TheMommyBlog

Thursday, November 15, 2007 Family

Should be posting properly, but can’t get there. Scarlet Fever rampage has subsided. All colds are a (recently) distant memory. Post-sickness (read: they feel so much better they don’t know what to do with all the feeling-betterness) energy and zest for life good for kids, not so good for mom. Mom still has the stress headache and is exhausted from all the caring, prescriptions, cajoling to just chew and swallow the damn thing, you wanted a chewable instead of the icky pink antibiotic, so chew and drink some JUICE already, the bickering over who gets to watch what where and who’s sickest because the sickest gets to choose, Mommy I want this, I want that, no I want the first thing I said, that’s not the first thing I said, can I have some of my Halloween candy, Dylan hit me, you should take his candy, WHAT ARE YOU BOYS DOING IN THERE, PLAYING WATER POLO? Mom banging on the opposite wall from the shower, nearly breaking through the plaster and actually compressing the plaster so now a nail head shows through, repeated pleas to settle down, one very large Mommy meltdown during which all children go quiet and wide-eyed as she gestures wildly at the ten gallons of bath water all over the floor and do you realize that these doors will shatter and CUT you if you keep doing that, and that’s right, out of the tub mister, no not you, wait until he’s all the way out, no tugging him off balance as he’s stepping over the edge, oh my god will you stop TATTLING, and then relative quiet while Mommy sits in her yellow chair with her forehead in her hands and the boys whisper as they pull jammies out of their dresser, boy, Mom’s mad, did you see her face, and then she said do what you want, I don’t care, and when she says that, she’s REALLY mad.

Then they all try to be sweet to one another just to show me they can, and I hear Dylan pleading from the other side of Daphne’s locked bedroom door, begging to be let in, he wants to play, and no, he’s not going to hurt her, he promises, he promises on a stack of bibles, so she clicks the door unlocked and slowly pulls it open as he bursts through and hurts her, awaking the wrath of Mama Bear. That is IT, the last straw, I have asked you to be nice, and to pretend like that and TRICK her into trusting you and then betraying that trust is THE END of your privileges, therefore Monday is the LAST day of Halloween candy so you’d better enjoy it between now and then.

Logan comes out of his room and whispers, “What HAPPENED?” but Mom’s too drained to even explain so she goes back to cross-stitching—YES—cross-stitching, it’s like a drug, like Valium, it numbs the mind and blocks everything else out and the kids actually come and perch on the chair arms and say supportive things like, “Mom, you’ve done all that already? You’re doing a great job!” and eventually they go back to whatever they do when that period of my-not-noticing-what-they’re-doing-because-they-are-behaving begins.

You all know what I’m talking about. You know the feel of harmonious play and woe to those who dare to disturb it. Ergo, we never get to actually witness it.

It took Dylan two whole days to realize that I meant it about Monday being the last day of candy for him when he saw his candy bag all folded up, empty. Freakage ensued. Doors slamming, shoes thrown, soul-tearing sobs, stony silence, using siblings as interpreters to tell me that Dylan is never going to speak to me ever again, and Logan asking, did I realize that I was basically grounding him for an entire year because he waits for that day all year long and then stretches out his treasures for half the ensuing year, and does this mean they get to keep their candy or do they lose it just because he did?

Robotic responses of “please get in the car, please get in the car, don’t forget your backpacks, will you please get moving, you can put your shoes on when we GET IN THE CAR. Once at school, there is whispering among those who still have candy and promises not to eat in front of Dylan, who when he gets out is standing off to the side, in front of the car, giving me a hard, stony stare before turning on his heel and marching off to Room 8. I rest my head on the wheel and say I’ll see everyone tomorrow, don’t forget to get on the bus today, you have day care and Daddy will pick you up… but they are gone.

At home, I’m wretched. At least I showed him that I stick to my guns and follow through on threats. I may give him seventeen reminders, but he should never be surprised when I finally lower the boom, because said boom has been described to him in full Technicolor, and with pantomime.

After thirty minutes, I reach up to the cabinet over the stove, take down the big red salad bowl where I’ve stowed Dylan’s candy, and fish out his prized piece: the jumbo Hershey’s bar he fondles but will not eat until the Moment Is Right. I take a paper lunch bag and a piece of note paper and write, “Dear Dylan, No matter how hard things are and how mad we get, I will always love you. I know it’s hard being a kid. Love, Mom” and I slip the Hershey’s bar into the bag with the note, staple the top, and drive back to the school and leave it in the office for him to pick up later.

Late in the afternoon, I stop by day care to hold my children and to see Dylan.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, and to apologize for getting so angry this morning. I don’t like to yell, and I hate when we fight.”

“Me too.”

“So, I’m sorry. Did you get my present?”

“The bag? Yes.”

“Good.”

“I already ate the Hershey’s bar.”

“I knew you would. Are we speaking to each other now?” He leaned into me and whispered, “I love you, Mommy.”

I said, “I realize now what that Halloween candy means to you: you wait all year long, you get ready for the big day, you walk for miles and visit dozens of homes, you come home and dump it all out on the coffee table and separate them into distinct stacks to see how many of each item you have—and I know you know exactly how much of everything there is—and then you carefully place it all into a bag and only eat one piece every day so that it will last. And you always bring me the Baby Ruths because they’re not your favorite and you know I like them.”

“Uh huh.”

“So this is what I’ve decided: I’ve made my point, and now you know that if I threaten a consequence, I mean it. I will follow through, and you need to take me seriously. You’ve spent the last eight hours thinking about how I threw away all your hard-earned candy and about how you’ll have to wait a whole year for another chance to have your own personal stash of treats that are under your control and nobody else’s. I now know what that means to you. So I’ll tell you what: how about if I give you back your candy” at this he went wide eyed (“You mean you still have it??”), “and you can keep it in your room. And, each time you misbehave, hurt your sister, trick her or anyone else, you give me a piece, forever. Or five. Depends on the size. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“So we understand each other? We understand that we can’t operate as a family without trust, and that you have to earn that trust, and that it may take a while for Daphne to learn she doesn’t have to be afraid of you? Because I will not tolerate a relationship in which one person is afraid of another. I lived that. I will not let my daughter live that. Are you with me?”

“Yeah. Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come home with you now?”

“Daddy’s expecting to pick you up here later on. Besides, are you asking just so you can have your candy back faster?”

“No, I mean, that’s part of it, but mostly I just want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too. But I can’t take you home now. Why don’t you stop by later on, and I’ll come out and give everyone hugs. And their candy bags, to take to Daddy’s.”

“Okay. I love you very much. Am I seeing you tomorrow? Oh yeah, okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. I love you.”

And his small, blond, tufted head turned as he walked back to his friends’ table.