For a little while they have stopped fighting. United by making a mess together. By the simple pleasure of creating a mess so spectacular that it will drive their mother insane.
I know that there is mess making afoot.
I can tell it will be momentous just by the sound of it.
But I ignore it.
The mess will still be there in five minutes time when the united front has dissolved and I am compelled to go in there and put distance between the screaming, jeering, girls and the boy with the mean left hook.
I know it is coming.
I can hear things beginning to break down.
I can hear the tones changing in their voices.
The exasperation with each other is growing by the second.
Before long a big girl will say something nasty to her sister or brother. The recipient of her poison tongue will lash out in retaliation.
I know how it will be because they somehow manage to roll all my worst parenting moments into two minute fights, to be replayed, in all their glory, again and again.
I hear myself in their cutting words.
I hear myself in their ‘poor me’ laments.
I feel my own rage in the lashing out.
I see myself in the melt down tantrum when they can simply no longer get along.
It is not pretty.
I am not proud.
It makes me wonder how badly I have wrecked these children.
I don’t smack my kids.
I don’t use time out.
I try not to shame them, or bribe them, or manipulate them.
I try not to loose the plot.
I try not to yell.
I try to react to them loosing the plot with understanding and grace.
I try to teach them better ways to deal with anger and frustration.
I try, but sometimes I fail.
To hear them fight with each other is to hear all the times I have failed in these things. All the times I have failed my children.
It makes me wonder how badly I have broken these children.
Broken them?
As if they are some fragile, pretty, thing that should be left on a high shelf to look at but not touch.
Is that how I view my children?
Are my children so precious that I can’t make mistakes without breaking them?
Or are my children more resilient that that?
Are they re-playing my mistakes to sort out how the world works in the safety of their own home, with their family who loves them?
I get up and make a move towards the disaster zone. Play has broken down into a screaming tangle of kicking feet and spitting raspberries, with a good handful of hateful words thrown in for good measure.
I play referee, judge, jury and executioner.
And I hope.
I hope my children are strong, capable and resilient.
I hope they learn from my mistakes, just like I do.
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
Wow, I could’ve written the same post and was wondering the same things today.
I pray I haven’t broken them!
Oh lord, it is like you are inside my head! I hope and pray the same.
wow I hear the same thing day in and day out at work in a child care centre, I think there all the same…..
Isn’t that the question. I often say to myself that how the kids turn out will depend on how I can keep my stuff ups to a minimum. {sigh}
But I find my children to be compassionate and understanding and can see through my mistakes.
Yep, but then there are the moments where you hear them repeating the things you say that are loving, and helpful, and that’s a nICE balance!
Ooh boy, I hear myself in all that too!
But you know, I think my child is actually a much better person than me. I’ve told her that too.
I must be doing something right, even though I feel like I’m just doing it all wrong.