On being a (temporary) stay-at-home mom: Dedicated to my younger son
This is the first time I am (almost) anxious for summer to be over. Much of this has to do with the fact that I am off on sabbatical for the upcoming school year, so I will not be going back. The rest is due to an abundance of behavior that is featured in this video (notice the song playing in the background):
This child takes everything out of me. Where did this monster come from??? He is 5 years old and instead of getting better, his behavior continues to get worse. He is extremely verbal, yet needs constantly reminded to use his words to express how he is feeling, rather than hitting, growling, and screaming. The tantrum you just witnessed was because he refused to ask nicely for his kindle. That was all. I just wanted him to say please instead of talking to me like a servant. In the past few days, we’ve had two tantrums over water. Water! Once I took a sip of his water (the nerve, I know!) and the other time my husband forgot his water bottle at the baseball game. Just an ordinary plastic water bottle that belongs in the recycling can. Twenty minutes he screamed for that one as I tried not to throw up in the front seat due to food poisoning or a stomach bug. I’m not sure how much longer I can maintain my sanity and patience. After all, I am a human being. A flawed one at that.
Sometimes I wish I had left him in daycare throughout the summer. Sometimes I wish I had signed him up for the full-day kindergarten lottery and he had been selected. I chose to take an educational sabbatical at precisely this time so I could refresh and recoup professionally, stay home and spend time with him while he’s still little. So he could go to morning kindergarten and he and I could hang out together while his big brother is still in school the rest of the day.
This child who I love more than life itself. This child who can be so tender and sweet sometimes. This child who is chipping away at me every day. I don’t think I could do it long-term. At least, not if his behavior continues this way. I think I recall Reed going through a similar stage, possibly at the same age, and he’s a pretty great kid now. I pray there is still hope for Cole to outgrow this, to not be 15 and still throwing a tantrum because I took a sip of his drink.
Sometimes as I’m restraining Cole (from hitting me or his brother), I think back to when I was a Dog Whisperer fan. Cesar Millan would be working calmly with a dog who was trying to attack him and bite his head off and he would say, “This is good. This is good.” As if those steps were a necessary part of taming the wild beast. I think to myself, as Cole is thrashing, pinching, and trying to scream in my ear: “This is good. This is good.” I feel like I’m breaking a wild horse or something to that effect.
I have been envious of stay-at-home moms for years. I get a taste over holidays and each summer, and wish I could be home with my kids all the time. Now that I am home for the next 13 months (taking classes, but not working), I’m not feeling so envious. I know I’m fortunate, and I’m grateful to have a job to go back to. The times when they are getting along and playing are amazing. I love when we’re all three having a great time together. But the fighting and the tantrums take up such a huge portion of the day. The whining. The complaining. It makes my head hurt. Ugh.
I’ll end with my best Cole story ever. Of all time. It was before he was a monster. He was probably a year and a half or so, and I took him to the zoo. Reed was in daycare, so it was just Cole and me. Cole was in and out of the stroller to look at animals, so I didn’t have him buckled. I needed to use the bathroom, and he was kind of potty training at that point. So, he got out and touched the potty. I wanted to wipe his hands, but he grabbed a french fry from his stroller tray before I had a chance. If you don’t know me, I am a major germ-a-phobe. I sent him over to the trash can to throw the yucky fry away as I pulled a Handi-wipe out of the container. When I looked up with the wipe in hand, I see Cole is holding a bloody pad! (Not mine!) I shriek for him to put it in the garbage and head toward him with the wipe as he sticks his hand in his mouth!!!!! (I know- you probably threw up a little bit in your mouth, didn’t you???) Finally I get his hands clean and I am able to use the bathroom. As I’m pulling up my shorts, Cole pushes open the bathroom door to a line of ladies waiting. One of them gently ushers him back in and closes the stall door saying, “We’ve all been there, honey.”
Perhaps I need the same words of encouragement right now. Have you been there? Will things get better? Do you promise?
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