(...from, How to Train Your Dragon, by Cressida Cowell)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes I get SO frustrated because I can't figure out what's happening to one of my children (it's usually just one at a time), that I get to a point of giving up.
Giving up looks like this in my world: First, I beg for an explanation. (From a child, mind you, who is intellectually unable to give one). Second, I bang a few pots and pans as I'm emptying the dishwasher, or throw a couple of shoes on the floor with a satisfying amount of OOMPH packed behind my pounding.
Next comes the stomping and ranting. That seems to be the family "favorite"-- and by favorite I mean most terrifying. At this point, they all scatter like centipedes when you turn on the light. You would think that, at this point, when things are all quiet and everyone is invisible, I'd calm down. But no.
Instead, the fact that I'm being ignored only adds fuel to my internal fire/external fury. NOT a good combo. My mind goes right to the same, sad place every time: "If they're going to ignore me, I'll just ignore them".
And so I do. Most of the time, I go into my room, lock the door and cry--really cry--for a good, long time. I lick my wounds and feel the world turning it's back on me. Then, after my wallow, comes my most dreaded part of the entire process: the guilt.
The guilt is, by far, The Worst piece of this oft repeated cycle. Ultimately, I reach the point I wish I could reach long about part 1 1/2: I need to get my shit together, quit feeling sorry for myself, grow-up and just be the adult here.
Kids need their parents to pay attention and BE THERE. It's not rocket science. And yet, for some reason, getting past my own needs, even after 14 years of parenthood, is so very difficult.
It's my fatal flaw and a mortal sin. (Okay, I'm Catholic, but my definitions of 'mortal' vs 'venial' are cloudy...maybe it's venial...). Parents are supposed to give themselves to their children entirely, right? I am right here, aren't I? At the very least, parents should tune-in often enough, to know that, when something weird is going on with one of their children, something needs to be done. Right away. That means putting down whatever I'm doing, stop whatever is happening in my life, and look my child in the eye and communicate.
Books and classes told me this when I had little babies--but obviously I didn't pay close enough attention--I thought I could take a little 'mental break' at these points of the lectures, since I knew I had this particular parenting base covered. No child of mine would steal second without me noticing and perfectly achieving the early cut-off. That in-born, supernatural connection I have with my children was my shortstop--my guarantee I'd never fail.
Man, was I wrong. Lately our family is suffering a lot from my ugly cycle of fury--the indoor thunderstorm we can't shelter ourselves from. I think I'm slowly, painfully coming to realize that I'm not the ultra-connected Mom I just took for granted that I naturally was. God gave me 5 perfectly good senses to use when things get tough. Sight, Touch and Sound would come in especially handy about now.
If I'd merely get off my butt, open my eyes, listen to my child's words and take him or her in my arms and just LOVE, that innate 6th sense might actually kick-in. Duh.
In the meantime, the children will act in even more outrageous ways--be more disrespectful to me and cruel to each other--until I give them what they need and what they are simply unable to verbalize: they need my attention. They'll take the lightning and thunder I dish-out, because, at least it's a sign that I'm there--giving them something. And something, even if it's a storm--or maybe just the calm that follows-- is better than giving up and giving them nothing at all.
