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| Flying over Jackson Lake at Sunrise, December 2014: The sunrise reminded me of the words from O Holy Night, "A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious dawn." |
The Setting: A dark and stormy night; December 15, 2011:
“Don’t we have some kind of phrase we can chant like ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned?’ that can undo all of the naughtiness my brothers have done tonight thereby recklessly placing us on the naughty list?!!!” Logan roared as I opened the front door. “I don’t see a black plague mark on our door just yet Logan,” I soothed. “It will be ok. What happened?”
I had only briefly started experimenting with leaving my
boys home alone for short stints, and so far it had gone off without a hitch.
But the day had been a long day; I’d dragged the boys to doctor visits, scouts
and “Ornament making for dummies” at the library; consequently, they were beat.
So when I announced I had a PTA meeting to run to and to go grab their coats;
the weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth began in earnest. The boys were
watching Christmas specials on TV and didn’t want to tag along to ONE MORE
THING. So I said, “Ok. You can stay.” I made them some grilled cheese sandwiches,
patted their heads like the Grinch pats Cindy Lou Who (who was no more than
two) and promised to be back in 66 minutes. Apparently that was 16 minutes too
long; because while I was gone Alex and Spencer had gotten into a fight over
what to watch on TV. Predictably as the crisis escalated, Alex had thrown the
remote at Spencer and kept turning the TV off during Spencer’s show. Well Spencer,
normally as patient and gentle as a lamb, chose that moment to channel his
inner lion (and DANG can that boy ROAR!). He SNAPPED and apparently jumped on
Alex’s back and smacked him in the head with the remote, or so Logan summarized
as I stood in the doorway, fresh snow flakes melting into drops on my jacket to
run in rivulets to the floor.
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| O Captain My Captain! Loggy Bear December 2014,, Texas |
I could hear muffled
sobs coming from the back bedrooms. I took a deep breath, and let my coat slide
from my shoulders to pool on the ground as I stepped away. I decided to
approach Spencer first. I found him curled into a fetal ball on the top bunk,
“Come on Lizard….” I said, pulling him towards me. “Let’s figure this out.” He followed me to the living room where he climbed
into my lap as we fell into the leather lazy boy, the chair hissing as our
weight settled against the frame.
“What happened?” I wondered. “Alex was relentless! He wouldn’t stop! I walked away again
and again and he just followed me, taunting me… and I lost it. Mom. I lost it.”
He confessed in a small, sad voice. “So you….?” I prompted. “I saw red and I jumped on his back
and hit him on the head with the remote.” “You hit him on the head with the
remote?” I confirmed. Spencer always one
for honestly answered on a sob, “Yes.” And then burying his head into the crook
of my neck confessed, “Repeatedly!”
Then he lifted his head to face me, his eyes swimming with fresh tears and whispered,
“Now I’ll never get off the naughty list!”
Temporarily leaving Spencer covered in his self-imposed
chains like Bob Marley, I moved on to Alex’s room. I found him crying on the
bed. Alex does not deal well with pain, because of his Sensory Integration
Disorder he feels everything more intensely; and additionally I figured how
much damage could one 70 lb. boy cause? I was skeptical about his injuries as I sat
down next to him. “I heard you got wacked on your head?” I began. “Yes,” he
said, “It really hurts.” I gingerly felt the back of his head for damage and
was shocked to find a golf ball size goose ache pulsating beneath his hair line.
“He was like a wild untamed raptor.” Alex continued sitting up. “And now he’s
ruined Christmas for everyone.”
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| "What do you mean you just used the last green gumdrop Spencer?" Ginger bread making 2014 |
Well, honestly I don’t remember how we resolved it…I
remember a lot of talking. I remember trying to help Alex see the cause and effect
of his actions (which is like trying to contain water in a sieve) and I
remember crawling into bed feeling utterly exhausted and texting Russ who was
out of town, “YOUR boys are missing THEIR father. Your MIA status has earned
you a CONFIRMED spot on the naughty list. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!” Needless to say, Santa still visited. (I mean he only
brought coal but that was no change from years past). It may have helped that I changed the black
plague dot that WAS apparently glued to our front door (I don’t know how I
missed it?) to be the center of a Christmas picture (Rudolph’s nose) so we were
golden.
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| I may have cemented my wedding band to one of the houses....mmmmm gluey. December 2014 |
But the thing I remember most about this evening (besides
the lemon tart they served at the PTA meeting) was a phrase Logan said as he
walked past his brothers who were cowering in the living room, “Well you’ve blown
it for all of us! BRAVO! Well played gentlemen!” and as a punctuation to his
remarks he added some short staccato claps, as he shook his head sadly, pausing
dramatically to finger a favorite ornament on the tree. But Logan did get me to
thinking about how I had contributed to the evening’s fireworks, and how
sometimes I am responsible for blowing it for everyone. How I sometimes don’t
put the kids to bed soon enough, add one too many things to our to do list,
ignore the signs of impending doom and thus end up dealing with meltdowns on
aisle five; as a pre-pubescent boy lays catatonic on the ground blocking the
fruit loops when perhaps if I’d chosen a wiser route he could have been laying
catatonic on the couch EATING fruit loops.
I was talking to my friend the other day who was saying her
daughter’s escalating behavior at night had led to a massive tantrum and that
because she was worn out with Christmas parties and remodeling and kid’s plays
she had been short on patience in dealing with her…. Well one thing led to
another until the threat of being permanently on the naughty list reared its
ugly head and everybody was crying. Later, when my friend had time to think
things through, she realized she hadn’t been putting her daughter to bed early
enough, and that she’d possibly only eaten sugar cookies for dinner and this
was probably the greatest contributing factors to her naughty behavior.
I come from a long line of overachieving women; our battle
cries (over-achievers would NEVER have just one solo battle CRY for heaven
sakes!) Include, “Let’s cram one more thing onto our schedule (REPEATEDLY).
“How many dozen do you need?” “Hand hem 18 gingerbread boy costumes by tomorrow
morning? Love too!” “Babysit your five kids while you take a trip to the Caribbean?
I thought you’d never ask!” (My boys-
including my husband- are morally opposed to this toxic behavior of mineJ). So, recently, I’ve
been taking a meaningful look at how MY behavior contributes to their behavior,
and I’ve discovered some frightening patterns (it was like finding a hidden
phalanx on the Disney Little Mermaid Video Case) and have concluded that if I
want to see a behavior changed, then I first must recognize my contribution to
the dysfunction and be willing to change my behavior too (BLAST!! Wretched
personal accountability!).
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| Spencer and Logan help make fudge, and by help I mean eat...December 2=14 |
I’ve gotten better; truly I have. I’ve let things go. We’ve
left events early and sometimes haven’t gone at all. I’ve structured schedules
better. I’ve lowered my expectations. I even said no to someone just yesterday!
I’ve changed… but, the temptation to
cause chaos – Repeatedly – does still throb in my pulse points.
If I was in a 12 Step program for “Moms Who Occasionally
Blow It For Everyone” (MOBIFE) my boys would need an apology for the time I made them go
to the live nativity after a day of Christmas photos, Christmas shopping, and
Christmas parties.
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| I locked the car keys in the car and almost missed Spencer's play.... Chaos magnified! December 2013 |
The scene: Some random front church lawn; dusk, December 22,
2006.
“Are you MAD?” Russ wanted to know when I told him I just
wanted to swing by the live nativity with the boys really fast. “They are
thrashed” he argued. “I’m thrashed” he continued. “It’s the last night they are
doing it!” I snapped. “We couldn’t make it any other time and I don’t want the
boys to miss this.” Russ sighed heavily in the front seat, resigned to his
tortured fate, he snapped his seat belt.
The problem was I had actually just pulled into the driveway
when I remembered it was the last night of the live nativity. AND (admittedly
exhausted and low on patience) I may have actually yelled when the boys started
trying to get out of the van, “We are going to see the baby Jesus and FEEL
PEACE! SO BUCKLE UP!!”
“I just want to stay home!” Alex whined.
“Is this a hostage nativity situation?” Logan wondered
Yes! I growled “Hands up!”
“I’m glad ONE of us cares about traditions in this family!”
I bellowed at Russ while I backed haphazardly out of the driveway.
At the church I dragged my freshly spit washed -refusing to
wear coats- boys from the car to stand shivering in front of a crude stable
scene. The crease between my eyes had cemented into a perma scowl, my need for
Botox topping my Christmas list. Alex had been bugging Logan the whole way over,
and well, why stop a good thing? So Russ, in turn threatened Alex. Spencer tried to climb on one of the sheep as
it passed by. Alex, frustrated and hungry, and in a word: DONE!!! Threw a snow ball at Logan, but fine and/or
large motor skills are not his forte, so Alex, predictably, hit Mary instead
and she dropped the baby Jesus (a doll) and Logan yelled while starring at the
lifeless form in the snow, “Great Alex!
Now you killed baby Jesus! Are you happy now!!!!!?” (Alex, to his belligerent
credit answered snidely, “NO!”)
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| Hanging with the Tidwell cousins: Put 'em up! November 2014 |
The shreds of one’s pride are sometimes hard to reattach,
they slough off like dead skin... (I’m remembering a lovely story Alex and I
read about how people have died in Yellowstone (the perfect bed time tale) and
one story was about a guy who had jumped in a hot pot after his dog fell in and
the book revealed that his skin just melted off his body… fairly grotesque
image, especially at Christmas but this is the image I remember thinking most
suited how I felt at that moment.)
What else was there to do but: 1) stop Russ from killing our
son (no small task given the bulk of his college linebacker form and his death
grip vise on the back of Alex’s neck). 2) Yank Spencer down from the top of the
stable where he’d climbed during the whole explaining-to-Logan-baby-Jesus-wasn’t-dead-apologizing-to-Mary-the-pasture-community-and-God-portion
of the evening. 3) Go. Home.
In all caps.
I have learned I don’t have to do one more thing.
Except maybe re-wash that load of laundry I forgot to put in
the dryer….
Repeatedly.
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| My favorite part of any day... kicking back, forgetting to change the laundry. |
