Monday, December 15, 2014

Hostage Nativity Scenes

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.
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.”
"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.
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!).

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.
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!”)

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.

So what have I learned since that fateful day? (Not a whole lot obviously since I was just perusing live Nativities in our areaJ) I’ve learned Christmas will come whether the boys are wearing their new scratchy pajamas (that are SO CUTE) or their nasty old comfortable ones. It will come whether we see Santa land in a helicopter or not. It will come whether sugar plums or Minecraft figurines dance over their heads. It will come even if I haven’t made a treat for every one of their seven hundred and twenty two teachers (wretched secondary education!) or hand carve the words “Merry Christmas” out of butter to put on their pancakes. It will come, and I want to be there holding my breath next to them in aching anticipation as it does. I don’t want my (impatience, frustration, exhaustion) behavior to inadvertently push them onto the naughty list, when in truth their little boy hearts are sweeter than sugar and belong on the nice list.
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.

My favorite part of any day... kicking back, forgetting to change the laundry.