Low Moments in Parenting

            Oh there have been so very many low moments in my parenting career.  Where to begin?  Where to begin?  I think we will begin with the most recent incident and go from there.  The previous entry touched on the removal of the beds and our reasons for their removal but frankly, ahem… it gets a little worse than that. 

My children’s favorite pastime is taking their beds apart and reassembling them into a ladder-like configuration and in the process, generally vandalizing their room.  And normally, I reassemble said beds and force the children to pick up the toys and set their rooms to rights (Did I just become British? Set the room to rights?  What the Hell?  Who do I think I’m fooling?  Who am I, Madonna?).  But on this day the children not only destroyed the beds to the point that I couldn’t figure out how to put them back together but, they also ripped their drapes and the drapery pole from the window and knocked their dresser over!  The loud crash is what alerted us to their misadventures.

(We really should know by now that when the children are quiet we should be curious as to why.  It’s a rookie mistake on our part really, and the only excuse I have is that quiet is so very rare in our house that we try to enjoy it when we are given the opportunity.)

Well, on this day I was weary with entertaining three children and one husband because, for some reason when it’s a snow day for everyone, Mommy must still be master of all, and ruler of none.  Even though my husband’s business shut down for the Blizzard of 2011 and he spent the day napping and playing Xbox, I still had to continue with my normal duties.  The only difference was that I now had an extra mouth to feed and clean up after.  So I was weary with the weight of it all, (I really must be channeling my inner Brit.  I can hear Madonna whispering in my ear as I type.)  and when the crash occurred I was as the end of my proverbial rope.  My threats had landed on deaf ears and I was tired of it.  So I instructed my husband to remove his backside from the couch and move the shards of bed frame to the garage.  I then began instructing (code for howling like a banshee) where each toy was to be put.  After a couple of instructions my good child Logan, looked me straight in the eye, put his hand on his hip and screeched, “NOOO!” 

That did it.  That “NO” sent me straight over the edge.  Without even thinking and without a moment’s hesitation I snatched the toy from the floor and instructed my husband to remove the truck to the garage.  My hubby/henchman hesitated only for the merest of seconds because the look he saw in my eyes let it be known I was not to be crossed!  Logan howled, not from surprise or even sadness at the loss of his favorite dump truck, but in fury!  I pointed to his dear frog pillow and said, “Put it on your bed” and again I heard, “NNNOOO!”  I picked up the toy and handed it to my husband.  This went on for several minutes and several more toys until I grabbed Frank, beloved Frank; holy of all toys.  

                                                            I broke the boy with that move. 

Frank is about 30 years old.  He
was originally daddy's.

“NOT, Frank,” he wailed, tears welling up in his big, brown eyes.

“Then pick up these toys,” I replied with smug satisfaction.  Logan complied.

I then whirled and faced my greatest of foes; The Spasm.  I have oft times (Damn you, Madonna!) faced the Spasm on the battlefield and the best I could ever hope for was an uneasy truce. 

Today was going to be different.  Today I would have my victory!

            Porter glared up at me, looking very much like a determined, yet very young Clint Eastwood, minus pants.  No use starting soft with this one:  It was go big or go home.  I went straight for his most precious of possessions, a framed class picture hanging above his mattress.  I made a move for it and his eyes widened in shock.  It was a ballsy move on my part.  Luckily my gamble paid off.  Porter gave me one more glare and began slowly picking up the toys strewn haphazardly around the room.  Twenty minutes later the room looked empty but tidy, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Epilogue           
        The children are still “buying back” their stuff.  (They earn pennies by completing tasks and by being well behaved.)  Most of the toys that were taken have been purchased back and returned but the beds are still in pieces in my garage.  I honestly don’t know if they will be returned to the children or not.  Logan says he doesn’t want his bed back.  I sincerely hope to never have to relive that moment. I would like to think that we all learned something from that day but mostly it just reinforced the fact that I hate snow!