in and called out to him that I was going for a walk. He cried out for mercy and I replied that he was to stay at home with Dee, whom he hadn't even greeted when she arrived because he was too busy throwing things at the wall. I let him out of the room when I was ready and got my bag.
It was difficult for me to leave him in his growing anguish and, finally, he was writhing in Dee's strong arms while I explained briefly why I was walking away from him. I left him shrieking for me and as much as it hurt us both, I knew I needed to. It was going to do me more good than he, and he wasn't going to be harmed by it. Staying meant yelling and I had resolved not to go there.
So, I walked the short distance to the shops. And bought chocolate. Yes, the packaged, commercial, on special, likely unethical variety. Then I crossed the road again to get a yoghurt frog from the health food shop - Boy LOVES yoghurt frogs from there. Then I went into Voski Von Mueller, my favourite boutique and local retailer. I chatted and bought a gift for a friend and felt infinitely better. And then I walked home.
Who should greet me at the gate, but a rather hoarse Boy calling out "Mum! Want to come for a walk to the oval with us?", as his dad, his Dee and the dogs were all dressed for a late afternoon stroll. And you know what? I did. And he still loves me. He told me so about 5 times on that walk, in the rain and wind. I also got a "kiss and snuggle" as I left the house with small girl for our Baby Swim lesson.
Some may say he needs a smack. I don't abuse my position as parent to inflict shame. Some may say he needs a Time Out. He'd lose the 'lesson' in 2 seconds flat; instead, when I left he had a soft place to land, in Dee. I don't revoke things he likes because that's punitive and doesn't address what's causing the conflict, and makes it about him, instead of about 'us' and everyone involved. I'm not saying that I executed the perfect response or that I effected a resolution. I'm just saying that I kept us all safe because I was sufficiently eroded to know that my decision-making skills for avenues of resolution were compromised. So I walked away. I didn't feel better. And I didn't feel worse. To me, that's a small win; whether he knows it now or not.
So, with today worked through to a peaceable conclusion, I now turn my attentions to an assignment that's due tomorrow morning. I'll see how I go and if I'm losing me head from lack of sleep, I'll pack it in and speak to a uni counsellor next week to organise extended time. Yes, I feel I deserve it, given that most of the students in my course aren't also taking a simultaneous course in Boy-child, or 4 year olds, or 4 years olds plus their completely dependent little sisters. If you think I'm working the system, you're pretty much on the money. That's what the system's for! And that, my friends, is how I limp through my Grad Dip Psych.
Tonight I opened an email from Carol Fox, from Life Performance and this time she espoused being honest with difficulties, instead of pretending to be superhuman or perfect. She says,
We all eat and shower and go to the toilet, and we all have fears, and vulnerabilities and days where things look, sound or feel not so good. So let go of the pressure of needing to be perfect all the time! Let go of the illusion of being superhuman. Just be real. You might even discover you establish even more rapport with your team, and inspire them more than you ever thought possible.Well, I don't know if I've inspired anyone with my tale of woe-is-me, or even established any rapport with anyone, and dammit, I DO feel better for admitting that I can't always keep it together for my boy or with my boy. I don't mind him seeing me lose my cool and to see me struggle with something and to see me work through a problem. How else is he going to learn that it's ok to make mistakes, it's ok to work towards a better 'next time' if you're lucky enough to get one, that it's ok to be challenged?
Another quote I came across today, whilst looking for a saying to help someone through a rough patch, was in another Carol Fox email (she sends these out weekly, as a kind of 'pep-talk' to a mailing list to which I subscribe...good thing, too!) was this,
Between stimulus and response, there is space.Victor Frankl (1905-1997) Psychiatrist, Author and Holocaust Survivor.
In that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response.
In our response lies our growth and freedom
For me, today, I chose not to yell (ok, so I growled my 'horse growl', there's room for improvement), and I choose to be free from the yelling response. Aim small, win big. Just Do It. (sorry, it's a pervasive pop-culture reference to which I adhere, as it happens...)
Find your space.
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