On Being Raised by The Reds....

There are days when parenting is easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

There are days when parenting honks.

Some days, I am a good mother.

Some days, I honk.

Today, parenting honked, honked some more and then...it didn't.

Today, I honked as a mother...until I didn't.

Allow me to confess brag explain:

Matthew and I began our day hollering. Rather, I hollered, he attempted to and then gave up to  burst into tears. I stormed upstairs in anger and to give myself a chance to calm down. Once I had, I was overcome with shame and remorse: he'd been right, I so very, very wrong.

I apologized profusely and then saw him off at the school gate, guilt clawing at my heart, eyes welling.

All the way home, I berated myself. Counted the hours until I could cover his face in kisses and be thankful for another chance to be the mother he deserves.

On the way home, I whispered, "I've been thinking about you all day. Will you forgive me for being so mean this morning?"

Matthew smiled: "I forgive you times three."

* * *

The Reds are tired. And when they're tired, they fight. After supper they argued with the boy next door, the girls down the street and finally, each other. And it was ugly. Ugly and nasty and it took all my waning patience NOT to knock their heads together.

Instead, I sent the other kids home, ushered the Reds inside and  quietly, but firmly ordered them upstairs: pyjamas on, teeth brushed, in bed. NOW.

I raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger for good measure.

Up they went, but not before some shoves on the stairs and punch in the hallway. In the end, I told them they'd have their say once they were in bed. If they spoke ONE WORD before that happened they'd have to go to bed at 6 tomorrow night, too.

Silently, they obeyed, so I sat back and gestured for Matthew to speak first.

"I don't want Luke to sleep in my bed until May 2nd." He crossed angry arms and glared at no one in particular.

"That seems fair."

Luke wailed and carried on, beating his blankets even as he pulled them up as he climbed into his own bed for the first time in a month. Finally, he too crossed his arms and arranged his face into "mad":

"Matthew can't touch ANY of my stuff ever. Never ever, ever."

"Okey-dokey. It's your stuff. He won't touch it."

I kissed them, told them I love them and closed the door, only to stand outside of it, holding my breath.

Two long, silent minutes passed and then:

"Hey, Luke?"
"What?"
"Do you wanna be friends again?"
"No. I wanna be brothers AND friends."
"OK."

Another pause.

"Wanna come sleep up here?"
"OK."
"Can I touch your stuff sometimes?"
"Yeah. I was only gonna make that rule until you're 10, anyways."


I guess this parenting thing doesn't honk after all.

Well, not today.

Monitoring My Blessings

Tonight's post is brought to you courtesy of the baby monitor. (Yes, I still use one. Don't judge me.)

Matthew: 1, 2, 3, 4............94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99.......hmmmm.....Tenty. Tenty-One, Tenty-Two, Tenty-Three......uhhhh....ELEVENTY...Eleventy-One, Eleventy-Two.....Twelvty...Twelvty-One, Twelvety-Two...LUKE, there are Twelvety-TWO constellations on the ceiling!!!


Luke: Huh?

Matthew: There are TWELVETY-TWO stars and constellations. That's a LOT of stars. The reason you've never heard of that number is because it's so BIIIIIIGGG!


Downstairs, Mark and I sat rapt and  grinning as our firstborn counted himself sleepy. So cute, we said, puffing up with parental pride. But when he began winding himself into a number-counting frenzy, I urged Mark to go on up and settle him down - we have a big travelling day tomorrow and as entertaining as the show was, the boy needed to sleep.

Up Mark went, ushering both boys back into their respective beds, tucking them in. Matthew asked for "the Counting Game, explaining to Luke that "me and Daddy played this game when I was four, like you!"

Luke: Cool.

Mark: Two plus two equals?
Matthew: FOUR!
Mark: Four plus four equals?
Matthew: EIGHT!
Mark: Eight plus eight equals?
Matthew: SIXTEEN!
Mark: Sixteen plus sixteen equals?
Matthew: Uh.....Thirty-two?
Mark: Thirty-two. Thirty-two plus thirty-two equals...

And so it went until Mark got somewhere near 4000 at which point Matthew yelled, "Pi!!! That's my favourite part!"

Downstairs, I giggled helplessly, enchanted by the sheer pleasure in his voice and the fact that he and Daddy have a special Counting Game that I knew nothing about.

As soon as Mark left the room Matthew began the Counting Game on his own, getting stuck at 16 plus 16.

Again.

And again.

And again.

For almost 8 minutes (yes, I timed it) he counted from one - over and over and over again - struggling to get past 16, but never quite managing it. He ended up at 26, instead of 32, as he was - I imagine - counting on his fingers.

Finally, on the heels of one giant yawn, he proclaimed that 26 was indeed the right number.

Big pause.

Matthew: Yep, it's 26! 26.....yep.......26......I'll do 26 plus 26 in the morning, OK Luke? Right now, I need to get some rest. I'm a tired boy."

Bigger pause.


Silence.


Downstairs, grinning through my proud tears, I thought, "For these moments, I am so thankful."


And then sleepily, from the monitor: "I am so proud of you, Matthew." (Matthew, deepening his voice to mimic Mark's)

Matthew: "Thanks Dad, I'm proud of you, too."


Downstairs, eyes welling, grin widening, I began counting, too. Counting my blessings:

"98, 99...Tenty. Tenty-One, Tenty-Two, Tenty-Three...."

And you? Have you counted your blessings today?

Happy Thanksgiving, All!