The hardest job in the world. The best job in the world. The most rewarding. . . the most frustrating. . .
You get the gist.
You work 18 or so years to garner independence and have kids move out, and hopefully they will take some of the life lessons you've taught and modeled, and will build on them.
But dang, sometimes it's hard.
The beauty of living in GTMO is children here have infinitesimally more freedom than almost anywhere else they could live in the U.S.
There's the base bus to cart them to and from the free outdoor movie theater; there is a bowling alley that's very inexpensive; there are huge play areas and large playground sets everywhere (and even better---huge banyans with tire swings).
But even with freedom, kids push buttons.
My youngest can sometimes be a hardhead (he comes by it real honestly, a gift from both of his parents). He doesn't always want to go to bed at his bedtime or in his own bed and he has figured out how to manipulate this mom so he gets his way.
I love how he uses my love of reading to get extra cuddle time and an extended bedtime.
I know he is manipulating me----"Just one more story! Just read five more pages! You haven't listened to me read today---please let me read to you!"---and I fall for it EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
It's the one thing I can't say "no" to---seriously, you want to read? And it's past 9 o'clock on a school night? And I know that I'm going to have to haul 76 pounds of dead weight back to his bedroom?
Alrighty then, let's start another book!
My very best parenting fail doesn't involve books but what I thought was tough love. It involves a puppy, rain, and a very temperamental four year old.
When we first moved to Texas, we were mourning the loss of our two fur babies, a greyhound named Gizmo we rescued from a track in Colorado, and a mutt named Lacey I got while a grad student in MS. They died within a year of each other, with the greyhound dying less than 6 months before we moved across the country. We swore we were never going to open our hearts to another pet---if you haven't been through the death of a pet, it's one of the most heart-wrenching experiences ever.
Yet the words, "Mommy, can we have another dog? Please??" was all it took and we were off to the pound, soon enchanted by a goofy chocolate Lab we adopted and named Katie.
Katie was a sweet, patient dog, which made watching our four year old having a temper tantrum, refusing to get in the car and standing in the rain while kicking at the dog in the middle of the backyard even more infuriating.
My husband begged, cajoled, and raised his voice, all with no luck.
I suddenly had a brilliant idea, motivated by the one time my mom made my sister and me, who were bickering non-stop during the long, three hour trip to my grandparents' house, get out of the car and run around it several times while she sat in air conditioned comfort, radio cranked up and ignoring our pleas of, "Can we please come back in the car! We'll quit fighting!" I should also mention this was beside a cotton field in the Mississippi Delta. It was hotter than seven hells and a very effective way to make bad kids behave. Out-of-the-box discipline sometimes is the best discipline.
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I thought my out-of-the-box idea of taking off while he had his tantrum and driving around the block once---the house was in the middle of a block and we could see the backyard the entire time due to the chain-link fence---was an absolutely brilliant idea.
Before I continue, if you are sitting there horrified that I would actually leave my child, you either a) have no children; b) have the world's only perfect kid and/or never experienced your own child having a world-class meltdown; or c) have no faith that I am really not that bad a mom.
It does have a happy ending. Well, sort of. . . .
What I didn't bank on was our little genius going to our new neighbor's house and telling her, "My parents drove off and left me."
Oops. Oh boy.
We got a good cursing from the neighbor and walked on eggshells around her for months. We were terrified to raise our voices at him for fear that she had CPS on speed-dial, waiting to drop the dime on the negligent neighbors.
Boy, did we really show him who was boss.
Not.
Just like number 2 really shows me who is in charge of bed time.
So as I'm sitting here looking at Stuart Little on one side of me and a child I'm going to have to hoist like a 76 lb bag of potatoes over my shoulder to get to his own bed on the other side, I'm thinking that it was just 10 short years ago that our oldest (who thankfully never had another temper tantrum in the rain while kicking at the dog again) was pulling the same bed-time stunt.
Even in slow-paced GTMO, I'm reminded daily through my two boys how life is still zooming by.
And we read four chapters tonight instead of two, just in case you are wondering.
