When Good Mummies Go Bad

For the past few weeks I have been looking after my sick children. With the help of paracetamol, antibiotics and chocolate cookies I have nursed them back to health, whilst patiently cleaning vomit in the middle of the night and providing entertainment to distract from the pain in the early hours of the morning, with a trip to the emergency room thrown in for good measure.

I’m officially exhausted and in dire need of a little break, but the parenting schedule doesn’t include little breaks. Whilst I fully understand this, my worn out emotions are betraying all good intentions I have of being a good mummy .This I sadly discovered after an extremely trying day with an exceptionally irrational child.

The day was off to remarkable start with a series of unforgettable Victorian-style tantrums. I remained calm and continued about with our morning routine. At school drop off, I managed to see off my daughter whilst having a screaming side-performance from my son that would put the members of “Kiss” to shame. Still, I went about the rest of the morning in a cool manner, trying to tell myself that I am the adult that I have control of my emotions and he is just a child unable to articulate his feelings in any other way. Got it. Just breathe.

After a blissful two hours on the beach searching for treasures, chasing sea gulls, drawing in the sand and a decadent picnic of brioche and hot chocolate, I believed I had conquered the drama for the day. How wrong I was.

Never under-estimate the stamina of a determined pre-schooler. The rest of the afternoon played out in much the same manner as the morning. Me trying to reason with an inconsolable screaming child. Him over- reacting negatively to anything or anyone, including so much as even looking at him.

Bath time was a spectacular show – think trying to bath a screeching cat and you’re on the right track. Still however, I persevered through this and spoke gently to him, trying to soothe his clearly tortured soul. This was followed by a disastrous dinner. But it’s when I finally sat on the couch and took stock of my day and my ears were yet again assaulted with more screeching that a complete meltdown was experienced on my behalf, with my voice rising above all the screaming to be heard, no doubt, by all of suburbia.

At that point I was quite happy to be escorted to a loony bin only to have some peace and quiet. In fact, I was silently praying for that to happen. Surprisingly my own tantrum seemed to have some significant results as my children stared back at me in awe of my own dramatic capabilities and became quite obliging with my requests to brush teeth and go to bed.

I went to bed ashamed of my outburst, wondering how it all went so wrong when my intentions were so right. My aching heart was comforted by my son who wanted a cuddle in the middle of the night. So whilst I wasn’t the perfect mummy, I did the best that I could, and that has got to be good enough for today.

All’s fair in love and war

I almost made it through the morning without bribery and corruption. Unfortunately I was caught red-handed by a fellow school-mum, whilst trying (unsuccessfully) to negotiate peace between my two children. They both wanted a toy that neither of them had bothered to play with for the past five months (the layer of dust on it put ruins in Egypt to shame), but suddenly that morning it was the prized possession that neither could part with. A battle of wills and sheer brute force ensued and I was left with little choice but to whisper that if they stopped fighting over it I would buy each of them a lollypop. It worked marvellously with each of them gushing that the other could gladly play with it because “sharing is caring”.

A good mother would have promptly taken the offending object and announced that neither child would play with it until everybody learnt to get along. Teary tantrums would have followed, with shouting’s of the unfairness of it all. But an important lesson would have been learnt – that life isn’t always fair and we don’t always get what we want.

I took the cowardly way. The one shunned upon by all parenting books, psychologists, teachers and particularly your mother-in-law. Giving in to your children has been added to the Ten Commandments as far as they’re concerned and should not be entertained in the least.

But why not, I ask? I don’t particularly like playing the fun police who is constantly threatening and sounding thunderous. I know without a shadow of a doubt that had I done the supposed “right” thing, both children would have wailed like banshees prolonging the heinous ordeal, and I would have gone about my day hating myself.

But rather by simply, let’s call it “rewarding good behaviour”, I managed to divert the attention off the ridiculous toy and gave them something to works towards. This is not such a new concept. In fact many companies manage their staff members in such a way “If you play nicely and win us some big business then you could have that promotion you always wanted...” The difference being that I live up to my promises
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I’m often questioned about my parenting tactics generally by my husband as his differ so greatly from my own. Whilst he believes that we should be running a small military operation at home, with himself as commander-in-chief shouting orders, I would probably have a more gypsy existence if left to my own devices. The thing is that everyone likes to please others, and this is no truer in children. So why not use this as a behaviour modification tool. No need to scream (ok sometimes you’re not left much choice, particularly when you’ve reached your patience threshold), but rather dangle that carrot. A far easier approach to reach that same destination plus you’ll come out with fairy godmother status instead of the bearer of all things unfair in life. And nothing beats the reward of that smile you’ll get in return, because we too like to please others.