Sticking my daughters in boxes

Today, I was THAT mom.  The one who was dragging my fitful, obstinate daughter to the bathroom for bad behavior,  while she cried and screamed, "Please don't spank me!"

In front of everyone.

In my husband's quiet place of work.

Loudly.  

Let me not forget to mention that in order to get to this particular bathroom, I had to access a door that sounded an alarm until it was closed.  An alarm that screeched, "Hey, look at this mom!  She can't control her kid!  Look at the kid!  She's obviously spoiled!  They are a wreck!  Let's sound this alarm until everyone is watching and judging, yay!"

Then my husband calmly explained that we were standing right outside a door on the other side of which was a conference meeting.

I cannot be certain, but I am just going to go ahead and assume that the voters for the Best Mother of the Year award were probably the ones in conference on the other side of the door.  Just judging by how everything else was so beautifully contributing to this fantastic scene.     

The only thing that held back the tears of utter shame were actually two types of emotions.  1. ANGER!  2. I felt I had finally arrived to normal motherhood and all the embarrassment that that entails.  Up until this particular episode, I had never experienced a huge scene like this one.  My first daughter could be raised by wild animals and turn out fine.  Seriously, I don't approve when people give me any credit for her good behavior.  But the second daughter has brought me to the realistic side of motherhood.  Do you know the line the rejected groom speaks at the altar in "Sweet Home Alabama"?  He says, "So this is what this feels like."  Exactly.  

Okay, let's be completely honest here.  My youngest WAS missing her nap at this time, after a very eventful morning, while recovering from a bad cold and earache.  And while she is 4, she still absolutely needs her afternoon naps.  So in all honesty I cannot say that this is typical behavior for HER.  But still, does it matter?

When it comes to obstinate children, the resources for dealing with bad behavior feel rather out of reach, and the ones that are within reach feel like they just MIGHT get you a visit from DCFS.  I was also very tired, and I didn't have the brain power to figure out what to do.  So I talked, I wagged my index finger around a lot, I took away some stuff, and I told her to apologize to her father for throwing a fit at his work.  I was just reaching.  Nothing was working.  She kept kicking her legs around while sitting on the bathroom floor, crying and whimpering.    

I desperately wanted to go home, and I knew our family needed it.  I had enough.  Also, public bathrooms are gross.  With resignation in my voice, I told my daughter we were going home, and she had two choices.  It was up to her which choice she took.  She could either A. Calm down and rectify the situation in the way I explained to her or B. Just get a big, old, fat consequence when we got home.  Either one, I said, was fine with me, but it was time to go home.  Thankfully she chose A, then she fell fast asleep in the car on the way home.

The ride home was over an hour long, so I had a lot of time to think and calm down, although the mortification hung around for awhile.  I pondered on the desire to put my daughter in a box and take away everything joyful in her life for the next two years (we do spank for very severe situations, but I still needed the satisfaction of something that lasts longer).  I pondered on what I was doing wrong as a mother and on what I needed to change. I pondered on what others must think of me. 

And then these weird, creepy feelings of compassion started creeping in.  As the anger rolled off, I remembered my role in my daughter's life.  I am to nurture her and to guide her.  It isn't about how she behaves in front of other people or other places besides home.  Rather, it is how she learns to handle her frustration and problems in a respectful manner in ALL places and at ALL times (which is a bit much to ask of a 4 year old anyway).  As a parent, my job is to identify the twists in my daughters' behavioral and emotional patterns, and straighten them out, which is going to take a long time and should not be compared to that of other kids' patterns.  I need to respect the process.  I need to expect and accept huge bumps in that road and help steer my children around them.  Also, those bumps are not a reflection upon my parenting skills.  I realized then that I needed to not react out of my anger and expectation for perfect behavior in public.  I just needed to give the flower a little more water, not a bucketful.

I told my daughter, as her eye lids were drooping, that I loved her so much.  That it is my job to help her make good choices, and I will always help her.  That I will teach her the right way to behave, and it will just take time and growing up to learn all the lessons.
"Do you understand, honey, how much I love you?"  She nodded her head, then dropped it to the side of her carseat and fell asleep.  When she awoke later, she said, "Mom, I love you too." 

And my other daughter said, "Do you think there's something else that would be better, Mom, then sticking her in a box all day?"