WARNING: It’s been a long week. The word fuck will be used often in this post. Yes. It is necessary. Sure, I am smart enough to use different vocabulary. But I don’t fucking want to. Consider yourself warned.
This week is the first week since school has started that we have a full week of school. And I can’t wait.
Because all the kids have been pretty douchey recently.
I know why.
I’ve been spread really thin, I’m trying to get stuff done while they are awake, I’m not giving them enough attention, their father has been in the hospital, and I’m expecting too much from them.
So I’ve found myself in insanity territory again. You know, that place where you say the same fucking thing to your kids over and over and over and over and over again and they don’t give even the tiniest of shits.
I have been giving my kids second and third and fourth and fifth chances because I don’t want to stop what I’m doing or because I can’t be in two places at once or because I’m fucking tired.
But today was the breaking point.
I brought my husband home from the hospital yesterday. (He’s doing well, by the way). And so for the past 36 hours, I’ve been trying to keep the house calm and quiet so he can rest.
Yesterday the kids were pretty good.
Today, not so much.
It’s my own fault.
I have been letting all of them get away with things.
Meal times have been especially unenjoyable.
Number 7 has started this thing where she spits. She does raspberries. Or she actually takes a bite of something and then spits it on the floor or the counter or her sister. She thinks it’s funny, I guess. The kids think it’s gross. I just think it’s fucking annoying.
And I find myself repeating don’t spit. Don’t spit. Do not spit. WE DO NOT SPIT OUR FOOD!
And then she looks right at me and, of course…
She spits out her fucking food.
Number 5 is in a hitting phase.
If someone pisses her off, she smacks them. She pushes them. She kicks them.
It’s pretty much an automatic response at this point.
Number 3 is in the really fucking infuriating I’m-going-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-all-my-siblings-as-often-as-I-can stage.
So tonight Number 3 was annoying and Number 5 was hitting and Number 7 was spitting, and I realized that all this fucking madness is my own doing.
Yes, the kids know better. But I’ve allowed this behavior to continue.
I’ve given out empty threats. Or I’ve told the kids there was going to be a consequence and then I just totally forgot I even said that.
Of course they’ll remind me later.
“MOM! You said Number 3 couldn’t use his Kindle today and he’s watching Netflix on it right now!”
Shit. Why the fuck did I say that? Did I really say that? I have no recollection of saying that!
So tonight I had had enough.
And instead of second and third and tenth chances, I gave none.
Number 5 got her food taken away from her the first time she shoved her sister.
Number 7 got her food taken away from her the first time she spit on her sister’s stool.
They were both kind of dumbfounded.
Holy shit. Mom really did it this time.
I sent them up to bed.
Not a time out. They went to bed without dinner.
That’s when the screaming really started. Number 7 went a Helen Keller in the Miracle Worker kind of psycho.
But she didn’t take a nap today, so she ran out of gas pretty quickly and passed out in her bed.
Number 5, on the other hand, has the stamina of an ultra marathoner.
For forty five minutes she threw the mother of all fits. It was so bad that Number 3 asked if he could sleep on the couch.
She couldn’t find a long sleeved shirt. She was starving. She hit her chin. I was the meanest mom ever.
It took all my restraint to not go find a fucking shirt for her and scream, “HERE IS A SHIRT. NOW STOP WITH THE FUCKING CRYING. YOU ARE DRIVING ALL OF US FUCKING INSANE.
But instead I just stayed calm and told her that until she started following the directions, I would give her no help.
I had a really hard time with the food thing. I don’t want to send the kids to bed hungry. Ever.
But the kids need to follow the damn rules at meal times.
And all the time.
Not just upon being threatened with losing their food (but then never actually losing it).
So I stood my ground with Number 5.
And she eventually passed out in her bed, too.
Number 3, 4, and 6 didn’t take long to get it.
Their behavior changed instantly.
I don’t know why it took me so long to finally follow through.
Well, actually, I do know.
I didn’t want to listen to the crying. I knew it would happen, and I knew it would last for a while.
I knew my patience would be tested. I knew for a solid hour, I wouldn’t be able to do anything other than maintain my composure.
And I was right. For a full hour, my patience was more than tested.
But hopefully, tomorrow, my patience won’t be tested.
Because today I finally pulled my head out of my ass.
And as soon as I did that, well, the kids pretty much did the same thing, too.