Smiling Mom

Hey, I’m over at Sili­con Valley Moms Blog today tal­king about my newest paren­ting tac­tics.  This one is pos­sibly a bit controversial…

So, we’ve resor­ted to buying a nasty tas­ting nail polish for our daugh­ter.  She just won’t stop suc­king her thumb.  Don’t judge me. I tried, I mean really tried to do this using only intrin­sic, and some­ti­mes extrin­sic moti­va­tion.  We’ve tried band aids on the thumbs… We’ve tried dolls, with strings attached.  We’ve tried tal­king to her about being a ‘big girl’.  To read more head on over!

You know you’re a mom when your son runs out of his room, drops his pants, bends over, spreads his cheeks and says, “Mom, my butt hole tic­kles and I can’t get it to stop.”

What the frick??  Seriously?

My solu­tion?  I took his pajama bot­toms, loo­ped my fin­ger under the fabric and wiped his butt.  I know, classy!

Unfor­tu­na­tely it was still tic­kling, so I told him to go into the bath­room and wipe again.  BC then informs me that it’s my fault that his butt was tic­kling because I didn’t wipe him good enough earlier.

My fault?  That my 4 year old’s butt was tickling??

Again…what the frick??

Once the pro­blem was sol­ved he ran back out to the living room to drop trough and show me his newly clea­ned butt.  At this point I was simply laughing too hard to check it again.

Seriously, this was not in the han­dout when I deci­ded to forgo birth con­trol and become a mother!

Tonight was the first night in many that I put my son to bed without an all out Super­nanny ins­pi­red hys­te­ri­cal meltdown.

I like to pat my own back, toot my own horn, if you will, on occa­sion.  I gene­rally think I’m gif­ted in the mothe­ring cate­gory.  I got skills!  Or so I tell myself.

But just as I find myself get­ting cocky again, my dear chil­dren smack me down and throw off my equi­li­brium.  I quickly re-realize how many skills I still need to grow.

Take for exam­ple my four year old’s sepa­ra­tion anxiety gone hay­wire.  A vete­ran mom has her set of tools, a solid bed­time rou­tine, a vision of paren­ting that goes something like; start as you want to con­ti­nue. We have rou­ti­nes.  We don’t vary far from the script.  My son knows what to expect.  Life trots along accor­ding to plan until *bam* I’m smac­ked in the face with a severe case of sepa­ra­tion anxiety. Him, not me.

Wha…wha…what??  Um, excuse me, that’s not in my script.

This week I reached my brea­king point.  I nee­ded help.  Nothing I or my hus­band did hel­ped calm or sooth BC’s nighttime/transitional fears. NOTHING.

In addi­tion, hea­ring, “Mama” (A word I des­pise from the get go, I’m Mommy, thank you very much!) “I need you!” in the same tone and pitch repea­ted in the same rhythm for two straight hours is akin to Chi­nese water tor­ture to me.  PAINFUL.

Ear­plugs didn’t even help.

I cried uncle and finally called the advice nurse Satur­day night.  I was at a loss.  No great plan, no big pic­ture, I was stuck.  I was called this mor­ning and BC was sche­du­led an appoint­ment with his pedia­tri­cian for 1:30 today.

I had a plan.  Relief was on the way.

At 1:30 I pac­ked up my tired daugh­ter and my hooky-playing son and hea­ded off to see my life­line, the doc­tor.  His doc­tor.  A woman, who I hoped, would rea­lize that I’m a mom who doesn’t ove­rreact or freak out over small issues.  That my con­cern was HUGE and WORTH her time.

1:30, I show up, exhaus­ted and see­king help only to find out that I have an appoint­ment sche­du­led with ANOTHER doc­tor, one with a repu­ta­tion for a BAD bed­side manner.

How could this hap­pen? I exc­lai­med, I spe­ci­fi­cally said MY doc­tor.  My eyes welled up with tears.

No relief today. I left empty han­ded, with an appoint­ment at the end of the week.  It was time to pre­pare myself for anther 2 hour kic­king, screa­ming, scratching all out hys­te­ri­cal meltdown.

No relief.

After a good cry and a sho­wer, I deci­ded to pull up my boot straps and try again.

I for­mu­la­ted a tem­po­rary plan and did something dif­fe­rent.  Ins­tead of telling BC that I would lay with him for 5 minu­tes (part of our old rou­tine), I deci­ded to let him dic­tate the amount of time I’d lay with him.

I gave away my con­trol.  And if you know me, you know how monu­men­tal that act was.  I. am. in. con­trol. damn. it.  But I gave it away.

And I’ll be dam­ned if that little stin­ker didn’t send me out of his room after only TWO minu­tes, pro­mi­sing me he was ready to sleep calmly without tor­tu­ring me for the next two hours.

Two Minu­tes.  I gave up con­trol and the pro­blem, tonight, was solved.

Days like today, I rea­lize that I, in fact, don’t have all the ans­wers.  If I just take the time to lis­ten to my kids, maybe they’ve been SREAMING their needs to me the whole time.

Skill Lear­ned, BC, skill learned.

So a bit ago I wrote a post for SVMB about BC. You may remem­ber how he cried, lost con­trol, and how I might have slightly ove­rreac­ted a bit by crying and fee­ling like a horri­ble mom? Well, I’m happy to report that this past week has been so much better!

My friend Jamie sent me an email, God bless her, with the best sug­ges­tion I’ve heard in a long time on how to cur­tail BC’s inc­rea­singly defiant outbursts.

She said I should make him the Man of the House.

You see Hubby recently went back to work after a 7 1/2 month break due to a torn shoul­der. This tran­si­tion see­mingly has really effec­ted BC.  Jamie’s sug­ges­tion was to give BC the res­pon­si­bi­lity of being a hel­per, with a title, while Hubs was away at work.

Now if you’ve ever met my son, you know that he’s all about step­ping up to the plate.  In an emer­gency, he’s the best per­son to have hel­ping you, aside from my Hus­band.  So this whole idea of being the Man of the House com­ple­tely appea­led to BC.

Each night this week BC’s furro­wed his brow and said, “Now Mommy, I’m the Man of the House, is there anything else you need?” and goes one to say, ” If I hear you say, “Ouch,” I’ll come out of my bedroom to help you.”

And each mor­ning when BC encoun­ters Hubby, BC reports, “Daddy, I was the Man of the House, and I did a great job last night!”

It’s beau­ti­ful.  And sim­ple.  And OH SO appreciated.

With this new found res­pon­si­bi­lity, BC’s like a new boy.  And me? I’m fee­ling so much bet­ter about our nightly rou­tine.  I no lon­ger dread put­ting my dar­lings down to bed.

So thank you Jamie!  You may begin char­ging me for you mothe­ring ser­vi­ces at any­time now.  I’ll be happy to pay top dollar!