Battles

I wonder why an attempt to go to the park often tires me out before we even get out the door. I mean, the diapers, the snacks, the potty, the shoes, no THOSE shoes, the sweaters, the ridiculous amount of work it takes to just get to the point of opening the door to leave. And then the days like today, when the four year old is tired from a late night, the battle lines begin to form before I even speak to him in the morning.

You guys, I used to be a part of THAT child rearing camp. You know. "You don't have to have battle lines as long as long as you're explaining things. Using positive encouragement. You don't need to view life as adult vs. child. You can WORK TOGETHER." That was before I had two children and the eldest child didn't quite get the memo that he wasn't the only person in the universe. And now I know that even if I don't follow the philosophy of battle lines MY CHILD DOES. He will draw the lines for me before I even say one stinkin' word to him and it will sound like this. "Good mornin' love! Did you sleep well??"

"NO! I DIDN'T SLEEP! It was only naptime!"

And then it will continue with even the briefest attempts at human conversation ending in some kind of argument. It's never a good idea to argue with a four year old. Never. Because it will end up with the four year old repeating himself over and over ad nauseam "My sticky hands DO belong on the couch! But I want my sticky hands on the couch! They DO belong on the couch!"

Today I tried to be as patient as I could possibly be, because yes, we did keep him up too late last night (to go to his first ever very cool awesome fun hockey game with JUST mommy and daddy) but the little man deteriorated from wanting to argue with everything I said to just being downright rude. "Please go pick a shirt from your drawer." "No, YOU go pick a shirt from my drawer. It's YOUR job." And well, needless to say that kind of thing doesn't go over so well with me.

You see? The battle lines are drawn no matter what anybody says and despite what all the books in the world will suggest you will still have to win.

And when you look back on how ridiculous the battle was later and see the puddle of tears and saliva on the floor from the epic horrifying battle of the shoes, "NO IT'S NOT MY JOB TO PUT ON MY OWN SHOES IT'S YOUR JOB. RIGHT NOW MOM!!!" you shake your head in despair. But then the kid eventually ends up putting on his own shoes while saying sorry for being rude and asking for an extra big hug.

None of this is easy. There are a thousand different ways that I could have handled this day, and maybe the way it ended up was exactly how it was supposed to be. Some people reading this will still tsk tsk and probably note the thousand different ways I should have responded, because I guess that's all part of parenting.

And every time there's some type of battle I try to think of how I could have responded differently, and what I should do the next time it all disintegrates. (Maybe just stay in bed?)

Then 20 minutes after the epic horrifying battle of the shoes and I think things are calmer, the boy says, "NO Owen, don't look at me with your eyes!" And out loud I'm all "Owen's eyes belong to him and he can choose where he looks" but inside I'm secretly wondering if it would really be so awful to tie him by his toe nails to the ceiling fan.

Narcissism is inevitable in a four year old. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Big deep breaths. Open the door. Go to the park.