In truth, I wanted to scream, and cry, and possibly even spank.
I think he deserved a spank. A soiled "straighten-up, kiddo!".
It was pouring down rain. I adore this weather, but even I was a little weary because we were all tired and cranky and now wet and cold as well. Demitri (my 4-year-old darling) had had enough and there was ABSOLUTELY NO way that he was playing nicely, i.e. going to cooperate.
I opened my door. "I need you (big kids) both to walk and let's walk quickly." I had said.
I undid his seat belt and he sat there, defiant and steadfast. He had no intention of listening and much preferred that I a) loose my mind and begin freaking out, or b) pick him up and carry him, ala, my darling lump of spoiled sugar.
Instead, I pulled him out of the car seat and placed his feet on the ground beside me as I shut the door. The rain was pouring in torrents and I still had two other children and a huge purse to contend with.
After dragging D. over to the other side of the car where I could unbuckle Thatcher and let Zeplin out, D. tried to jump back into the car.
Annoyed, I lifted him back up and out.
I think I held my composure fairly well up to then.
We all walked up to the dentist, pouring rain, me holding T. and still dragging D., and yelling "move it, kid" to Z. over the rain. Some kind soul opened the door for us and encouraged my boys and I inside. God bless her.
By now D. was a firestorm of tears, yelling, and clutching me with no sign of letting up. I checking Z. in, yelling over my son in response to the receptionists who looked at me with smiles of understanding and eyes of "oh boy".
I had us all sit together, dripping wet, and asked Z. to remove both his and T.'s raincoats. D. and I sat there, intertwined, wet raincoats on. He was still yelling.
Eventually we were called to the back and I had to carry two wet raincoats, a huge purse, and D. as he refused to let go.
He also refused to quite yelling.
The dentist approached the door and I watched as he recoiled from the noise. I could only guess that he wanted to be anywhere but in that room. I know that's how I felt.
"My four-year-old is really clingy and it makes me want to scream", said the dental assistant.
"I want to cry," I said.
"You can. It's OK", she responded.
I tried to get D. to stop.
I asked him kindly.
I held his face in my hands and looked directly at him. my mouth close to his face for emphasis.
I raised my voice.
I shock him, while still on my lap. I really wanted to spank him. I mean, I felt like that would -at the least- allow him to understand how frustrated I was-, but I shook him and we giggled.
For one moment, I thought it would be OK.
He began yelling again.
He yelled so loud and so long.
I knew this wasn't going to happen.
I knew the dentist was going to get overwhelmed.
I knew my son was disrupting the ENTIRE HALL of patients.
I knew he should be in bed, warm, dry, and sleeping.
I asked if we could reschedule.
"Of course".
I asked if I could call to reschedule, so as to leave just as soon as we could.
"Of course".
Wet raincoats back on, T., in my arms, Z. standing at the door, ready to leave, and there was D., reaching up for me.
But I was angry.
I was overwhelmed, and upset, and annoyed.
"No, bud. I am carrying your brother. You get to walk. I am not carrying you, and rewarding you, when you behave like this."
*Enter illicit screaming and a mother -once again- dragging her child.*
We were not out the door long enough for it to shut when I let out a loud, "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
D. is not the only one who needed to scream.
I had to drag him to the car. I had to put him in his seat and buckle him, all this while he said repeatedly, between screamy-sobs, "I can't, I'm freezing."
And he may have been, freezing, I don't know. But I think it was more like, "I can't because I don't want to. I want to be as difficult as possible. To let you know I am upset. To make it harder on you. Because I am a selfish 4-year-old who only knows how to think of myself right now."
As I type, we are at home. 4-year-old and 2-year-old are sleeping, warm, dry, and comfy. 6-year-old is watching cartoons, all snuggled in a blanket on the floor beside me. I am sitting here, typing. My heart is still beating fast- the result of heightened nerves.
I have calmed down and am extremely grateful that I did not spank him. Neither he nor I would have enjoyed that. Also, I am not at all convinced that it would have helped anything.
This, rather, is a much better way for me to calm down and be reflective. I can admit that I wanted to scream. That I was embarrassed and annoyed at my offspring. That I was throwing figurative darts at my husband who knows so little of these moments I deal with more often than I would like. He wouldn't have lasted. He would have been a spanking, yelling, cursing mess. He would have embarrassed us all.
Had others not been there, watching -judging- I may not have been so pleasant myself. I may have been like a loon...or more of a loon, since I am pretty confident everyone at the receptionist desk heard my scream upon our exit. I hoped they all laughed as they sat around sharing, "yep, been there, done that." And "I've had my fair share of that".
The eyes of my sons watched as I carried, dragged, or "loudly encouraged" quicker steps to the car. As I buckled-in two of them and was the last in the car. I was the most wet, by proxy. These eyes watched as their mommy sat in her seat, closed her eyes and began to breath deeply. Perhaps they felt the weight of the atmosphere in our car. The muggy, heavy, atmosphere. Perhaps D. understood that he played a large role in my demeanor, in the heaviness on my shoulders and the grind of my teeth. And perhaps not. Regardless, he fell asleep on the way home. All three of them did. And they were precious to behold.
Once inside, it was a large dump of wet raincoats, rain boots, bags, and a huge purse. It was baby boy who peed on our carpet and D. who began wailing because he was freezing. It was me grabbing a towel to absorb the pee, grabbing baby boy and running to the potty, and directing the big kid and the freezing one to "take off your wet clothes and put on dry stuff".
It was tucking T. into bed and praying for him as he smiled at his ducky and let me play with his hair. It was knocking on the closed door of D.'s room and letting myself in to pray for him. Asking him to place his head on his pillow and taking his hand.
It was worship music playing in his room- because we all need it, and he needed it the most right then.
It was pouring myself a small glass of iced coffee with coconut creamer and grabbing this computer.
It was tucking Z. into his blanket on the floor.
It was me, beginning to breath at a regular pace once again.
It was the grace of God, preventing me from having regret.
Not every day has victory. There are so many days I am disappointed in myself and/or others. Today, though, in this moment, I am thankful for the grace. I see it. I have felt it- even while I felt as if I was drowning. And I didn't drown, so that must have been grace, because I am here to write about it. To release it and embrace it. To share it.
I wanted to scream. My little man did scream. Eventually, I did too.
And we are all going to be OK.
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