As I said in my last post, my son and I are currently on good terms. Like, really good terms. He does what he's asked, he doesn't complain (as much), he works his little tush off at school, brushes his teeth without having to be asked, etc. He told me just the other day, "mom, I've noticed that when I do what you say, it makes my life easier."
Well shit, son, glad you finally figured that out. I looked to the sky and said a silent prayer...thank you, Jesus. I know it won't last forever but, for now, I'm thankful.
My daughter, on the other hand, is a pistol. What scares me the most is that she reminds me of....me. Parental karma's a bitch?
Up until recently, she was connected to my hip, my BFF, my girlie girl pride and joy.
And then she turned eight.
Before then, the parental don't fuck with me "look" worked gloriously for both my kids. If you're a parent, you probably know exactly what that "look" is. I could give my kids the DFWM look and they'd run away screaming "OK mom! I'll do whatever you say!"
A few weeks ago my daughter came home with a teenager attitude, so I told her to go to her room to cool off. She looked me straight in the eye, stood her ground, and said "no."
Um OK, I'll say it again with some fluff: go to your room or you're grounded.
"No." Notice there is no exclamation point here.
Go to your room or...or....or...I'll take away your computer and TV privileges for a week!
I'm thinking, yeah, that'll get her. I'm totally rocking this parental thing.
Oh shit. Ohhhhhh shit.
This is where I started to hyperventilate. My eight year old daughter is winning this battle. Wasn't this not supposed to start until she's a teenager?
The first thought that came to mind was, obviously, oh shit (nice, Tasha). The next thought was...what do I dooooooooo? I don't know what to doooooo!
I can't threaten to take her down (although I wanted to, gulp). I *could* pick her up and physically take her to her room, but probably not the smartest choice. Plus, what am I going to do when she's 16? She'd beat the crap out of me - the girl is a tough chick, even now.
This is when I started Googling and read every parenting book I could get my hands on on how to raise a respectful, kind, thoughtful kid...peacefully.
I got a few hours in and...god, I'm a shitty parent compared to these advice people.
Where's my martini?
What is with my kids? I think they secretly conjure up plans between themselves to take turns being a-holes to me. One's great, and the other one thinks I'm his or her worst enemy. A few months later, the enemy and I are BFF's again and the nice kid is now the crazy one.
At eight and ten, my kids are still fairly young. I know I have a loooooooong way to go. Breathe.
Speaking of crazy...maybe it's not my kids. Maybe I'm the crazy one. Maybe.
My daughter is fearless, and my son is going to be a black belt in Tae Kwon Do in a year. God help me.
If you don't hear from me in the next six months, send a police car. And a straight jacket. And maybe some wine.