Epic Fail
Just found this post in my drafts folder. I'm not sure I've made a whole lot of parenting progress since I wrote this a year and a half ago (or was it two and a half years ago?) I'm still not always smart over what battles I choose, and I still sometimes end up screaming from my lower brain when pushed over the brink. Maybe the progress is in knowing faster how I screwed up. Maybe sometimes now I catch myself screwing up before I totally screw up. As in saying "Whatever," when a clothing battle begins. Although yesterday at 34 degrees, I did make him put on his winter jacket. Looking back, I should have just let him go with his fleece. See? I eyeroll at myself.
And the arguing? Wow, that's still an all day every day thing. If he didn't sleep, it would be 24/7. I hear he will be argumentative until he feels secure here. I hear his brain will never recover from his early trauma. Which, if A=B and B=C; therefore A = C, that means we will be living with Mr. Ready for Battle Over Anything and Everything for a long time. Adolescence is going to be so much fun.
An attachment therapist once told the group he was addressing that our kids' attachment issues never really go away; they just morph into a new behavior.
So the rages might end, but the sassing starts. That kind of thing.
Yesterday was a day I can only describe as Epic. Fail. in attachment parenting. In being able to parent at all. In being able to help my child control his uncontrollableness.
T has taken to arguing with everything I say. He even baits me. He'll ask me a question, and then when I answer it, he challenges my answer. This is not going down well in Mommy-land. I used to argue and argue and argue back -- he has a retort for every answer I have, but now I'm taking a "You're arguing with me now, so I'm done with this conversation," approach.
He has also taken to deciding that instructions from me are optional. So, for instance, I'll tell him to come here; he will look at me and then keep going in the direction he was originally moving. It takes me YELLING at him, "I SAID COME HERE!" to get him to change directions.
Yesterday we were due to head out to a family reunion. Dysregulation happens easily at these types of events, so I tried to ward it off with specific attachment building activities -- reading to him and allowing him to pick out his own books. Getting him to bed earlier. Letting him braid my hair. Letting him give me raspberries on my belly.
But Epic. Fail. In getting ready to go, we started out with the Battle of the Bathing Suit. I normally don't do clothing battles, but we were going to a family reunion and the idea of him wearing a bathing suit that is so small it is clearly in danger of ripping out at the seams -- the pockets actually bulge out in order for it to go over his tush -- just was too much for me to handle.
The orange bathing suit, was, I was informed, much too large. It has a drawstring that actually works. It is not too large. It doesn't show his "just say no to crack" and it has never fallen off of him. The other one that fits was in the laundry.
So grief over the bathing suit. Then grief over the shoes, when I told him that we were leaving, and to go get something on his feet. Apparently I was not specific enough, because there he was, putting on dress shoes, having lost his flip flops and one croc so far this summer. He still has sandals and sneakers, but, yes, a bathing suit, white sport socks, and dress shoes. I should have just let it go. But I told him to put on his sneakers or his sandals. He argued that the dress shoes were not in fact dress shoes. He probably thinks that "dress shoes" means "shoes you wear with a dress." Whatever. I should have let him just go barefoot. In a pick your battles move.
Through this whole ordeal, he was constantly back talking and sassing me. Another thing the attachment therapist told our group was that our children come to us as mini-teenagers. As soon as they learn English, they are back talking to us. They're probably back talking before then; we just don't know it. I kept looking him in the eye and reminding him to speak respectfully to Mommy.
Epic. Fail.
I finally lost it. I put him on his bed and was just screaming at him that I was NOT going to put up with a child talking to me that way, and he better figure out how to talk to me respectfully, because I was through with the sassing. He started to laugh at the sight of me losing it, and I stopped him cold in those tracks. "You better wipe that smirk off your face right now, Mister," I said in a drop-dead, no nonsense, ice-cold, I'm through with these shenanigans tone, channeling my parents, who would have finished it up with, "Or I'll wipe it off for you." Not that I wasn't tempted to utter those words. Had to bite my tongue to keep them unspoken.
Ugh.
And the arguing? Wow, that's still an all day every day thing. If he didn't sleep, it would be 24/7. I hear he will be argumentative until he feels secure here. I hear his brain will never recover from his early trauma. Which, if A=B and B=C; therefore A = C, that means we will be living with Mr. Ready for Battle Over Anything and Everything for a long time. Adolescence is going to be so much fun.
An attachment therapist once told the group he was addressing that our kids' attachment issues never really go away; they just morph into a new behavior.
So the rages might end, but the sassing starts. That kind of thing.
Yesterday was a day I can only describe as Epic. Fail. in attachment parenting. In being able to parent at all. In being able to help my child control his uncontrollableness.
T has taken to arguing with everything I say. He even baits me. He'll ask me a question, and then when I answer it, he challenges my answer. This is not going down well in Mommy-land. I used to argue and argue and argue back -- he has a retort for every answer I have, but now I'm taking a "You're arguing with me now, so I'm done with this conversation," approach.
He has also taken to deciding that instructions from me are optional. So, for instance, I'll tell him to come here; he will look at me and then keep going in the direction he was originally moving. It takes me YELLING at him, "I SAID COME HERE!" to get him to change directions.
Yesterday we were due to head out to a family reunion. Dysregulation happens easily at these types of events, so I tried to ward it off with specific attachment building activities -- reading to him and allowing him to pick out his own books. Getting him to bed earlier. Letting him braid my hair. Letting him give me raspberries on my belly.
But Epic. Fail. In getting ready to go, we started out with the Battle of the Bathing Suit. I normally don't do clothing battles, but we were going to a family reunion and the idea of him wearing a bathing suit that is so small it is clearly in danger of ripping out at the seams -- the pockets actually bulge out in order for it to go over his tush -- just was too much for me to handle.
The orange bathing suit, was, I was informed, much too large. It has a drawstring that actually works. It is not too large. It doesn't show his "just say no to crack" and it has never fallen off of him. The other one that fits was in the laundry.
So grief over the bathing suit. Then grief over the shoes, when I told him that we were leaving, and to go get something on his feet. Apparently I was not specific enough, because there he was, putting on dress shoes, having lost his flip flops and one croc so far this summer. He still has sandals and sneakers, but, yes, a bathing suit, white sport socks, and dress shoes. I should have just let it go. But I told him to put on his sneakers or his sandals. He argued that the dress shoes were not in fact dress shoes. He probably thinks that "dress shoes" means "shoes you wear with a dress." Whatever. I should have let him just go barefoot. In a pick your battles move.
Through this whole ordeal, he was constantly back talking and sassing me. Another thing the attachment therapist told our group was that our children come to us as mini-teenagers. As soon as they learn English, they are back talking to us. They're probably back talking before then; we just don't know it. I kept looking him in the eye and reminding him to speak respectfully to Mommy.
Epic. Fail.
I finally lost it. I put him on his bed and was just screaming at him that I was NOT going to put up with a child talking to me that way, and he better figure out how to talk to me respectfully, because I was through with the sassing. He started to laugh at the sight of me losing it, and I stopped him cold in those tracks. "You better wipe that smirk off your face right now, Mister," I said in a drop-dead, no nonsense, ice-cold, I'm through with these shenanigans tone, channeling my parents, who would have finished it up with, "Or I'll wipe it off for you." Not that I wasn't tempted to utter those words. Had to bite my tongue to keep them unspoken.
Ugh.
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