I am going to try to write about this in a way that makes it seem funny, instead of horrible and stressful like it actually was. It may not be possible...
(P.S- Just so you know, everything I am writing about in this post is over a done with. We have moved on with life, and onto bigger and better things (and attitudes. And parenting styles). I just wanted to write this all down before I forgot so that one day I can look back at this blog and think, "Oh yes. I remember now why we almost donated our three-year-old to the animal shelter.")
Oh Bennett.
Where do I start?
It is Sunday (Ugh. Already this is a stressful story). We are driving home from church, and I ask Bennett what he learned in Nursery.
"I learned that we don't stand on tables! And we don't roll ourselves up in the carpet. And we colored. But I made a bad choice and colored on the table. And I had to sit in timeout. I made a lot of bad choices today. But Jesus still loves me!" (all said very happily).
Bennett called his nursery leaders to apologize once we got home.
In fact, Bennett calls his nursery leaders most Sundays now.
They are very forgiving people.
------
I am at my follow-up Women's Health doctor's appointment (or whatever it's called when you go in after you have a baby) and Bennett is being babysat by my friend who lives across the street. She has a little girl Bennett is friends with and they usually have a great time together.
When my appointment (which took waaaaay longer than expected) is over, I text to let her know I am on my way, and to see how things went. The response: "Bennett is sitting in timeout for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. Holy Moly!!"
Holy Moly is right. Apparently Bennett had performed a plethora of naughtiness on this day, including (but not limited to) hitting his friend, demolishing her room into a heap of toys, making a break for it down the street out the front door, and dumping out a box of 64 crayons, jumping on them with his shoes to break them, and then throwing them in the shower when asked to pick them up.
What the...?
Love and Logic was deployed, and Bennett spent the better part of the next afternoon picking up dog poop from our friends' three very large dogs. His morbid fear of poop and sensitive gag reflex were strictly ignored.
------
It is "nap time" (why do I even still use that term?) and Bennett is "resting" in his room. I go in to check on him after a half hour or so, and am surprised to see that his room is spotless.
Literally.
There is not one toy, book, basket, blanket, or stuffed animal in sight.
Upon inquiring as to the whereabouts of every one of Bennett's worldly possessions, he gets a huge grin on his face and says the line that makes my blood run chill every time he utters it.
"Here! I will show you!"
At this point he runs over to his closet, throws the double doors wide open, and is immediately buried waist deep in a dramatic waterfall of items. It was seriously like in the movies. I have no idea how he did that.
It was just a little bit awesome.
After I recovered from the shock and hilarity of the situation, Bennett spent the better part of the next three hours cleaning up (completely by himself) the unspeakable mess he created.
As a side note, Bennett has also perfected the skills of sorting laundry, washing windows, unloading the dishwasher, sweeping the back porch, and pulling weeds.
If nothing else, he is going to have the cleanest jail cell in Juvenal Hall.
The guards will love him.
------
I am at yet another doctor's appointment (did I mention I might be a permanent diabetic? Oh the joy.) and Bennett is being watched by a different friend down the street. I send a text about halfway through my three-hour glucose test to see how things are going. The response: "Things are great. The piano is broken, but he is out of timeout now and playing nicely with Camden."
Wait...THE PIANO IS BROKEN???!!!!
I make Bennett offer to pay for the repair from his piggy bank, tell him he will be there to help fix it, and talk about respecting other people's things.
Luckily, it wasn't that bad and only the talk was really necessary.
Bennett now accompanies me to all my doctor appointments.
It's just not worth it.
------
We are at Goodwill. Patton is in his carrier inside the main part of one of the ridiculously tiny shopping carts, therefore making it impossible to open the child seat. So Bennett is walking next to me. We go to stores a lot and Bennett walks next to me a lot. He is very good at this--not today. Today, he is asserting his freedom to run willy-nilly through the store, and he is wearing me down fast. So then I remember: in my Love and Logic book it tells a story about a dad who's little boy keeps stopping in the store, so the dad just keeps walking. And the little boy, thinking he is lost, begins to cry. So when the dad (who has been watching from a safe distance) reappears, the child learns the value of staying with him in the store, and life is hunky dori again. The end.
So I decide to try it.
And then I decide to write a strongly worded letter to Charles Fay, author of Love and Logic, telling him that the little boy in that story was NOT named Bennett Hargrave. Because when Bennett Hargrave's mom keeps walking in a store, he takes the opportunity to disappear...for 10 minutes.
At first I don't even really care. The store is little, both doors are within easy viewing, and hardly anybody else is in there with us. And Bennett isn't exactly quiet. So I just keep shopping (and get some seriously cute things. I love Goodwill!) but eventually, I realize it has been quite awhile since I have seen or heard my cute little boy, and I begin to get a little nervous. Just as I am walking up to the checkout line though, I see him running towards me with a huge grin on his face, saying "Hi Mom! I thought I was lost and it was SO FUN!!" (Ya, Charles. What do you do with that?) So I take his little hand (pretty hard, I have to admit) and stand there and listen to his story about how he was pretending like he was a car, and he needed to get gas, so he went to the gas station and got some food for his tummy. Bennett has a great imagination.
After we pay for our cute things, we walk outside to go to our car and I happen to look over my right shoulder. And what do I see?
A huge Texaco/7-11 gas station.
Like the kind where semi-truck drivers and Harley riders and teenage gangsters all hang out and have knife-fights over who's tattoos are the toughest.
And right on cue, Bennett pipes up with, "See, Mommy? That's where I went when I was a car. I needed gas for my tummy."
And I am in shock. I am so literally at a loss as to what to do, (because it was as much my fault as his this time) that I simply put Bennett in the car and drive home without saying a word. Without looking at him. Without turning the radio on...nothing. Silence.
And Bennett gets the picture pretty fast that he is in pretty major trouble, and he begins apologizing profusely. He has never left my side at a store since that fateful day.
Should I go on?
Because I could.
And if any of these stories alarm you, or you feel that my punishments were unjust and/or unfair, please feel free to contact CPS on my behalf.
Because trust me.
I could sure use the break right about now.
Oh Bennett.
I just love you.
(P.S- Just so you know, everything I am writing about in this post is over a done with. We have moved on with life, and onto bigger and better things (and attitudes. And parenting styles). I just wanted to write this all down before I forgot so that one day I can look back at this blog and think, "Oh yes. I remember now why we almost donated our three-year-old to the animal shelter.")
Oh Bennett.
Where do I start?
It is Sunday (Ugh. Already this is a stressful story). We are driving home from church, and I ask Bennett what he learned in Nursery.
"I learned that we don't stand on tables! And we don't roll ourselves up in the carpet. And we colored. But I made a bad choice and colored on the table. And I had to sit in timeout. I made a lot of bad choices today. But Jesus still loves me!" (all said very happily).
Bennett called his nursery leaders to apologize once we got home.
In fact, Bennett calls his nursery leaders most Sundays now.
They are very forgiving people.
------
I am at my follow-up Women's Health doctor's appointment (or whatever it's called when you go in after you have a baby) and Bennett is being babysat by my friend who lives across the street. She has a little girl Bennett is friends with and they usually have a great time together.
When my appointment (which took waaaaay longer than expected) is over, I text to let her know I am on my way, and to see how things went. The response: "Bennett is sitting in timeout for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes. Holy Moly!!"
Holy Moly is right. Apparently Bennett had performed a plethora of naughtiness on this day, including (but not limited to) hitting his friend, demolishing her room into a heap of toys, making a break for it down the street out the front door, and dumping out a box of 64 crayons, jumping on them with his shoes to break them, and then throwing them in the shower when asked to pick them up.
What the...?
Love and Logic was deployed, and Bennett spent the better part of the next afternoon picking up dog poop from our friends' three very large dogs. His morbid fear of poop and sensitive gag reflex were strictly ignored.
------
It is "nap time" (why do I even still use that term?) and Bennett is "resting" in his room. I go in to check on him after a half hour or so, and am surprised to see that his room is spotless.
Literally.
There is not one toy, book, basket, blanket, or stuffed animal in sight.
Upon inquiring as to the whereabouts of every one of Bennett's worldly possessions, he gets a huge grin on his face and says the line that makes my blood run chill every time he utters it.
"Here! I will show you!"
At this point he runs over to his closet, throws the double doors wide open, and is immediately buried waist deep in a dramatic waterfall of items. It was seriously like in the movies. I have no idea how he did that.
It was just a little bit awesome.
After I recovered from the shock and hilarity of the situation, Bennett spent the better part of the next three hours cleaning up (completely by himself) the unspeakable mess he created.
As a side note, Bennett has also perfected the skills of sorting laundry, washing windows, unloading the dishwasher, sweeping the back porch, and pulling weeds.
If nothing else, he is going to have the cleanest jail cell in Juvenal Hall.
The guards will love him.
------
I am at yet another doctor's appointment (did I mention I might be a permanent diabetic? Oh the joy.) and Bennett is being watched by a different friend down the street. I send a text about halfway through my three-hour glucose test to see how things are going. The response: "Things are great. The piano is broken, but he is out of timeout now and playing nicely with Camden."
Wait...THE PIANO IS BROKEN???!!!!
I make Bennett offer to pay for the repair from his piggy bank, tell him he will be there to help fix it, and talk about respecting other people's things.
Luckily, it wasn't that bad and only the talk was really necessary.
Bennett now accompanies me to all my doctor appointments.
It's just not worth it.
------
We are at Goodwill. Patton is in his carrier inside the main part of one of the ridiculously tiny shopping carts, therefore making it impossible to open the child seat. So Bennett is walking next to me. We go to stores a lot and Bennett walks next to me a lot. He is very good at this--not today. Today, he is asserting his freedom to run willy-nilly through the store, and he is wearing me down fast. So then I remember: in my Love and Logic book it tells a story about a dad who's little boy keeps stopping in the store, so the dad just keeps walking. And the little boy, thinking he is lost, begins to cry. So when the dad (who has been watching from a safe distance) reappears, the child learns the value of staying with him in the store, and life is hunky dori again. The end.
So I decide to try it.
And then I decide to write a strongly worded letter to Charles Fay, author of Love and Logic, telling him that the little boy in that story was NOT named Bennett Hargrave. Because when Bennett Hargrave's mom keeps walking in a store, he takes the opportunity to disappear...for 10 minutes.
At first I don't even really care. The store is little, both doors are within easy viewing, and hardly anybody else is in there with us. And Bennett isn't exactly quiet. So I just keep shopping (and get some seriously cute things. I love Goodwill!) but eventually, I realize it has been quite awhile since I have seen or heard my cute little boy, and I begin to get a little nervous. Just as I am walking up to the checkout line though, I see him running towards me with a huge grin on his face, saying "Hi Mom! I thought I was lost and it was SO FUN!!" (Ya, Charles. What do you do with that?) So I take his little hand (pretty hard, I have to admit) and stand there and listen to his story about how he was pretending like he was a car, and he needed to get gas, so he went to the gas station and got some food for his tummy. Bennett has a great imagination.
After we pay for our cute things, we walk outside to go to our car and I happen to look over my right shoulder. And what do I see?
A huge Texaco/7-11 gas station.
Like the kind where semi-truck drivers and Harley riders and teenage gangsters all hang out and have knife-fights over who's tattoos are the toughest.
And right on cue, Bennett pipes up with, "See, Mommy? That's where I went when I was a car. I needed gas for my tummy."
And I am in shock. I am so literally at a loss as to what to do, (because it was as much my fault as his this time) that I simply put Bennett in the car and drive home without saying a word. Without looking at him. Without turning the radio on...nothing. Silence.
And Bennett gets the picture pretty fast that he is in pretty major trouble, and he begins apologizing profusely. He has never left my side at a store since that fateful day.
Should I go on?
Because I could.
And if any of these stories alarm you, or you feel that my punishments were unjust and/or unfair, please feel free to contact CPS on my behalf.
Because trust me.
I could sure use the break right about now.
Oh Bennett.
I just love you.
4 comments:
Oh Bennett! We love that boy too, and you are a good mom. I'm so glad things are getting better though. And just so you know, I've always thought that it should be called The Terrible Three's instead of the Terrible Two's. You will both come out of this better people, but in the mean time, keep repeating that last line of your blog to yourself. We love you too!
Haley, Haley . . . I love you. And now, do you want to give Bennett a kiss from grandpa on the left cheek or on the right cheek. It's your choice. Love, Dad.
Permanent diabetic? How sad! And I know. . .what do you do when Love and Logic fails?
You're doing great.
Wow. Your an amazing mommy! I am just gald to hear that you made him clean everything up himself...you would be bad if you did everything for him and he just walked around destroying things...believe me. I've seen it. YOUR AMAZING!!! Hope this week is better!
Post a Comment