Monster Mom

I am, for the most part, an even-tempered individual. I rarely feel the need to raise my voice to any of my children . . . or husbands . . . except the first and he had it coming. My parents didn't yell; I didn't yell; my kids don't yell.

Please don't misunderstand. I distinctly remember shrieking at my 17 year old son the day I put him out of our house. More than a few regrettable words exploded viserally. When I ended my diatribe my throat was raw, my voice dropped an octave, and I sounded like I was channeling Marlena Dietrich. The calm, quieter approach has not been so effective with TJ who is strong-willed, bull-headed, cantankerous, ornery, etc. Take last Sunday for an example.

Sunday morning 7:15 am
"OK Momma. Bye"
"I'm not leaving yet. TJ. Listen carefully. I will be at Grandma's and Pawpaw's helping Grandma while Pawpaw goes to church."
"OK"
"Do you remember where we put your church clothes?"
"Uh-huh."
"Where are they?"
"I dunno."
"You picked out your red ploka dot dress and hung it on my door. Don't forget to brush your teeth, comb your hair and help
Daddy."
"OK."
"One more time TJ. Where is your dress?"
"I dunno." I repeated it all once again and left for my parents.
10:30 am
I met Bob, Anna, and TJ in the church parking lot and noticed immediately she was wearing her very wrinkled, green, flowered dress. "What happened to the polka dot dress?" TJ was out of ear shot. "She couldn't find it," Bob answered quite calmly. Apparent to me was Bob's lack of understanding that TJ had picked that red dress out. I ironed out, very meticuously, every wrinkle in that cotton frock, she hung it on the door, I reminded her twice this morning where it was and she has the audacity to come to church in her crumpled, green flowered dress!

1:00 pm
We arrived back home from church, ate lunch and then, the coveted Sunday afternoon nap.

2:30 pm Anna went to her room, Bob to the couch, and I to my bed. TJ went to her room which is directly above mine. I laid down on top of the covers, pulled a pillow over my eyes, and settled in for a quiet hour.
Thud! 'What was that,' I wondered.
Thump! 'This is not good.'
Thump thump thump in rapid succession.
Too tired to rise, I laid there for a few more minutes hoping . . . quiet. THUD! 'One more thud and I'm going up there!'
Quiet.

An hour and a half later I had forgotten about the thuds and thumps and set about shooing everyone out to the pool while I worked on some dinner.

7:30 pm
Because TJ has been considerably grouchier then normal, I have moved her bedtime back to 7:30. She doesn't seem to mind. Turning off the TV is a bit of a stumble. "Bedtime, TJ." Ever so slowly she lifts the remote in the air, points it at the TV and holds it there. . . holding . . . holding . . . . But this time: "Bedtime, TJ." She snapped that TV off, ran past me, through the living room, up the stairs and all the while her arm extended, hand out, palm facing me, saying, "Momma! you can't come up yet! I have something I have to do! I'll let you know when you can come!" Whirls of thuds and thumps thundered back. Oh my goodness! What has she done?

7:45 pm
From the top of the stairs comes a confident, "OK Momma. You can come up now!" Then, as is our ritual, she runs to her room, closes the door and waits for me to knock.

Knock, knock, knock.
"Come in." Cautiously, I opened the door. Wow! her room was surprisingly neat!
"Why TJ! Your room is very nnnnnnnnnnn . . .," my searching eyes spotted the blue velvet case, open and empty, under the crib.

Here it comes . . . I couldn't stop it . . . ."IF I'VE TOLD YOU ONCE I'VE TOLD YOU A MILLION TIMES 'IF ITS NOT YOURS KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF IT'!!! WHERE IS THE FLUTE!!!!! WHY DON'T YOU LISTEN! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?" and on and on and on I ranted.

TJ, terrified, scrambled to get into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and burst forth in shaking and sobbing. Callused to her wailing, I got on my knees, hunkered under the crib to retrieve the empty case and there, pushed next to the wall, were the three peices of my flute. I gathered them into my arm, squeezed back into open space, righted myself, and noticed the quivering covers. I found my center once again.

"Are you ready for your Bible story?" Monster Mom asked her quivering child.
Pulling the covers back down, revealing a reddened splotchy face, TJ spoke in her most mature voice, "Well. You didn't have to scream at me, Mom." I shrunk to this (.) big. I had been out matured by my 5 year old daughter.
I drew in a deep breath. "I am very sorry,TJ. Will you forgive me?"
"Yes, Momma. and I'm sorry for getting into your stuff."
I explained why I became so frustrated (because I repeat the same things and she keeps doing the same things) and she explained why she played with the flute (because it was there). We finished up our routine as we always do: a Bible story, hugs, kisses and tucks into bed.
"Goodnight TJ. I love you to the moon."
"Goodnight, Momma. I love you to the moon and back."