I always imagined what parenthood would be like, and often dreamed of the day that I’d exact revenge on my parents for unfair punishments by laying down the law with my future offspring. I spent years practicing the lines, “Because I said so,” and “As long as you’re living under my roof,” and the quintessential, compassionate, “Yeah? Well life’s not fair.” Ouch.
Granted, I haven’t had to use that harsh of a tone with Eliza yet—and believe me, I know that day will come all too soon—but these days, that little whipper snapper is testing boundaries like a blind man in a minefield [Okay, I’m laughing at myself for that one….the initial hilarity dies down once you realize how pitiful the scene would actually be! ….]! You would think I’ve never told the child that she cannot stick her fingers in electrical sockets, that it is okay for her to empty the contents of the lazy susan, and that I enjoy chasing after her in public with a not-so-happy face, threatening her in exaggeratedly-slow sentences, her favorite of which is, “Come. Here. Now!”.
I know what you’re saying, “She’s really a good girl; she’s not as bad as others I’ve seen,” and I agree, but I’m just saying…..I’m exhausted from this discipline circus. Case in point:
Yesterday, the spring weather apparently decided to show up—hallelujah!—so we met a friend and her 9 month-old at the park for lunch and a bit of playtime. Like a good mother, I packed her lunch, which included something from all food groups [okay, okay….Oscar Mayer did me a favor and prepared some of this lunch for me….thank you, Lord, for Lunchables!]. I sat Eliza on my lap and proudly looked at the contents of her lunch bag and prepared all of her food—did I mention it was windy, the ground was muddy, our blanket was small, and the 9 month-old friend was now crawling? After two bites of her own food, she turned to my innocent PB &J and demanded some. “Bah? Bah? Bah? Bah?” Should’ve just forgone the desire to have a conversation with my friend at all.
Shortly after I allowed her to attack my lunch and kick almost all of hers on our now-muddy blanket, her interests turn towards the precious baby and his sweet baby toys. Generally, Eliza’s pretty good when it comes to sharing and frequently gets outnumbered and overpowered by her cousins, but takes it in stride. My girl knows when she has the upperhand, though, and refused to allow the poor baby to gnaw on what was rightfully his. [ SO glad Eliza put her hands all over her muddy shoes, in her mouth and all over his chewies. Sorry, Lindsay.]
After many under-my-breath threats of spankings whispered in Eliza’s ear, I decided to put her shoes back on and let her run around while I finished lunch and tried to finish a sentence without having to rope her into submission. What I didn’t see was that she had snatched her lunchbox (which was thankfully zipped shut, but with little ham, cheese and cracker bits flying around inside) and was very quickly out of arm’s reach, running with it and waving it like it was a flag….and dragging it through the grass, while grinding mud into the zipper. Yum. If anyone finds an easy way to clean zippers, please share.
Shortly after, we decided lunchtime was “over,” and started making our way to the car. “Cah cah? Cah cah?” Eliza grabbed my finger and proudly marched towards the car, but at some point, the realization that we were leaving sunk in and she just sat down. In the middle of the road. At lunchtime at a busy park on a beautiful day. Of course I’m toting a ridiculous amount of gear back from the scene of the lunch-time crime and have little flexibility in the extra-hands department. After another promise of a spanking and a firm grip on her arm, Eliza relented and headed to the car, only because in her sights, she could see other kids playing near our parking space. Once we made it to the car, I began my at-least-three-times-a-day frantic search for my keys, dropped most everything on the ground, and put our muddy picnic blanket and my gigantic fountain Diet Coke (one of the few things that bring immediate joy to my day) on the roof of my car.
Eliza once again decided to call my bluff on my spanking-in-public threat (I swear she knows our desire and intent to avoid spanking in public when at all possible)—which she lost. Cue meltdown #2. As an added bonus, the muddy shoe-kicking that ensued left me with a muddy shirt, muddy pants, and sweat in lots of places. As I finished pulling a huge green booger out of Eliza’s nose (you know, from the crying and all…), I collected the rest of my belongings that were scattered ‘round my car, and reached for my blanket (Did I mention it was windy?). I watched, helpless, as the blanket reared up and unfurled itself…..right into my sweet, sweet fountain Diet Coke, that had barely been drunk. After a split-second of mourning for the fallen beverage, my attention turned to keeping it out of the backseat, since the door was still open. I shoved the muddy blanket into the cup’s path and successfully diverted the pop…..onto my muddy pants and shoes. And did I have an audience for the entirety of this scene? You betcha.
As maddening as this experience was, I bow to the level of frustration that occurs to my sister on a curiously-frequent basis, and hope that her stories like this always outnumber mine.
