Tag Archives: angry

The very first “Go to your room”

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Motherhood comes with many firsts.

The first smile, the first tooth, the first bath, the first solid food, the first steps, first words,… All milestones in their own unique way, making us, mothers, balance precariously between anxiety for our offspring’s well-being and insane pride in our their accomplishments.

Those milestones are the good ones, the ones you celebrate, the ones you share with the world via Twitter, Facebook and which you Instagram.

But there are others firsts. The first fall down the stairs, the first time you completely freak out and yell – all too loudly, the first lipstick smashed into the mirror/sisters hair/carpet/all three simultaneously, the first time out. Those first ‘not-so-pleasant-behaviour’-moments.

We’ve had such a first a few weeks ago.

Subject of said first was n°1. Lord knows why but that child is grumpier then a female Grinch with PMS on Saturday mornings. You’d think she’d be happy: weekend, mommy and daddy are home, we can play, bake cookies! But no, she is pissed off for being stuck at home with her little sister and her parents instead of being at school where at least they have monkey bars to monkey around on! So Saturday-morning-tantrums are a near – weekly event at our house. Usually they don’t last long and they are not much worse than a regular sister-took-my-doll-tantrum.

But this Saturday was somehow different. The mood-thundercloud had decided to stay put and nothing would make it move. Nor Duplo, nor stories, nor cartoons where able to exorcize the morning-demon. Nothing helped. She sulked, whined, raged, kicked and howled over the tinniest little detail that was not right according to her high toddler standards. Normally I let her act it out or I try at least to be patient, but that morning things were somehow different. I was honestly completely and utterly fed up with her behaviour. And that is when I uttered those words for the very first time : “Go to your room and stay there until you are ready to behave! You are not going shopping with daddy this morning.”

The very first punishment.

It was the first time she had a privilege taken from her because of her behaviour. And it hit her hard. She loves to go shopping with daddy and her little sister. It is one of the best parts of her Saturday and Sunday. They take the double stroller and walk to the village, visit the baker and the butcher and then they come back. It is not much, it is a simple, everyday activity, buying bread and groceries, but for her it is one of those secret father-daughter moments.

And I took it from her. I took away something she loves to do because she was being an annoying bratty three year old. I don’t know why, something snapped all of a sudden. All I know is that I just couldn’t deal with her dramatics anymore and sending her to her room just felt right.

There was much crying. Much wailing and a complete and utter meltdown when she saw that I stuck to my guns and send of my husband and youngest alone. She stayed in her room a good half hour shrieking out her agony. And then she came down. The look on her face was one of complete disillusionment. She had fought with the weapons Mother Nature gave her and she had lost. She was furiously trying to understand what had just happened. 

So I explained it to her. Step by step I explained why she had been send up to her room, why I felt that she should be punished, what had gotten her in this situation. I told her she was a very good girl most of the time, a fantastic big sister, that I loved her very much, but that the way  in which she had been acting was completely and utterly unacceptable.

She nodded. We hugged and went upstairs to wreck some havoc in daddy’s study with stickers and glitter.  Little sister and daddy came home and there was no spite between the sisters. All was well and our Saturday rolled on rather merrily.

Did she understand you ask? Yes, she did. The proof came next Friday when she started her faux-whining-floor-stomping-routine again. I asked her if she remembered last week, when she was send up to her room and wasn’t allowed to go shopping with daddy and would she like that to happen again? No? Then stop it right now kid, mommy means business.

And she stopped.

Lesson learned. A first.  

 

 

A computers lament

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“Well well, look who is back? If it isn’t little miss ‘I started a blog and then ‘forgot’ to post a whole damn week. What is your excuse this time chicka? Illness, death in the family, hurricane, got amnesia and forgot how to use a computer? Oh, just work! Work and life in general getting in the way of you sitting your tubby kaboosh down to spend some quality time with me, your computer!

You call ‘work and life’ a good enough reason for neglecting me! Me, who is basically the better version of your own self! Me, the computer who houses your precious internet, all you important files, your life! How can you do this to me! Ever since you got that Smartphone our relationship hasn’t been the same. Don’t think I haven’t seen you reading your emails on that tiny screen, or checking your Facebook account, or tweeting. I know it all and I’m really hurt by it. How can you justify chucking me out of the window for that new toy! Oh shut it, I know you haven’t really chucked me out of the window, but don’t you think you hurt my feelings when I get to stay inside all day long and gather dust, while little Sir Shiny Screen is outside in the sunshine capturing all the antics of your kids.

And speaking of kids? Did I overhear you say you were going to drag me along to France this year, so that the kids could watch DVD’s on me? Did you actually say that? Good God, woman! I’m a computer not some idiotic DVD player! I know I was equipped with one but really, I’m built for a higher purpose than watching those endless DVD’s and youtube video’s. And it is not even you who is watching them, but your kids! That is all I am to you these days, a source of entertainment for those pesky little bacteria containers whose pictures are all stored on my hard drive. And on that note: how many pictures of those girls do you think I can store before I die from a JPEG-file overload? Would you please take some time and file them on a CD-Rom or something. Or actually use those trizillion shots of the little one eating an ice-cream to do something constructive. Like finish that Baby-calender project you have stored on my desktop since 2009. Or how about going old school and printing them! Or at least delete the ones that are woozy? Are you really going to do anything with those? You where researching cleanses and detoxes the other night, did it ever occur to you I might need one too? There are files from 2005 on my Hard Drive! Do you know how old that is in computer years? It makes Ozzi the Iceman look like spring chicken in comparison!

What happened to us Baby? Where has that special bond we shared all those years ago gone? Remember how you used to type endless reports on me? How you used to take me along to the library for research? Remember that one time you where printing that one file, the one with all those pictures and how that rotten printer couldn’t handle the pressure? Remember how you had to reboot over and over and over again? You pressed that ‘Start’ button until you had blisters. But didn’t I stay calm? Didn’t I start each and every time you needed me to? Right until the very end, until that idiot letterpress had spawned the last page? Didn’t I?

What is up with you, Baby? Yesterday you browsed Apple computers? Please don’t do this to me… don’t replace me with a younger model. I can upgrade, I can change. Heck you can even install that bootleg copy of Photoshop! You know you want to… Come on baby, upgrade me, bootleg me,… just don’t leave me!