Like vs. dislike
In church the other day, the preacher was talking about how you are not supposed to favor one kid over the other, or love one over the other. He talked about how it is normal, and okay, for there to be days when you were not particularly fond of one of your children. I thought maybe that was okay to think, but I certainly thought it inappropriate to say and to admit in church, regardless of how true it was; especially since he is a preacher.
Then today happened. I’m just going to go ahead and say it. I did not like my daughter today. I actually did not like her. In fact, at certain points of the day, I despised her. Wrong? Maybe. True? Without a doubt. I thought if there was one more second of the day that I had to look at her, I was going to lose it and check myself into some fancy California rehab center where, let's face it, no rehab gets done. Just lots and lots of poor you and pampering.
I did not like her at 5:15 in the morning after I had put Colton back to bed from his morning feeding when she woke up screaming for her animal friends. I did not like her when she continued screaming and thrashing in her bed so loud that she woke up her brother. I did not like her when I tried all sorts of reasoning under the sun to get her to stop screaming so Colton would go back to sleep. I did not like her when I finally lost it and raised my voice to her. I do not like yelling. It is never effective and benefits no one. It just lets out a little bit of steam, only to allow even more space for steam to build. Kind of like nursing. When your boobs are so full you just HAVE to pump, but then pumping makes your body think it needs to make more. Its an endless cycle really. So yes, my anger is like breast milk. I’m okay with it.
I did not like her when I lay in bed praying Colton would go back to sleep and that Gabriela would for the love of God just SHUT UP. I wonder…. Could I say that to a two year old? Sigh. Ponder. I know I can’t. But sometimes I really, REALLY want to. Just one good “JUST SHUT UP!!” and maybe a back hand too. Yeah. But then I would feel like crap. Again, the endless boob cycle. I somehow was able to ignore the screaming going on ten feet away from me for about 20 minutes while I slipped in a bit more of a snooze.
I liked Gabriela when she came out of her room and said, not shouted, “Mommy, I’m all done with my bed.” Holy, holy crap that is progress. Because before, she would scream it from her room and Colton would wake up. Alas, he was still asleep. She said she was hungry so I said, “Okay, pee pees first, then breakfast.” Well. We all know where THIS is about to go, now don’t we?
I did not like her when she shouted at me and held her crotch, the ultimate signal that the dam is about to break. I did not like her when she screamed at me and flung her body head first up against the toilet, obviously cracking her noggin on the edge of the bowl (seriously…. Gross. At least pick the wall or something else). I did not like her when she screamed even louder because DUH, what the crap did you *think* was going to happen when skull meets porcelain? Chocolate pie??? Give me a friggin’ break kid. It’s before 7 and I am already leaving you on the floor of the bathroom and walking away before I slap you. Just one slap. One time. Just once. Would that make it stop? Nope. We’ve already read the studies. Everybody knows slapping begets more slapping. So, I just slap her in my mind and I feel MUCH better. Then I go back and make sure she didn’t pee all over the floor. AAAAAaaaall before 7:30 in the morning. Oh lucky, lucky, lucky me.
I did not like her at several other points today. Like when she kicked her baby brother. Or hit the dog. Or screamed in my face. Or tried to slap me- luckily with that one I have matrix like reflexes and she only ends up slapping herself. A bit of satisfaction for me, immature I know, but I’ll take it. Hey, Jesus is the only one who is perfect and let’s be honest, I’m no where touching it. The Bible also says not to judge, so let’s not do that either, shall we?
There are so many other points of the day when I flat out just didn’t like her. Like when she asked me no less than 8,000 times if she could have her bear back after I took it from her because she screamed at her friend (a new rule- you scream, you lose an animal friend. Don’t be sad Grandparents, she can earn them back by doing something nice… which never, ever happens but at least the opportunity exists).
But even though I did NOT, did NOT like her today, I did, and do, love her every day. I love her enough to teach her that screaming is NOT okay. That hitting anyone, even yourself, is not okay. I love her enough to let her brother scream on the floor while I pick her up and carry her thrashing self into her room to go to bed because no, she does NOT get to watch Dora because she didn’t do what I asked. I love her enough to insist she stop crying and trying to kick me so that I can give her a special kiss. I love her enough that when I turn to walk away and she screams at me that she needs another special kiss, I turn around and give her one, just the way she wants it. Eyes. Big eyes, staring into one another with a big smile. Blinking up against her eyes. Like my mom used to do to me. And I give her a third. Cheeks. And I rub my cheek up against hers until she laughs. But of course, she finds something else to get pissed about and alas, we end the day as we began. Both tired, totally annoyed with one another, not liking each other, but definitely, definitely loving one another. Maybe the preacher had a good point after all.
Then today happened. I’m just going to go ahead and say it. I did not like my daughter today. I actually did not like her. In fact, at certain points of the day, I despised her. Wrong? Maybe. True? Without a doubt. I thought if there was one more second of the day that I had to look at her, I was going to lose it and check myself into some fancy California rehab center where, let's face it, no rehab gets done. Just lots and lots of poor you and pampering.
I did not like her at 5:15 in the morning after I had put Colton back to bed from his morning feeding when she woke up screaming for her animal friends. I did not like her when she continued screaming and thrashing in her bed so loud that she woke up her brother. I did not like her when I tried all sorts of reasoning under the sun to get her to stop screaming so Colton would go back to sleep. I did not like her when I finally lost it and raised my voice to her. I do not like yelling. It is never effective and benefits no one. It just lets out a little bit of steam, only to allow even more space for steam to build. Kind of like nursing. When your boobs are so full you just HAVE to pump, but then pumping makes your body think it needs to make more. Its an endless cycle really. So yes, my anger is like breast milk. I’m okay with it.
I did not like her when I lay in bed praying Colton would go back to sleep and that Gabriela would for the love of God just SHUT UP. I wonder…. Could I say that to a two year old? Sigh. Ponder. I know I can’t. But sometimes I really, REALLY want to. Just one good “JUST SHUT UP!!” and maybe a back hand too. Yeah. But then I would feel like crap. Again, the endless boob cycle. I somehow was able to ignore the screaming going on ten feet away from me for about 20 minutes while I slipped in a bit more of a snooze.
I liked Gabriela when she came out of her room and said, not shouted, “Mommy, I’m all done with my bed.” Holy, holy crap that is progress. Because before, she would scream it from her room and Colton would wake up. Alas, he was still asleep. She said she was hungry so I said, “Okay, pee pees first, then breakfast.” Well. We all know where THIS is about to go, now don’t we?
I did not like her when she shouted at me and held her crotch, the ultimate signal that the dam is about to break. I did not like her when she screamed at me and flung her body head first up against the toilet, obviously cracking her noggin on the edge of the bowl (seriously…. Gross. At least pick the wall or something else). I did not like her when she screamed even louder because DUH, what the crap did you *think* was going to happen when skull meets porcelain? Chocolate pie??? Give me a friggin’ break kid. It’s before 7 and I am already leaving you on the floor of the bathroom and walking away before I slap you. Just one slap. One time. Just once. Would that make it stop? Nope. We’ve already read the studies. Everybody knows slapping begets more slapping. So, I just slap her in my mind and I feel MUCH better. Then I go back and make sure she didn’t pee all over the floor. AAAAAaaaall before 7:30 in the morning. Oh lucky, lucky, lucky me.
I did not like her at several other points today. Like when she kicked her baby brother. Or hit the dog. Or screamed in my face. Or tried to slap me- luckily with that one I have matrix like reflexes and she only ends up slapping herself. A bit of satisfaction for me, immature I know, but I’ll take it. Hey, Jesus is the only one who is perfect and let’s be honest, I’m no where touching it. The Bible also says not to judge, so let’s not do that either, shall we?
There are so many other points of the day when I flat out just didn’t like her. Like when she asked me no less than 8,000 times if she could have her bear back after I took it from her because she screamed at her friend (a new rule- you scream, you lose an animal friend. Don’t be sad Grandparents, she can earn them back by doing something nice… which never, ever happens but at least the opportunity exists).
But even though I did NOT, did NOT like her today, I did, and do, love her every day. I love her enough to teach her that screaming is NOT okay. That hitting anyone, even yourself, is not okay. I love her enough to let her brother scream on the floor while I pick her up and carry her thrashing self into her room to go to bed because no, she does NOT get to watch Dora because she didn’t do what I asked. I love her enough to insist she stop crying and trying to kick me so that I can give her a special kiss. I love her enough that when I turn to walk away and she screams at me that she needs another special kiss, I turn around and give her one, just the way she wants it. Eyes. Big eyes, staring into one another with a big smile. Blinking up against her eyes. Like my mom used to do to me. And I give her a third. Cheeks. And I rub my cheek up against hers until she laughs. But of course, she finds something else to get pissed about and alas, we end the day as we began. Both tired, totally annoyed with one another, not liking each other, but definitely, definitely loving one another. Maybe the preacher had a good point after all.
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