parenthood...
I'm going to post some gratuitous, but very cute pictures of my boys (as a reminder to me that they are both very sweet, very smart, very loving little boys).
Our jobs as parents have taken a new turn lately. Caleb flipped the switch from a mildly belligerent two year old to an over the top, three foot tall terrorist and Logan has discovered now that he's five there are M I L E S and M I L E S of new boundaries to push. Why do children have to grow up at all? Sigh.
Caleb recently started hitting out of anger or frustration. Depending on where the infraction occurs he is admonished (or yelled at, po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe) and has his hand smacked or he stands in the corner. He falls to a heap on the floor SHRIEKING when he is told "no" or reprimanded for something (especially when we're out in public). The behavior doesn't change the situation for him, it just makes light bulbs shatter and flying birds drop dead out of the sky. Typically what this behavior does do is send my husband into a tizzy of his own - shooting laser beams out of his eyeballs while his face turns a deep red and talking (and I use that term loosely) through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, Logan uses these times to say something smart-mouthed and WAY of out place which sends one of us spinning on our heel to deal with that particular problem. (We've decided it's strategic: divide and conquer. It hasn't worked yet though!) Logan's favorite thing to say when asked to do a chore right now is, "I don't have to do that if I don't want to." Which of course sends me (or Lynn) into the "As Long As You Live Under My Roof" rebuttal. At least with Logan you can (sometimes) reason with him...make him understand what he did wrong and why he's being punished. At the same time though Logan is still a little boy and sometimes has a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of the cause and effect of bad behavior. I'll give you a for-instance (now that it doesn't make me burst into tears when I think about it).
Last Friday was a particularly foul day here at the Lyons' Den. I swear I spent more time putting people in corners, spanking bottoms and sending people to their rooms than I did breathing air (or anything else for that matter). At the end of the night Logan asked for a snack and I gave him permission to grab something out of the pantry. He chose a bag of crackers. Caleb decided he needed a snack too and proceeded to try to open the pantry. Logan stood in front of the door, blocking Caleb's entry. Caleb started shrieking and began hitting Logan. Logan started yelling and hitting back all the while slinging crackers all over my FRESHLY SWEPT kitchen floor. I yelled at them to stop (which I shouldn't have, I know. I am a loud person to begin with and the yelling, it's something I'm working on), told Logan to start cleaning up the crackers and I put Caleb on a chair at the kitchen table. Logan began cleaning up the crackers and then decided that no, he didn't want to clean up the crackers and he wasn't going to! (If he'd said, "and you can't make me," I'm sure I would have flipped out and pulled some bat-shit crazy Joan Crawford style tirade at that moment; I was that frazzled. Ten bonus points for Logan's guardian angel that night.) Logan ran upstairs crying and upset. Caleb was on the floor in his heap, acting the turd with the forced weeping and boo-hooing. I made Logan come back down and help me sweep up the mess. After he was finished he went back upstairs and began crying again. I ignored it for awhile and then finally went up to check on him. I asked him why he was crying and he told me he was sad. He said he missed his old parents. Old parents? I was a little taken-a-back. I asked him what he meant and with his bottom lip quivering and tears streaming down his face, he said, "I miss my old parents. The ones who weren't mean to me all the time." Uh, cue heart crumbling into a million little pieces. Cue gigantic tears flying out of my eyeballs. I couldn't breathe. In all my thirty-one years I don't think I've ever been more devastated than I was at that moment. After I got myself together (and quit wishing this had not happened on Lynn's poker night) I sat down, gave him a huge hug and started explaining things as best I could. When Lynn made it home I relayed the whole thing to him and he morphed into some well-versed, responsible child psychologist rattling off a list of things we should do the next time the boys do something wrong. (Who is this man and what have you done with my husband?) Since then things have mellowed out a bit; not so much fighting between the boys, not so much back-talk, not so much yelling. I'd like to avoid that kind of day if we can. At least for a while anyway. Sheesh!
Our jobs as parents have taken a new turn lately. Caleb flipped the switch from a mildly belligerent two year old to an over the top, three foot tall terrorist and Logan has discovered now that he's five there are M I L E S and M I L E S of new boundaries to push. Why do children have to grow up at all? Sigh.
Caleb recently started hitting out of anger or frustration. Depending on where the infraction occurs he is admonished (or yelled at, po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe) and has his hand smacked or he stands in the corner. He falls to a heap on the floor SHRIEKING when he is told "no" or reprimanded for something (especially when we're out in public). The behavior doesn't change the situation for him, it just makes light bulbs shatter and flying birds drop dead out of the sky. Typically what this behavior does do is send my husband into a tizzy of his own - shooting laser beams out of his eyeballs while his face turns a deep red and talking (and I use that term loosely) through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, Logan uses these times to say something smart-mouthed and WAY of out place which sends one of us spinning on our heel to deal with that particular problem. (We've decided it's strategic: divide and conquer. It hasn't worked yet though!) Logan's favorite thing to say when asked to do a chore right now is, "I don't have to do that if I don't want to." Which of course sends me (or Lynn) into the "As Long As You Live Under My Roof" rebuttal. At least with Logan you can (sometimes) reason with him...make him understand what he did wrong and why he's being punished. At the same time though Logan is still a little boy and sometimes has a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of the cause and effect of bad behavior. I'll give you a for-instance (now that it doesn't make me burst into tears when I think about it).
Last Friday was a particularly foul day here at the Lyons' Den. I swear I spent more time putting people in corners, spanking bottoms and sending people to their rooms than I did breathing air (or anything else for that matter). At the end of the night Logan asked for a snack and I gave him permission to grab something out of the pantry. He chose a bag of crackers. Caleb decided he needed a snack too and proceeded to try to open the pantry. Logan stood in front of the door, blocking Caleb's entry. Caleb started shrieking and began hitting Logan. Logan started yelling and hitting back all the while slinging crackers all over my FRESHLY SWEPT kitchen floor. I yelled at them to stop (which I shouldn't have, I know. I am a loud person to begin with and the yelling, it's something I'm working on), told Logan to start cleaning up the crackers and I put Caleb on a chair at the kitchen table. Logan began cleaning up the crackers and then decided that no, he didn't want to clean up the crackers and he wasn't going to! (If he'd said, "and you can't make me," I'm sure I would have flipped out and pulled some bat-shit crazy Joan Crawford style tirade at that moment; I was that frazzled. Ten bonus points for Logan's guardian angel that night.) Logan ran upstairs crying and upset. Caleb was on the floor in his heap, acting the turd with the forced weeping and boo-hooing. I made Logan come back down and help me sweep up the mess. After he was finished he went back upstairs and began crying again. I ignored it for awhile and then finally went up to check on him. I asked him why he was crying and he told me he was sad. He said he missed his old parents. Old parents? I was a little taken-a-back. I asked him what he meant and with his bottom lip quivering and tears streaming down his face, he said, "I miss my old parents. The ones who weren't mean to me all the time." Uh, cue heart crumbling into a million little pieces. Cue gigantic tears flying out of my eyeballs. I couldn't breathe. In all my thirty-one years I don't think I've ever been more devastated than I was at that moment. After I got myself together (and quit wishing this had not happened on Lynn's poker night) I sat down, gave him a huge hug and started explaining things as best I could. When Lynn made it home I relayed the whole thing to him and he morphed into some well-versed, responsible child psychologist rattling off a list of things we should do the next time the boys do something wrong. (Who is this man and what have you done with my husband?) Since then things have mellowed out a bit; not so much fighting between the boys, not so much back-talk, not so much yelling. I'd like to avoid that kind of day if we can. At least for a while anyway. Sheesh!
posted by Amy at 11:07 AM
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