Never Have I Ever: Lost My Cool

I've concluded that parenthood is a test.

In the beginning it's a test of your relationship. Relationships can crumble before a baby is even born and if they survive through the pregnancy phase, are put to the ultimate test when a newborn enters your life. The word tired takes on a whole new meaning as does the word love. But that's for another post.

Then, when you think you've got the parenthood gig kind-of sorted, your previously-needy and somewhat stationary baby has morphed into an independent toddler who won't sit still for longer than twenty seconds.

This makes trips to the shops rather challenging. And on more than one occasion, I've lost my cool.

"Mummy just needs to get a few things" doesn't seem to translate to a toddler who has tunnel vision only for the Boost Juice bar, the toy section at Kmart, or those damn shopping centre rides {why are there so many?!}

Not only will my toddler not sit in a pram or a trolley {yes, I've tried bribing him with food,} he is quite agile and speedy for his size, and teamed with no fear or sense of reality when it comes to escalators and automatic doors, this mama spends more time running after, disciplining and leaving piles of groceries at the register, than she actually does achieving what she went to the shops for in the first place.

You would think that a good chunk of people would give you that I know what you're going through or hang in there, mama! type of look when your kid is acting up, but I have experienced more than my fair share of disgusted looks, I guess both at my son's behaviour, and/or my lack of intervention to stop it.

We were in Coles one day and the continued whinging, crying, bum floor plonking and requests to be carried, had really started to irritate me. Me in hindsight should have returned to the car and got groceries later when I could make a solo mission to the shops. But I soldiered on because, well, we were already there.

And it all just got too much.

And I whacked him. Right there in the battery aisle. And it was just that bit too hard.

Mama guilt arrived in a big way. I started even formulating headlines for the local news outlets like this one:

Sunshine Coast mum charged with battery in the battery aisle of Coles Supermarket.

Okay, it wasn't that extreme but it played on my mind for the rest of the day.

My immediate reaction when frustration spills over is to smack {on the hand} but these special little people in our lives learn very quickly. A couple of weekends ago my just-turned-two year old grabbed my arm, looked me in the eye and smacked me {on the hand}. Twice. With purpose and perhaps a little wickedness in his eyes.

He has learned that from me.

So, when it all got too much on the weekend.  I did not smack. I let the tears flow. I joined my crying baby and pleaded him for him to JUST. STOP.

I really think it helped. He could see that his actions were causing me to be upset and we just cuddled until all was better in the world again.

This parenting gig is hard. But so worth it.

Never Have I Ever: Sent my Child Sick

It's a mother's guilt.

Specifically, but not exclusively a working mother's guilt. 

Specifically, but not exclusively at this time of year.

Noses are running. Chatter and play are interrupted by coughing. Nappies are being changed more frequently.

As a mum to a not-quite-two year old and as an employee who works not quite twenty two hours a week, I am faced with the dilemma every manic Monday of determining just how sick my baby is. Is the goop coming out of his nose truly clear, or does that tinge of green signify something more than just a runny nose? Is that 'occasional' cough a little bit too 'occasional' to just be a cough?

Don't get me started on that mark that looks suspiciously like ringworm or conjunctivitis. 

As a completely judgemental {non-mother} supervisor of a small team a couple of years ago, I wholeheartedly admit that I used to get frustrated, even shitty when the phone call/text message/email message requesting the carer's leave was received, especially and what seemed like frequently, during the cooler months. I wondered if the carer's leave card was being abused as simply a way to have a day off and perhaps was a little bitter that I was not entitled to such privilege. 

Now I know that having a kid is never a day off. It's not relaxing. It's full on.

I also know that it is a HUGE mental battle to do the right thing and keep your child at home, and to play the carer's leave card, so to speak. As a part-time employee, I really battle with having the day off especially as Ned's only daycare day is a Monday and I only work Monday, Tuesday and half a day on Wednesday. I am extremely grateful and lucky that my parents look after Ned on Tuesdays and Wednesdays but also know it wouldn't be fair asking two people in their early sixties who should be enjoying their retirement to look after a very energetic toddler for another nine or so hours.

I suppose this is an admission of guilt that yes, I have sent Ned to daycare when I knew that he probably should not have been there. I know that it's not fair on Ned, and especially not fair on the other kids at the fabulous and nurturing family day care that he attends. Ned's daycare mum is amazingly supportive and understanding and I hope she knows that if I have selfishly sent him when he really shouldn't be there that she can call me to come pick him up. And I hope that my supervisor and boss as parents themselves know that a parent does not take the decision to take the day off to look after a sick child in lieu of being at work lightly.

So tell me, do you struggle with this too?

Never Have I Ever: Gave my Kid the Food

Quite a few years ago before the thought of having kids even entered my mind we were in Rockhampton {Central Queensland}for my cousin's wedding. We had driven up in the car with mum and dad and were flying home. My cousin {the sister of the bride} was flying back on the same flight as us. Her then two-ish year old son was chucking a major tanty and basically doing the complete opposite of what his mum was asking him to do. People were starting to shoot dirty looks in our direction and even I felt a little embarrassed. Embarrassed selfishly a little for myself but mostly for my cousin and her husband. The only thing that would calm him down and keep him quiet was food. One mouthful after another.

And then some.

Considering our location and situation, the food was neither home made nor fresh. It was snack food. Probably not the ideal kind of food for a toddler. I sat there silently judging my poor helpless cousin whose only real choice was to let her son eat the chocolate or the biscuits or drink the milkshake. That, or risk being death-stared at, or even worse, confronted by the crowds of people who probably were sharing our journey back to Brisbane.

Hindsight is a bitch.

Dear cuz, I apologise for judging you and thinking quietly to myself that I would never soothe my child's tantrum by giving him what he wanted. And for thinking that no child of mine would ever cause a scene like that.

Apparently I didn't account for exactly what you had all those years ago in my five year plan. But I got it. Maybe even worse.

Whoever came up with the terrible twos obviously just liked the alliteration. They arrived many months before that milestone in this family.

Cherie from @raisingmastermax has started a fantastic hashtag on instagram - check out #capturethetantrum ... so easy to relate to and HILARIOUS!

Hint: I also give my kid food when he isn't chucking a tantrum just to keep him quiet and get some peace. Who knows if he is even hungry but hey, if it gets me another half an hour at the shops that is reward enough for me!

Did he get the biscuit? NO. He got two. Perhaps three. He won ... that time.

Linking up with IBOT

Never Have I Ever: Smacking

I honestly never thought I'd be a smacker.

Back in the 80s and 90s it wasn't uncommon to hear the term 'go get me the strap' {belt}in our house. Who knows what my older brother, twinnie and I got up to to deserve being threatened with a belting {see what I did there?!} but it happened on the odd occasion. Although uncommon in our house, many friends have shared stories of getting whacked with a wooden spoon {and it consequently breaking upon impact} or whatever kitchen utensil was the nearest to grab. Back then it was probably more uncommon for your parents not to give you the occasional whack but these days, most people are too afraid to admit it. To be honest, I recall a day where dad made my brother and I sit in his room and decide who was responsible for some sort of naughty behaviour far more memorable and horrible than getting a tap on the hand or bum. That was five hours of hell and I think neither of us budged/owned up. It probably then resulted in a whack for the both of us and we went back to riding our bikes on the street or playing Alex Kid in Miracle World on the SEGA master system. I would have preferred the smack.

I swore to myself that after listening to that phrase regularly as a kid and really thinking about how ridiculous those words are, I would never use them myself. I mean c'mon, do you think I'm going to say yes when you ask me if I want a smack? Um, no.

WELL.

Amongst be careful!, NO, and that's dangerous,  the term  Do you want a smack? comes out of my mouth far too often.

Yes, I've given Ned a smack across the hand more than once or twice, and a whack on the bum {cushioned by a nappy} and I've not afraid to admit it.

What did make me question my behaviour?

It wasn't being frowned upon by other supposed 'angel' parents, or social media reports, or articles written by parenting experts, but receiving a smack in response/retaliation from my cheeky little eighteen month old. Apparently the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Perhaps I best get my nose stuck into these books left on my desk. Thanks for the birthday pressie boss.

What are your go-to methods of discipline?

Linking up with The Multitasking Mummy for #MummyMondays

Never Have I Ever

I'm sure most of us has played the 'Never Ever' game before. You know the one where you confess your sins and embarrassing moments without having to utter a word. Your method of confession in the game is to simply take a sip from your beverage of choice {back in the day mine was a pineapple UDL or a beer ... yours?} if you have ever {insert appropriate verb here}.

Before I became a mother I"ll admit it ... I judged parents. Thinking I would never do whatever thing that they were doing/giving to their kid.

I'm here to confess that I was wrong.

Wrong for judging those parents

Wrong for thinking that that would never be me.

Stay tuned for the #neverhaveiever series.

Are you going to play?