My wife works. Despite the benefits of her semi-flexible work schedule, she still has to put in time caring for sick kids and their abhorrent parents on the occasional weekend. No, I’m not making a general statement about the parents of sick kids here, I am simply referring to the ones I hear stories about from my wife, who is very selective about what she brings home from work. And those particular parents paint many others with their misbehavior, the same as could be said about the silicone-laden pharmaceutical representatives who make my own work more challenging. But I digress.
She works on the occasional Sunday, leaving our kids with me in, again, questionable care. A friend described her family to me last night as having “2 boys, 3 if you count my husband, and I do.” It hit home, as I realized that my wife had married with her heart and not with her head in many cases as well. And being a kid at heart, my child-rearing skills sometimes…lack. Sure, I think I am a good father, but I watch other parents perform these attitude-corralling feats with much greater skill, and I haven’t yet discovered their secrets.
So that brings us to Sunday mornings. Days with so much promise, and yet they are built on emotional and behavioral eggshells these days. One 5 year old, one two year old, one 41 year old. One highly spirited kindergärtner, one fairly standard two year old ball of energy with his father’s suspect agility, and one 12 year old father of two simply trying to move from meal to activity, to snack, to activity, repeat.
They are wonderful at 6am, I will admit. Full of love and kisses, smiles and optimism. My 6am coffee and Facebook are the creme on top, and the day ahead seems open and laden with promise. A cup of milk, a snack, a show.
And then, 7:30. The screams, the accident, the backtalk, the terrorized dog, the fit, the tears.
Where is the damn manual for all of this? I can Google a how-to for a toaster whose blueprint hit the dumpster 40 years ago, but getting through a Sunday…no one seems to have a damn clue. Maybe that supernanny broad can help me out.
I know what the answer is, clearly…activities, keep them busy, blah blah. And as I sit here trying to write one damn post this week and actually have a few minutes to myself, I am back and forth to the kitchen to address the screaming and pouting more often than a OCD home pharmacist checking on his meth lab.
I mean, I can imagine that one would have to attend to one’s meth lab diligently…gulp…
I don’t know what the answer is, other than getting off the computer and attending to my kids’ needs. I sat with her this morning teaching her to draw her first third dimensional chair…she loves to draw and color, and I love to teach her. But even during a wonderful Daddy-Daughter activity, she managed to throw two fits for not getting her way about the silliest of things.
I’m doing something wrong. Or I’m simply expecting too much. Or I’m just too flippin’ controlling. But maybe I’m also doing a great job just because I care about doing better.
Regardless, it’s 8am. Three tantrums, one revelation, and one very long day ahead. One very long, exhausting, frustrating, wonderful day ahead.
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
That’s a pretty amazing first 3 dimensional object!
I don’t consider a day successful without at least 5 tantrums.
Oh I have to tell you that it should get better as they get older! Mine didnt start the temper tantrums til 9am!!
Meth lab?
I find complete submission is the only answer. Multi-tasking is impossible and only leads to more frustration and tears. Usually mine. You should see the hand-crafted suspension bridge Oldest and I made yesterday while Daddy was off playing golf. It’s NASCAR Dads’ days out today, and the boys and I have a birthday party at 2 – only 2 hours and 40 minutes to fill.
Drawbridge?
Hence why I’m only 1,200 words into the 50,000.
I’m f-ing nuts.
My kids were either at a sleep over or had a sleep over last night so that means no one actually slept. Makes for a day filled with tantrums. I’m thinking about locking myself in the bathroom.
Give up control. It’s hopeless. Mind you, I haven’t succeeded in taking this advice myself yet.
Wow- what weird timing for me to read this post. I have been so unhappy with the way I’ve been handling things with my very challenging six year-old. I beat myself up about it a lot, promise myself I’ll try harder tomorrow, the morning starts well and then, well, you know. Obviously.
I tried to give him some extra one and one tonight and he was really receptive. We actually talked about some things we could try. When I promised to spend less time on the computer, his eyes filled with tears. Not my proudest parenting moment, but definitely an eye-opener. I think I’ll be restructuring blogging time to strictly after bedtime, and stop wasting my time in political discourse or idle chat on Facebook.
But also, we’re all trying our asses off, and some days are better than others. Taking mine outside almost always improves things. You sound like a great dad- don’t be too hard on yourself! (They can smell fear.)
You just described my Mon.-Fri. Feel better now?
oh jay…you are a great dad!! we all have these struggles with our children. I nipped the tantrums in the bed when mine were tiny. they threw a fit….i walked away…a few minutes later,they came looking for me…threw a fit…i walked away…they soon learned that it didn’t make sense to throw a fit for no one
it’ll get easier as they get older, they wise up a lot!! 
hang in there, you’re doing great!!
“Spare the rod, spoil the child.” That either came from the bible or the Op. Ed. section of Soldier of Fortune, I don’t recall. Either way, children must be beaten into submission. Jay, please do not disclose my real identity to the DCFS, it really would ruin a good run.