I had an interesting afternoon today. Mondays are tricky because we see Jeremy's occupational therapist every other week. It makes Doug's nap either truncated or non-existent. I was kind of unstoppable today. I came home from dropping Bekah off at preschool and did the circuit Kate prescribed for me. I took a shower and headed back to preschool.
I made lunch for both myself and Bekah and then got inspired about our backyard. See, we have two dogs, Scout and Rascal. Each weighs about 50 pounds and we have not picked up after them in our backyard since late fall. You figure we let them out at least 3 times a day...do the math. The backyard was an absolute wreck.
The weather around here has still not decided to make a transition to spring. It's been cold on the weekends, the perfect yard-cleaning time. I decided that today was the day. I was going to perform a frontal assault on the yard, no-holds barred.
I can't work on the yard with Doug running about. He's a mess. I would be worried about him sneaking away to the neighbor's house (he's done this before) or into the street (also this). We have a gate on the side of our yard but it's been broken since last summer. It's on a long laundry list of things that need to be fixed around the house when we get "extra" money. So far, the only money we've had has been spoken for and then some.
I tried, last summer, to prop up the gate against the fence but Doug broke through that right away. Really, then, the only solution is yardwork is to perform it when he's napping. I put him down for a nap and then got to work, armed with two empty dog food bags (32 pound bags), a garbage can, a shovel and a rake. There was no way a pooper scooper was going to do the trick.
Two hours later, the yard looked one thousand times better. My hands will have blisters and my shoulders, abs and feet were aching, but the two bags and garbage can were full of feces and yard debris.
Off we went to pick Jeremy up from school and take him to his OT appointment. En route, Jeremy got a bloody nose. We were on time (a rarity for us), but delayed trying to stop his nose from bleeding. Typically, the therapist lets Bekah and Doug play with Jeremy for the last 5 minutes of the session. The nosebleed meant that wasn't going to happen. Perhaps Bekah was pissed about it, I don't know. What followed was a series of acts of defiance. There are some toys and books in the waiting room. Bekah decided that, instead, she wanted to climb all over the chairs. I asked her, quietly but firmly, to sit on the chairs and/or play with the toys. I told her she shouldn't be climbing on the furniture.
Meanwhile, Doug discovered that if he pushes hard enough, the door leading outside opens and he can escape. Great fun for him, not so much for me. I alternated between scolding Bekah and preventing Doug from leaving. It was hectic. After the second time scolding Bekah, I told her that if she continued to disobey she would end up going to bed early when we got home.
Jeremy's achilles heel is the iPad. Threaten loss of the iPad and 9 times out of 10, the desired outcome is achieved--bad behavior is quashed. Bekah, on the other hand, is tough to motivate. She doesn't care if you say she can't watch Frozen. "That's okay," she'll say, "I didn't want to watch it anyway." Threaten to give away her toys? "Fine, go ahead," she'll say, arms crossed.
Talk about an immovable object.
I have tried almost everything with her, though I admit not consistently and not with great results. It's frustrating to mother Bekah sometimes. Today I decided that I wasn't going to wait for the reaction that would mean I found a pressure point. I was simply going to follow through.
Enter the unstoppable force.
Upon reaching home, I very calmly told her to put on her pajamas and go upstairs. I actually gave her two choices. She could go upstairs on her own or I could help her. I assured her that the latter was going to be far less enjoyable. She screamed and yelled and through a fit. Very calmly I said not making a choice was allowing me to make a choice for her.
She finally decided on option A and headed upstairs.
Of course, that's not the end of the story.
She came back down (I can't remember why) and I had to chase her (all the while trying not to laugh at the idea that she thought she had it over on me) around our kitchen to get her to go back upstairs. I followed her up into her room and let her know, in no uncertain terms, that it was she who had made the decisions leading to her isolation upstairs. I try to help her understand that though I come up with the consequences, I don't hand them out willy-nilly. They are bestowed upon those who make really poor choices.
Back downstairs I went to make dinner. For the next half an hour, I heard a steady chant from her about how she was going to listen to me. Literally, "mommy, I'm going to listen to you" for almost 30 minutes, nonstop. After that she alternated between "I'm bored being upstairs by myself" and "I'm going to listen."
I didn't engage with her at all. I played on my phone, I checked on dinner, I talked with Doug and Jeremy. Oh, and I watched the clock. It was one of those nights, when I couldn't wait for Brian to walk in the door. After a while, though, I did hear the noise seem to draw closer. I went to check and sure enough, she was sitting on the stairs. I told her to get to her room. She claimed that she was going to listen, but here she was not listening.
Mercifully, Brian walked in about 10 minutes later. I brought him up to speed on the afternoon's events. I called Bekah down for dinner and meanwhile she started in on Brian. She wanted a chance to plead her case but we have agreed to stand behind whatever consequence the other doles out. She wasn't going to get what she wanted.
Even after I ran an errand and came back, she was still pleading with us to let her come back downstairs. I am happy to report that I didn't raise my voice, I didn't lose my cool, I didn't scream, shout, stomp my feet or throw anything. I simply didn't give in to any of her pleas. She is currently snoozing away and I'm letting the world know she's a little bit crazy.
Now who's the immovable object?
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