As a Mom you are always questioning if the decisions you are making today will have positive outcomes for your children’s future.
I don’t know if having my boys in tae kwon do at such an early age is the right decision. I have a bunch of logical reasons to keep them in it. Structure, channeling high energy into something good and enforcing respect, good behavior and manners are all elements of tae kwon do that I like.
Am I asking too much of them? On the days that T.Puzzle fights me to go to practice, will he have permanent psychological scars? Will he never be able to be in a room with a person wearing a colored belt without breaking into a sweat of fear? Is he doomed to a life of wearing only suspenders?
I. Don’t. Know.
I do know I have seen his confidence improve and it is finally clicking that the color of the belts is meaningful.
He rightfully earned his yellow belt.
Yes he is proud and so am I. Does that make it right for a three year old?
Like nails on a chalkboard. That’s the only way I can describe T.Puzzle’s onslaught of questions concerning his assorted punishments. I picked him up from school and when it was time to go, he decided that he wasn’t in the mood. He dragged his sorry self down the hallway and folded into a heap of sorrow about half-way down. I informed him that he would lose his crocs for tomorrow and would be sent to his room when we returned home. He screamed at top volume all the way home. This only lengthened the amount of time he would be spending in his room, expedited his bedtime hour and contributed to a loss of his other privileges.
After I managed to get Full Speed off to tae kwon do with Mad Dog, I allowed a seemingly defeated T.Puzzle to come to the table for dinner.
“Why can’t I have my Thomas (the Train) color book?”
“Why can’t I have my animals?”
“Why can’t I have my crocs?”
“Why can’t I have a treat?”
“Why can’t I watch TV?”
“Why can’t I stay up late?”
“Why? Why? Why?”
I tried to ignore him, but my ears couldn’t take it. Not after all the high-volume screaming they had already endured. I tried to tell him to be quiet. I tried to calmly explain the reasons for the loss of his privileges.
We were at Epcot for the day. The weather was pitch perfect, the boys well-behaved and we were having a marvelous time. Mad Dog insisted one of our first stops was Epcot’s Test Track. I remember Test Track from a past trip and let’s just say, I’m not a fan. Mad Dog and I had taken Full Speed along with my nieces and brother-in-law about two years ago. Here is the photo of me completely relaxed and enjoying the ride:
Yes, I'm that big of a scaredy-cat
Fast forward two years and now Mad Dog wants to take both my boys. Was he serious? Yep. He instructed me to go sit at the exit by the gift shop (of course the exit is by a gift shop). I did so and ordered my mind not to think about how frightening I found the ride as a grown adult. I ignored the instinct to grab my three year old T.Puzzle and run for the hills. I sat quietly and I waited.
That’s when it began. The mind-numbing roar of the test cars on the track overhead. Each sounded like a freight train colliding with a Mack truck. Oh, and then there were the piteous screams of the helpless passengers spilling over and making me feel very, very nauseous.
Okay. I can do this. I can pretend to be a rational Mommy and wait patiently.
Roar. Scream.
Roar. Scream.
By this time my anxiety had reached full throttle. My stomach was in knots. A kid next to me joked that it was taking so long for his older brother to emerge because someone must have been flung from a car.
Roar. Scream.
At that point I almost lost it.
Another fifteen minutes passed and keep in mind, my boys supposedly had fast passes to this ride. I think I aged about thirty years as I waited for their ride to be over.
Finally, I saw them.
They were perfectly fine. T.Puzzle cried a little at the end (the scariest portion), insisted he would not be riding it again and was quite proud of himself. I pretended to be all calm and collected. I congratulated him and let him have him his moment.
Looks like my boy is growing up. Unfortunately, this feels a whole lot scarier to me than any ride in the world.
I was at my book club last night discussing our latest novel when I brought up the subject of a bucket list. The themes of the story we read appropriately sparked asking the group ‘what’s on your bucket list?’ Most had an idea and most were travel related.
I had nothing. I have no list. I can only think as far as to what to feed my kids for their next meal.
My husband has dreams and goals. Some are football related, others have to do with career success and preparing for our family’s financial future.
Even my boys are goal-directed. T.Puzzle is looking forward to going to kindergarten when the time comes and Full-Speed has his sights set on learning to read and write (or his version of writing).
And, me? I got nothing.
I have nowhere to travel (the thought overwhelms me, who would watch my kids anyway? And to take them with? That’s not travel, that’s what we call ‘over-time’ in Mommy-speak), no career goals (unless you count keeping my children alive on a daily basis as a goal) and no idea what my future holds.
This is not a complaint. It is an observation. Motherhood inevitably blurs the line of your identity with your children. You are forced to put yourself on the back burner. I understand that and it has taken many years (some days are better than others mind you) to be at peace with it.
So essentially what I’m saying is, for the sake and value of my own self, that my number one item on my bucket list is to…
Among close friends and family I am considered a bit of a drill sergeant when it comes to discipline. My decisions on structure and punishment are based on the temperaments of my boys. They are extremely assertive, directive, confident and obstinately stubborn. If I don’t establish my role as an authority figure now, where will I be in five years? How about ten?
Disciplining is not fun. A lot of the rules I make are very unpopular.
For the most part my diligence to rules and consequences has paid off. It’s been exhausting and even harrowing at times, but it seems to have set a good foundation for my boys.
I need to take it to the next level. Full Speed and T.Puzzle follow rules fairly well. It’s their respect of authority that needs some tweaking. They apparently did not get them memo that they are children. Therefore other adults, including myself, are not their peers.
To achieve a stronger sense of authority with my boys I put some new rules in place.
They are pretty simple really. If Full Speed gives me what we refer to as a ‘stinky face’ he goes to bed before little T.Puzzle.
Stinky Face in the house!
If little T.Puzzle tells me ‘no!’ to any of my requests throughout the day, he loses the privilege of wearing his beloved crocs for a day.
The real kickers are my rules about sibling expectations. Anyone who comes to me to complain or report of a fight gets sent to their room, as well as their brother, for five minutes. It doesn’t matter who starts it, who does what or who tells on whom. Both boys are sent off with no trial and no questions. If this happens three times in one day they lose their privilege of a show and and a treat.
Let me tell you, Full Speed is not happy. He has already informed me that my new rules are ‘too hard!’ and ‘that he doesn’t want to be in this family anymore’.
One of the most challenging tenets of motherhood is to learn that it’s not my job to make my kids happy. It’s to make them be responsible for themselves and their actions.
Wish me luck! Now that I’ve publicly posted this for all two of you to read, I guess I have to stick to my guns. Anyone happen to have that Betty Ford number on hand by the way?
Rules are hard. First time-out of the day for a sibling infraction. It was only 7 a.m.
As a Mom you are always questioning if the decisions you are making today will have positive outcomes for your children’s future.
