Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The Age of Unreason

Blog, old friend.  I've missed you...let's get back together.

Before you read anything I write here or heed any advice I will ever offer, consider this little exchange:

Mike:  Reece, what letter does "mom" start with?  Mmm-mm-mm-mom?

Reece: 10!

So, obviously, we are winning at parenting.

I find myself longing for the day in which my four year old reaches the age of reason.  A day when I will say, "No, you can't take your pants off in the middle of the Target grocery section" and I might be greeted with a rational response like "Ok, mom."  Or better yet, I don't even have to say it in the first place!  Or maybe a time when he asks for something, I give it to him, and that's it...no drama.  Instead, here's how it usually plays out: He asks for something like candy.  I acquiesce, but foolishly (c'mon woman, this ain't your first rodeo) unwrap said candy, opening not only the candy, but also a Pandora's box of tantrum.  By the end of the day (or hour) we're both crying in the corner and stuffing our faces with candy.  

It is a daily battle of trying to get him to learn some skills and follow directions without causing a nuclear meltdown.  Here's another example:  To tell my children past the age of reason to put their shoes on, I only have to say that..."Put your shoes on."  

Here's how it goes with a child at the age of unreason: 

Me: Put your shoes on please, it's time to go.
Reece: (wailing) I caaaaaaaaan't doooooo it!  My socks are too bumpy!
Me: You can do it.  You do it every day.  You just have to try.
Reece: Well, well, well, I don't know which foot.
Me: I'll show you.  (Arranges shoes properly)
Reece: My arms are too short.  My back is too hot.  I'm hungry.  I'm thirsty.  I don't like shoes.  I can't put them on when it's Tuesday.  I want Daddy.  I want Andrew.  I want to wear crocs.
Me: Ok.  Get your crocs then.
Reece: Well, well, well my crocs hurt my feet!
Me: Then put on your tennis shoes and let's go!  We are going to be late!  Don't you want to beat Andrew to the car?
Reece: Oh yeah!  (Races to put his shoes on)
(Andrew beats him)
Reece: (wailing) Andrew beeeeeaaat meeeee!  (Takes his shoes off and throws them across the room)

Forever and ever until the end of time.  And this is for everything all day long!  Shoes, clothes, nap, breakfast, lunch, dinner, happy hour, etc.  If you have ever had a child at the age of unreason, then you will understand.  You will know that you must offer options, choices, pep talks, consequences, and prayers for virtually every daily activity.

But what happens when an unsuspecting citizen of the kid-less population encounters this species of child?  Let me paint the picture...

There we were, enjoying the "Hogsmeade Carnival," a Harry Potter-style children's carnival and fundraiser at the local high school.  It was all very magical.  Fake British accents abounded.  We marveled at the Quidditch Pitch, the Whomping Willow, and even the girl with a real live rat on her shoulder.  

Reece desperately wanted to play this silly game where the girl puts a goblet in a box, closes the curtain, and then you wave your wand to turn it into a stuffed animal.  So we got in line, unsuspecting fools that we were.  This might as well have been a game where Dementors took your money and then sucked out your soul for as well as it went over.  The girl put the goblet in the box, closed the curtain, and then asked Reece to wave his wand and say some phrase in Latin.  If you've ever seen Reece in a conversation with a stranger, you are lying because he doesn't talk to people he doesn't know.  And certainly not in Latin.

So I said, "It's okay!  Daddy will say it for you."
And girl who has never met a shy kid says, "No.  He has to say it.  It's his wand."

There was a little back and forth between us, but she refused to let one of the adults say it.  Because it's his wand.  Because Harry Potter and magic is real.  Because we didn't just spray glitter on a stick five seconds ago at the table across the room.  Because she really goes to Hogwarts and speaks with a British accent.  

We'll skip the rest of the pleasantries that followed and you can just use your imagination.  Meanwhile, Reece is sobbing loudly on Mike's shoulder and I am fuming about how ridiculous the whole exchange is.  (In her defense, she did come up to us and halfway apologize just as we were leaving.  She gave him an elephant toy and said, "Look what you made!"  And he stared at her with distrust in his eyes.)

So if you are not accustomed to interacting with children at the age of unreason, I suggest you just throw some candy in their general direction (and some for their parents) and do not make eye contact.  Wear bells and talk in loud voices so they can hear you coming too.  Or maybe that's bears.  I don't even know anymore.  

An unrelated pic of my boys...all looking very reasonable  Do not be fooled.




1 comment:

  1. Oh, Kelley...if it makes you feel any better, on the first day of summer school, Nicholas came home so tired that he had the most complete meltdown ever...outside. It involved "Time to come in for dinner" and forty minutes of bloodcurdling screams.

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