Worst. Mother. Ever.
Apparently, that’s my title this week. The King of Everything is the most drama-ridden not-even-14 year old who ever rode in on the Pre-K Express, and it’s all my fault. Or it’s his grammy’s fault. Or it’s his Grandpa’s fault. I could play pop psychologist and surmise that he’s angry and sad and hurt that his father doesn’t live in this country. Or I could just label him a PITA and we’ll all just hunker down and pray for the sunshiny boy to reemerge. Soon. Please.
I don’t know if this is a developmental stage kids his age go through, but damn, can that boy argue. Everything. Anything. At the drop of a hat. If he gets angry about something, and wants to hit and throw a tantrum? Well then, it’s my fault and I made him do it. Because I made him angry. Perfect, circular logic. It’s inescapable. It’s infuriating. It’s it’s it’s
welcome to life with a four year old.
I think the highlight of the weekend found me standing on the sidewalk on Pennsylvania Avenue in a crowded, weekend spot, with my arms up in the air and all my packages in disarray on the ground. The King of Everything stood at sullen attention with his temple pressed up against the glass of a popular eatery. i went over his options one more time. He could a) eat lunch at a restaurant and then we would go to the park or he could b) choose a takeout lunch that we would share immediately upon arriving at the park or some other pleasant dining location, and then he could play in the park or c) he could keep whining and pouting and throwing a fit and we’d go straight home, do not pass Go, do not collect $200, and he could eat lunch at home and take a nap.
And if he didn’t choose one of those three by the time I counted to five, I would choose for him. And he wouldn’t like what I chose.
I couldn’t believe he had reduced me to an exasperated, frustrated, eye-rolling, sparks shooting out of my hair woman.
We finally made it to the park, watched the fathers play with their kids until the afternoon crowd descended and our single parent family weirdness wasn’t as obvious in the crowded park. he played for three hours. THREE HOURS.
And still threw a fit when it was time to go home. So I simply took him by the hand and led him away.
“You’re not being nice to me!” he screamed. “You’re making me angry! You’re not fair! I don’t want to leave the park!” he howled. I hung on and grimly death marched the freaking out child away from all the cool, collected, two-parent families watching the spectacle with expressions of pathos and distain. “I will never get to go to the park again!” he wailed at me.
God help me, but I agreed with him. “You’re right, babe. I’m a mean, horrible, nasty mother who never lets you do anything, go anywhere, have anything. You will never get to go to the park or the theater or a friend’s house again. I guess you’ll just have to sit in your room for the rest of your life and deal with your mean old mom.” He stared at me with wide eyes.
“For real?”
“Well, dear, you tell me. Is that what you want? Is that really how you live?” He hung his head.
“No.”
“Cause if you want a mean mama, that can be arranged. Do you want me to be a mean mama?” He shook his head. No.
I suspect we’re going to have another week of do-overs, scenes, screams, and generally irrational behavior. And I think the Kid’s going to be a handful, too.
Tags: boys, four-year-olds, manipulation, parenting, playground-politics, positive-parenting, sanity, single-mom, single-mother, temper-tantrums, toddlers
6 opinions for Worst. Mother. Ever.
Jennifer
Sep 10, 2007 at 9:31 pm
Hang in there. Cedar went through a scene like that at age four where I thought one of us might be done in. Seriously whining every hour. But now he’s a nice chill six year old (mostly). knock knock.
Betsy
Sep 10, 2007 at 11:10 pm
I’ve actually turned this into a game and stock saying at my house: “Why, YES - I AM the meanest mom in the whole wide world! And I’m going for the gold medal!”
My young daughter - the accuser - would end up giggling, turning it into a contest where I was in a race with other people, and I’d come in first at the end. Or, if she really wanted to show me up, I wouldn’t win the race, wouldn’t get the gold medal.
Now, they both just roll their eyes and back away from whatever point they thought they were trying to make..!
christina
Sep 11, 2007 at 12:05 am
yes, Betsy, its sheer brilliance isn’t it? I’m often Grumpy Mama, a boy-eating kissy monster who growls and grumps and pouts and chases him around til he screams with delight. Just the mere mention of Grumpy Mama will make him giggle and smile with anticipation. Kids. What nuts.
heather
Sep 11, 2007 at 12:00 pm
Oh my yes. We’ve had those kinds of tantrums. OFTEN. I’ve been the meanest, most hated mom ever. Yep. :P
And then they surprise you. We were at a community picnic the other week, and we were next to a table where a mom spanked and yelled at her kid. I felt sad that T had to see that. And as she was dragging her kids off in a huff, he turned to me and said loudly, “Wow, that was a MEAN mom. I’m glad you’re not that mom. You’re a neece [nice - don’t ask me where that pronunication came from, it was the only time he’s used it] mom.”
Kids have a sense of moral relativism, too.
Hang in there. :)
christina
Sep 11, 2007 at 1:41 pm
OO! Heather, you’re a genius! LOL all I have to do is find some mother who’s really wailing on her kids and I’ll look like Mother of the Year!!
GRIN. Thanks for the reality check. I’m sorry you get a ballot cast in the worst mom competition sometimes, too.
navi
Sep 14, 2007 at 9:44 pm
My daughter turned on me at 4 (she’s 9 now). still the happy kid. but seriously meltdown city (and her daddy is still married to me and lives with us). Prior to age 4 she was a wonderful child, who did what she was asked and didn’t get into thing she wasn’t supposed to, and so long as I didn’t take her to the clothing or shoe section of a store, there were never any tantrums (I couldn’t go through the clothing or shoe section without buying her something but she’d look at all the toys, hold the package in her hand, and put it right back on the shelf - she was an odd one). On the odd occasion she might have a tantrum, it consisted of her covering her face with her hands, or carefully laying herself on the floor, and then getting back up. She was a bit whiny at 3 and half but ‘use your words’ fixed it. I was pretty sure her greatness was due to my great parenting - age 4 was a wake up call.
Now, my son is 4, almost 5, and autistic, and my first thought when reading your post was - wow, I don’t even really know what that’s like… but then, I guess I did, about 5 years ago.
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