What Happened?

When B was little she wasn't your typical toddler.  She very rarely had tantrums and she was such a pleaser.  She would do whatever I asked with very little complaint.  I mean, don't get me wrong, she had her share of tantrums, but they were very rare (or maybe I just blocked out all of them) but ultimately, she was a very easy kid.

I never bragged about it, but The Doctor and I were very pleased with our parenting skills.

"Parenting has nothing to do with it," my Mom told me one day.  "You are just lucky because you have an easy child. She has such a mild personality and is a pleaser.  Not every kid is like that."

"Yeah, ok," I scoffed to myself.

M came along and she was very easy too.  She went through the Terrible Threes and the Ferocious Fours, but after that, it was easy sailing.  L came along and once again, we breezed through.

For years, I felt like I was an awesome Mom.  Sure, I had my faults, but I worked on them.  I hated yelling, so I stopped.  For 15 months I stopped yelling.  It was wonderful!  I felt so proud of myself.  You can see my progress at the earlier blog entries, because that was the sole reason why I started this blog.  I figured I needed to keep track of what caused me to yell and I wanted to keep a record of days that I didn't yell.

I loved being a Mom who was effective without yelling.  It made me feel on top of the world and I discovered finding the fun in everything was a lot more, well, fun.  It lasted until one fateful day in March when I decided I would teach the girls how to ride their bikes.  Not only did I fail miserably, but I yelled in a way that I thought I wouldn't ever do again.  It was just so frustrating that they weren't even trying.  All 3 of them were so scared of falling that they barely even tried and I was so angry that they were letting their fears get in the way of trying. You know, this is the first time that I used the word "angry" when I tell this story.  Usually I use the word "frustrated" or "annoyed" but truthfully, the correct word is angry.  I was angry that they were as old as they were and they still couldn't ride bikes.  I felt like I failed them because other kids their ages could ride and had been riding for years and isn't it a childhood pastime to learn how to ride a bike?  Was I a failure of a Mom for not teaching them?  I certainly felt like it at the time and then I yelled and all of my hard work fell apart.

"Mommy!" gasped M. "You yelled!!"

"Yes, and I'm sorry," I said.  "It's OK.  I can start over."

It has been almost 4 years and I still haven't had more than 2 weeks of not yelling.

(For the record, they still can't ride bikes. They can do lots of other things, though, so we'll just focus on that.)

Still, despite the yelling, I felt pretty good about my parenting skills.  Even when B entered the dreaded teenager years and I started receiving eye rolls, heavy sighs, and stomp offs.

Then, last year, we started our move and The Doctor started work in our new hometown, almost 300 miles away.  The girls and I moved in with my parents and we went from seeing The Doctor every day to twice a month.  We talked on the phone and texted daily, but not seeing him everyday was hard.  Being uprooted was hard. I found myself giving in to the girls more often and being a lot more lenient with them.  I felt bad that the majority of their things were in storage and that rules changed because living in my parents' house meant we followed their rules.

A few months in to living with my parents, I saw a change in the girls. I know it was because I had changed and I was not happy with it.  I always thought if I was put into the role of a single Mom I'd have the strength to continue parenting the way I had, and I felt weak because that wasn't the case.

Everyone noticed.  My Mom pointed out to me that L was arguing about everything.  The Doctor's Dad pointed out that L cried every time I tried to discipline her and B had a bad attitude.

"It's OK," I said calmly. "It'll all change once we move into our own house and we get settled."

We moved in to our new house last August.  We have been settled for 6 months and yet I still feel like my footing isn't any better.

L argues about everything.  The girl is 9, but I think she is trying to emulate B. If I tell her something, I immediately get backlash and an argument. I pointed this out to her a few days ago, and she even argued about that!

"Do you realize everything I say to you is met with an argument?" I asked her.

"No it's not," she retorted.

"Yes,  it is!" I exclaimed.  "You're even arguing about arguing!"

The other day, on our way to the bus stop, we were talking about a retreat she is going on this weekend and I was reading her the packing list.

". . . sports equipment for free time. Well, you don't have sports equipment, but you can bring a card game."

"I have sports equipment," she said. "I can bring my soccer ball.  I need to practice my skills, anyway,"

"I don't want you to bring your soccer ball," I explained. "It's too big to fit in your bag."

"Well, then, you can buy me some tennis balls," she argued.

"I'm not buying you tennis balls," I sighed.

"Well then everyone is going to think you are CHEAPSKATE!" she shouted. "They will all have sports equipment and I'll ask to share and they'll say, 'L why didn't you bring your own?' and I will say, 'Because my Mom wouldn't buy me tennis balls' and they will say, 'Well, she's a cheapskate'!"

"I don't really care what people think of me," I said, calmly. "You don''t have to bring sports equipment, but you can bring the game UNO.  That's a very nice game to play during quiet time."

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLAY UNO!!!" she roared.

She yelled this so loudly, the girl across the street walking to the bus stop too stopped and looked at her.  As we crossed the street, A said, "L, you don't know how to play UNO? I know how to play.  It's a really fun game."

"Huh, look at that," I said to L as we walked to the corner. "A knows how to play UNO but I wonder how she knew you don't know how to play."

"Because I shouted it, OK?" whined L.

Then, I noticed that she had her lunchbox with her.  Side Story: One of the rules in our house is the girls have to clean out their lunchboxes when they get home from school, otherwise they end up having to buy lunch the next day.  L hadn't cleaned out her lunchbox the night before and as we were leaving for the bus stop I told her she was going to have to buy lunch.

"L, why do you have your lunchbox?" I asked her.

"Oh!" she laughed. "It's a habit to take it.  Can you bring it home?"

"Of course," I answered.

"But wait, can I just take these?" she asked, grabbing her 3 Beanie Boo Dog keychains she has attached to the lunchbox.

"No, you may not," I told her, because the last time she took one off on the bus she lost it.  She ended up getting it back from a friend who took it for her, but for 2 days she thought it was gone and she was devastated.

"But MOMMY!" she stormed. "I don't have anything to do on the bus because I didn't bring a book! Please!!!"

I told her several times that I had already given her my answer and she should have thought about not having anything to do on the bus when she took her book out of her backpack.

"It's not my fault," she said tearfully.

"Really?" I asked. "I think you need a lesson in what personal responsibility is."

"I know what personal responsibility is," she whined. "It's taking responsibility for your actions but this isn't MY FAULT!"

I told her if she really wanted the Beanie Boos she would have to take the entire lunchbox with her.

"What?? Why would I do that?!?" she exclaimed.  "It's a dirty lunchbox!  I might forget and take it to lunch and then I'll have nothing to eat!!!"

"Well, if it's that important to you to take the Beanie Boos, that's the only way you can do it," I said, calmly.  At this point, we had quite the audience, with other kids and parents looking.

L was full out crying and I was feeling a little bad.  I mean, was it really a big deal if she took the Beanie Boos off the lunchbox?  But, I had already said no and if I changed my mind it would just perpetuate the arguing I get from her, so I was going to stand firm with my answer.

"FINE!" she sobbed and she took the lunchbox from me.  I gave her a hug, told her I loved her, and to be spectacular and she went to join the kids in the line to get on to the bus.  All of a sudden, I heard her say, "Here" and she handed me her lunchbox as she skulked off, crying.

I hated sending her to school in tears, but at the same time, I think it was important that I stuck to my guns.

She was perfectly fine after school, like nothing happened that morning at all and I didn't bring it up.

As we were getting ready to leave the house for the bus stop yesterday morning, she turned to me and said, "I'm really sorry for how I behaved yesterday morning."

"Thank you," I replied giving her a hug. "I really appreciate that."

So, I handled that entire event without yelling because we had an audience.  And then last night, I felt my face get angry after I had tucked her in to bed because as I walked past her desk I saw she left all the scraps from what she had been cutting sitting on the floor.  I walked back to her room, pushed opened her door, and yelled at her about the scraps.

"Do you think someone is just going to come up behind you picking up things you leave on the floor?!?"

"No," she whimpered.  Sitting up in bed, hugging a stuffed animal, and looking scared.

Then, for good measure, I yelled at M because her room and bathroom were a complete mess and I had told her she needed to get it cleaned up by tomorrow morning.  She looked like she was going to cry. (B wasn't left out, I had already yelled at her for watching TV instead of doing her chores.  You know, just in case you thought I played favorites and chose her for the night.)

The Doctor is out of town and he happened to be on the phone to hear me yell at both girls.

"Ugh!" I said to him as I was going downstairs. "I'm so tired of this. I just can't anymore."

"You're burnt out," he said. "I get it."

"I'm not burnt out," I said. "But I feel like I lost the Mom I used to be and I don't know how to get back to her."

Y'all, I don't want to be this Mom.  I'm so sick and tired of yelling, of seeing the looks of sadness and fright when I yell.

My Dad is a yeller, both of my parents are actually, but what I remember is when my Dad yelled, his face would get red and scrunched up and he would look really angry and scary.  That's how my face was last night.

I'm tired of feeling inferior.  I miss the Mom I used to be.  I know I can get back to being fun and joyful. I just have to figure out how.