Not Parenting at its Finest

Yesterday was not parenting at its finest.

 My teenage son was sick with strep throat, so I worked from home in order to take him to the doctor, get meds and make sure he was okay. He was grumpy, but bearable.

However, when my 10-yr-old son returned home from school, that's when the fun began. Grumpy, sick, restless teenage son started messing with his little brother, who is notoriously short-fused.

Little brother lost his temper and kicked older brother in the knee ... older brother's inured knee. Older brother lost it and smacked younger brother back ... which had me jumping into the argument, yelling, the dog hurrying from the room due to all the angry noise.

Moments like these make me wonder what I'm doing wrong. or right.
Am I raising heathens?
How much to punish, who to punish?
What could I have done preventably to keep this from happening in the first place?
Is it even possible to keep this from happening?
Why are boys so physical?

Please tell me other people have moments like this with their children.

Moments where they want to tear out their hair and lock up their kids in the closet and seal their mouths with duct tape.

Parenting it hard, yo.



 

The Worrying Never Ends

When you become a parent, you become skilled at the Art of Worrying.

You worry whether you're eating the right things 

caring for the baby growing inside you.

You worry the baby is getting enough to eat 

and worry why he's crying when he's a newborn.

You worry he's growing and progressing at a normal rate 

as he becomes a toddler.

You worry he will adjust to school, that he'll make friends and do well.

The worrying never ends.

You worry about new things every year.

My first born son is just months away from turning 15 years old...

and my new worry?

Driving.

He'll start learning to drive.

Heaven help me.  

The worrying never ends.

What are you current worries?

A Fitting Tale

In this photo, my 14 yr old son is mowing, 

wearing shorts that he bought with his own money. 

Money he earned mowing.

Fitting, yes?

Do you have your children do chores?

Do you pay them?

If Parenting were a Sport

I saw MamaKat tweet a comment that got me to thinking.

She said, "If parenting were a sport, I would be an Olympic athlete."

And it got me to thinking.

If parenting were a sport, 

it'd be an obstacle course, downhill ski, and marathon 

all-in-one.

You'd start off blindfolded too. 

You would think you new the course ahead of time 

but it could change AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT.

And things could be thrown at you as you barrel down deep slopes and you have to deflect them.

And people can hurl insults at you...

or advice on how to finish, 

and you can ignore or listen.

You never know which advice might be useful 

or which is designed to trip you up 

or is useless.

It's a sport you think you can train for, but you really can't.

and each person's course is completely different...so you can't cheat.

It's the ultimate sport.

Some people compete in teams...couples or groups of family or friends...

You have no idea how long the race will last, but it's a marathon of epic proportions.

Face it, you'll get dirty, you'll sweat and bleed, but

as you clear each obstacle, the reward would be worth it. 

Each and every time.

The Complexity of a Seven-Year-Old

Before you read this post, you need to know:
These photo were taken LAST YEAR.





Remy is a natural at sports.
He loves playing all sports.
He's played soccer, baseball & basketball for several years now.

Well, this winter, it came time to sign up for baseball.
So, I signed him up, like always.





Then, a couple of weeks ago, it was time for the first practice.
And Remy informed me he did NOT want to play baseball.
He told me he hated baseball.
He said I forced him to sign up.

I was confused.
Is this not the same child who loved baseball last year?
And the year before?
And the year before?

The same child who has played baseball for three years and excels at it?






Apparently.

Well, I talked him into going to the first practice...but I couldn't take him because I had to work.
His dad took him.
And it did not go well.

He spent the entire practice under a park bench crying.
My husband had gotten him there a few minutes late, which if you know Remy at all, you know he HATES being late. And this was a new team, he didn't know anyone. So, he was uncomfortable. All those things combined made for an unhappy Remy unwilling to try.

And after that, he said NO MORE BASEBALL.






But, with a mother's intuition, I knew I had to keep trying.

I bribed him.
I said, "Remy, if you try one practice and one game, I'll buy you that Indiana Jones Lego kit you want."

After some hedging...and perhaps me pulling up said lego kit on Amazon to temp him...he agreed.

And yesterday was another practice.
He went.
He played.
He played REALLY well.
He got his uniform.
He liked it.

"Mama, I love baseball."





Why does parenting have to be so complicated?!