Thursday, May 7, 2015

I helped at the Mother's day stall to make up for my other crap parenting of the week.

I helped at the Primary school Mother’s day stall yesterday. Stop laughing. I did.

I helped at the Mother’s day stall mostly because my kids were really excited to see me do it. Also, Helping at the Mother’s day stall kind of balanced out all of the other crap parenting stuff I had done during the week.

Like when I told my kid that Gymnastics didn’t start back until next week, which was a massive lie. Gymnastics was on, it was full of chipper children, tumbling and coming three cm away from kicking each other in the face all over the place, but I had a headache and REALLY couldn’t bring myself to sit through it for two hours.

Or like when the particularly competitive child lost a game of FIFA on the play station, and he cried and yelled and threw his controller and told everyone to get out of his room at the top of his lungs. He then went on to scream about everything he hates, which apparently includes me, peas, his bed, this house, wearing a uniform to school, our car and going to IGA.

I told him that there was no more PlayStation ever, and even as the words came out of my mouth I knew I could never back that up. That’s shit parenting right there. Empty threats are no one’s friend when it comes to discipline. I had said it though, so I took the controller to show that I was somewhat serious.

The next day, he did his chores with no complaint or prompting. He then finished his homework, fed his guinea pig in a similar fashion and proceeded to sheepishly ask if he could play his PlayStation.
I conveyed in child friendly terms that he could fucking forget it, and then he then began to beg. Eventually the begging got so annoying and desperate and uncomfortable to watch, like his little fists were balled and held in a prayer like ensemble. He was on the spot jumping with the despondency of the situation, his brows were furrowed and his eyes pleading for mercy.

Fuck, it was so annoying. I said the usual parenting lines... like; 

“Well you should have thought about that before you carried on” and 

“Games should be fun, it didn’t appear to me like you were having any fun at all with the way you were carrying on” and 

“It’s not OK to behave like that”.

Eventually he resorted to “But Maaaaam” to everything I said...



Yeah, like that.

Do you know how fucking irritating that is? Children do, that’s why they do it, and eventually it wears you down. 

I tried to ignore it by putting my headphones in my ears and listened to my iPod to drown it out, but... and here’s the thing. We got a new cat… His name is Edward Sheeran, and he is divinely cute, Look at him in his little crochet mullet….



But that gorgeous little kitty face chewed through my earphones so only one earbud was working, so every song I listened to sounded like a remix of “But Maaaaam”

The Hilltop Hoods Walking Under Stars remixed with But Maaaam, Cindy Lauper’s body acoustic duet with “But Maaaaam” Grizzlee Train’s EP FEAT “BUT MAAAAARRRRM” 

I just couldn’t hack it. I am only human. So I had a small internal emotional episode and I told the kid that he could play the PlayStation for half an hour ONLY if he could do it without carrying on, and to be sure he knew how to do that, he first had to write me a one page essay on 

Why it is not OK to carry on while playing the PlayStation

His essay had to include;
The definition and examples  of ‘Carrying on’
The reasons that he ‘Carried on’
Whose fault it was that he was that he ‘Carried on’
What would be a better way to handle the situation the next time he felt the need to ‘Carry On?’
The conclusion had to contain an apology to me.

I admit, it was half ass parenting at its best. I mean, I could explain and dissect his behaviour, get him to take a look at his actions and help him develop skills that would make him less of a fucking sore loser, but... For crying out loud... I am not Saint Joe-Fucking-Frost, I am a human being and I have feelings and needs and I REALLY just wanted to have a coffee, get dinner on and for everyone to just shut the fuck up and leave me alone for five minutes.

*Heavy breathing.

I figured that getting him to write an essay dissecting his own damned behaviour would get the same result and I would get some quiet time to start dinner and have a coffee. 

Winning.

SO anyway, he was so desperate to play FIFA, that he ran off to get a paper and a pen and he began scrawling immediately. About half an hour later he returned with his essay, which... to be honest was a bit shit bless him. He started off strong with his definition and his explaination that he could only blame himself as he chose to react to losing a game of FIFA by, and I quote;

~going off my chops.
But the apology part was a bit half ass, and was pretty much just SORRY MUM, in really big letters to take up the rest of the page. 

Whatever… It was good enough, it was also very insightful and FLIPPING HILARIOUS. So I filed it away in the stuff I want to keep forever so that I can re-read it when they finally move out and I miss them annoying me all the time.

Tomorrow is another day yeah?


2 comments:

Cara McKee said...

I love that you got him to write an essay. That is the best thing I've heard in ages and is going into my extreme parenting arsenal. My son probably hates you, but doesn't know it yet. :-D

Pinky Poinker said...

My threat was always, "Right, that's it. You don't get Maccas on Friday night." Friday night was my night off cooking so I was really punishing myself. It was a quandary. Be a good parent or be a lazy arse. I only ever carried through once and the tantrum was not even worth it. #1 as to why I failed as a parent.