The worst part of this bizarrely horrible week was Ren, curled over in her car seat, gripping her knees, screaming, “Please don’t be hurt Edeny PLEASE DON’T BE HURT.”
It was an eerie window into the core of a person who is only four, but wholly human, vulnerable, aware.
There was nothing I could do to spare her that ride to Urgent Care, soaked in regret, begging her Creator to do anything to her but spare her the experience of having harmed a baby.
I had been doing dishes in the kitchen when I heard the sound — the sick “crack” that can only be a head hitting the floor. And then wails. Baby wails.
”Tellmewhathappenedtellmewhathappened …” I blared, scooping Eden up from under Ducky’s pink settee.
”She fell off the couch,” Ren whimpered.
”WHY DID YOU PUT HER ON THE COUCH?” — When I had left them, Eden was on the play mat. I ran my hand over her head, studied her howling face.
”What happened?” I managed. “And I mean be specific: tell me how she got from the mat to falling off the couch.”
And here, Ren redeemed herself. None of the usual coy looks or whispered, sly apologies. No lies. She demonstrated for me exactly how she did it, picking Eden up off the mat, setting her down on the soft pink pillow.
”I thought she would want to play naptime,” Ren said miserably. “I went to get a blanket and when I turned back she was like dis,” Ren climbed up on the settee, head aimed at the floor, and lowered herself toward the hardwood.
Oh, shit. Okay.
”I thought she’d like it,” she whimpered.
Eden had stopped crying and looked chipper.
”She’s okay, Ren,” I said. Unbelievably, Eden looked completely fine.
”Come over here and tell her you’re sorry.”
Ren slid miserably toward us and put her hand on Eden’s. I rubbed both my babies’ backs and felt the adrenaline settle. I could hear the kitchen faucet still running.
”It’s okay,” I repeated.
And that was when Eden vomited. A fountain of apples and oatmeal. Down herself, down Ren and me.
She vomited three more times in the next ten minutes.
At Urgent Care, Ren wouldn’t get out of the car. She huddled on the floor, screaming and grabbing at her hair.
I picked up the ball of her, perched it on my shoulder, and Mare helped me push Eden’s stroller.
At Urgent Care, a message. Dr. Button had heard and would see us himself. The older I get, the fewer true comforts I have. Dr. Button’s presence in these last months has been one of them, and I was so relieved to see him, so grateful that he cared enough to meet us here.
He looked her over, told us we could avoid the hospital if we promised to monitor her closely for the next few hours and call him if we saw any change.
Eden was fine. She didn’t throw up again, fell asleep at the regular hour, woke up at the usual intervals.
It was Ren who sweated and whimpered in her sleep. I tucked her in beside me, rubbed her back, whispered in her ear that I loved her just as much today as I did yesterday.
”We all make mistakes,” we kept telling her.
And then we were baking pizzas. I was standing at the counter and they were looking in the oven door. Ren suddenly leaned up, grabbed the door handle, and started to swing. The hot door opened, dropping her to the floor, landing on her.
I grabbed her up, angrier than I have ever been at any child in my life. Closer than I have ever been to spanking one.
I got in her face and I screamed.
”How many times have I told you not to touch the oven?“
“Lots,” she wept.
”I am tired of telling you what the rules are and getting ignored, Karenna. The rules are there to protect you, to protect your sisters and our home.”
And then I did it.
“Are you allowed to pick up your sister?”
”No,” she sobbed.
”If she’s on the couch do we EVER leave her there without a hand on her?” I sounded like a Marine drill sergeant – hard, unrelenting.
”No, no,” she wept.
”You knew the rules, and you broke them and what happened?”
”I hurt Baby Sissy.”
”Yes,” I said.
I realized then that she had done it on purpose, swinging on the oven door, driving me to come after her. She was punishing herself, punishing me, testing the limits of my authority and her ability to bring real destruction.
She needed me to make her face the consequences.
I could see my fault. Ren climbs furniture, speaks rudely, ignores instructions, smiles coyly and faces little rebuke. It was not a huge leap from that to picking up her sister.
I have fallen into the trap of the working mother: being lenient because I feel guilty that I am not doing enough for her. Because I don’t want our time together to be about my reprimanding her.
I have sacrificed good mothering for likeability, pitching over board the thing most critical to keeping the ship afloat: respect for rules; reliability; compliance with legitimate authority.
“You have to do as you’re told,” I said to her now. “The rules are there to protect you and your sisters. If you can’t stop yourself, I will stop you. I will come after you hard, Karenna, and our lives will be unpleasant, but you will be doing as you’re told, do you understand me?”
“I will stop myself,” she whispered.
And I know that she won’t. Not right away. She will continue to push, forcing me to block her at every turn until she is hemmed in, safe. Contained in a space she can bounce around in all she wants to with no chance of hurting herself or anyone else.
Hemming her in is my job, and it does not make me likeable. But whatever else I sacrifice in a day, I am reminded that doing that job must always be the priority.
Wow. What a story. Glad Edeny is OK. Bet Ren’ll listen now. You are Da Momma, and your word rules.
My 3-yr old son is like your Ren. And I am trying SO HARD to pen him in and make him understand the limits. It takes ALL MY WILL AND STRENGTH, and at the end of the day I am exhausted and often I don’t feel like we’ve made progress. But I have to keep at it. It’s the only thing I can do. Any advice or tips or tricks or suggestions, either to help him understand that he can’t be rough/must do as he’s told/follow the rules, or to help keep me from landing in a nuthouse, would be greatly appreciated.
I’m glad Eden is fine. I’m glad you write so honestly about feelings and circumstances that are hard to express. Thank you.
This one made me tear up. Of course poor Eden – Thank God she’s okay. And poor you, CH, and Mare for having to go through all that. But I really feel for poor Ren – someone who clearly was beside herself with anguish about the thought she may have accidentally hurt her baby sister – one of the select people she absolutely adores and thinks of making happy – even when the ideas to please this tiny person go against the rules. Boy have I been there as a kid. Those times when you – for whatever reason- don’t think things through before acting… and of course once the toothpaste is out of the tube, you can’t put it back. Ren will learn – as I did – it just takes some of us with this larger-than-life independent streak (hence the tendency to overlook what seem like slight risks for what we may consider larger benefits – such as the temporary amusement of a baby sister) a little bit longer.
wow, glad to hear that everyone is “ok” you have your hands full, that was scary!
I had to have the talk with my 7-year old this week about how “all of our behaviors affect whether or not our family is a happy one or not”…even his. And how I know he can do better…I really do…but I think he feels like he HAS to act out or else he is not heard. I will listen better to him, and I will hear him, but he is not to throw tantrums. And you’re right, it won’t work. At least not at first. But I hope and pray it works before he ends up in Juvie somewhere.
Oh Liz. This motherhood gig is really hard.
Your line about being a guilt-feeling working mother strikes a little too close to home. Thanks.
You are doing so well to be so self aware. My older daughter is 15, and after years of hideous teenage scenes and boundary pushing, we worked out together a way to sort the important from the trivial.
If a behaviour is
a) dangerous
b) she might regret it in the future or
c) it affects other people,
then it is reasonable for me to set limits, and I should do. If none of the above, then it’s inappropriate control. I reckon this even applies to younger children: thus Ren above flouts all 3 factors, and deserves the drill sergeant. However: style of hair, which flavour of ice cream to choose, which book to read: up to her. With my daughter: no trips to London alone in the evening (a), no tattoos (b), no swearing in front of the grandparents (c) – and she knows where the limits are because she can ask herself the three questions and decide for herself whether the behaviour flouts them. But it took us 15 years to work this out, and you sound like you are nearly there already – well done!
I often feel like a broken record. I tell the kids the rules and they break them within minutes, no matter how many times I’ve told them the rules. Clearly I’m doing something wrong.
Wow, thanks for the great post. I’m so glad that everyone is okay, and although I don’t have kids yet, I do hope that someday, I’ll remember this post, and remember that kids don’t always need another friend, but they always need their mom!
I could say a thousand things in response but I’ll only say 2. First, I’m so very glad that Eden is ok. Second, thank you for the reminder that there is NO excuse for a lack of hard-core parenting. I needed that butt-kicking myself.
I’m so glad Eden is okay. I needed to read this today – my 4 year old is the one who kicks my ass. He laughs when I discipline him, constantly test boundaries, and has a terrific radar for when I’m just too tired to care. I totally know that my lack of follow-through leads to worse behavior – I need to kick my own ass and stay consistent. It’s so hard.
So glad Eden is ok… my heart went into my mouth there on both sides.. Eden falling off the couch and Ren’s reaction… I swear you must live in my house because I am going through the same thing.
I feel guilty because I work and the time I have with Bella and Jasper is so precious to me that I want to be the good guy… but I can’t because who is going to teach them cause and effect
@AlisonS and YankeeAmanda. So very true. I fight the fights that mean something (ie hurting yourself or another, causing major damage etc) If you push it with controling the silly things and not let them make decisions, then you run the risk of being a tyrant and raising someone who hates you and can’t think for themselves.
Metaphorically, I give my children enough rope to feel things out for themselves, but knowing I will hang them with it if they screw up.
Bless you Liz. For being there for your daughters and their needs and for sharing it all with us. The going will be tough but Ren will love you for showing her limits so as she goes through school, college and enters real life in the work force she will be able to cope with consequences, limits, dissapointments and successes. She will know that someone loved her enough to guide her towards a healthy way to interact with the world and with herself. We should all be given such a wonderful gift as the one you are giving Ren with your caring and love…….even when it takes the form of the “drill seargeant”. Bravo!
i need to print out excerpts of this and duct tape them to my bathroom mirror in 72 font. Damn i hate not being likeable, the working mom guilt creeping over me and allowing leiniancy. But I’d hate even more for my 2 year old son to become a 9 year old brat who doesn’t know how to mind.
Thanks for reminding me of the great responsibility.
I have Ren. Her name is Violet and she’s five now. I have always felt like I was breaking a wild horse with her. It feels like there’s a fine line between discipline and breaking her spirit, so to speak. I’m so glad that Eden is going to be ok. And so will Ren.
I always connect with your posts, but this one socked me right in the gut and moved me to tears (the ugly kind). I too am at this horrible crossroads as a working mom. It has been such a difficult year with the kids, my family and of course, financially. My kindergartner just had scarlet fever and I missed a week of work. It’s OK, because I tell myself that my kids’ health is my # 1 priority…then the car died and cannot be resuscitated…now what? The same sweet little almost 6 year-old was also diagnosed with ADHD, and I tell myself OK, his education and his behavior are my top priority. Then the property taxes tripled and my mortgage increased by an obscene amount. To live, I need to work more, earn more, be away more. But to REALLY live, I need to be here, be present and be the kind of mom you describe – not always the most fun but doing the right thing, nonetheless. Ugh. I’m going to keep working, keep mothering, keep reading your posts…what else can we do? Thanks for sharing and helping keep us sane, one mom at a time.
My oldest (4) is that way. For a long tome I thought it was our parentingbut then the younger one came along and she obeys and has control. She does however have way less passion and is not too opinionated. So I struggle to discipline the oldest and not break her down. I love her passion 99% of the time. But that 1 % kills me sometimes. I too fear for her safety and we set up blue tape (the painter kind) in areas to give her visual warning of where to be careful. Like by the stove and by the babies crib and play area. It seems to help and keeps me from yelling. And it pulls off easily. We will be lining the area around the tree.
I rarely, rarely comment on blogs. But I have to say, this was one hell of a post.
Extremely insightful, very well told, and you probably helped someone out today. Big time.
again thank you thank you thank you! My daughters are roughly spaced out like your two youngest and I had a underwater experience with the youngest the other night (the oldest assisted in pulling under and holding on in the bathtub)….and didn’t loose my cool until the adrenaline stopped and she acted like she didn’t get what she did wrong. So Thank you Thank you Thank you for making it feel normal to have kids like this!
Wow. Great post.
Haven’t been this scared reading your blog since that horrible burn incident with Renny. SO glad everyone is okay. Keep on keepin’ on. Sometimes I repeat like a mantra to myself, “Being a good parent is hard. Being a bad one is easy.”
I have a to-be-3-year-old -next-week and 4 month old twins. This could have been one of my days. Thanks for the reminder that we’re here to parent not be friends.
You’re awesome because you realize the problem & are going to fix it AND are helping other mothers in the process. Too many would recognize the guilt trap & continue down that road leaving us with even more rude people in the world. I’m glad your baby is okay.
definitely needed to hear this post this week. I have an 8yo who follows my example a bit too closely when it comes to sarcasm and attitude. thanks for saying it, and glad everyone is ok…
it’s like hearing a sermon, feeling god pointing at YOU. you squirm uncomfortably; you tear up. inevitably the tears run over; your heart is changed. everyone’s a little better for it.
thanks for the come-to-jesus moment.
glad everyone’s ok… or getting there.
Uncle would be proud. Glad there is no permanent damage.
Liz,
You are amazing.
My baby turned thirteen this morning. The other morning he said in huge frustration at me “MOM you have to stop enforcing all the rules, it is just ANNOYING” At the days end he said “Hey Mom, don’t stop being the enforcer, I need it.”
They do need it and as difficult as it is to be the enforcer, it pays off. Glad everyone is well.
Another incredible post. Glad Eden is ok and hugs to Ren for living it.
wow. this is what I’m up against, huh? I read your blog for the reality of it, for the “not for wimps” part of it. that’s what comes through here. your being real with us is incredibly generous.
It’s so hard to be a good parent. And so often you have to stop and think and do what’s right, not what’s easy, not what you want to do, not what you have the time and energy for, not what your kids want from you. But you have to be the grown-up and do it anyway. It’s hard, hard, hard.
Thanks so much for posting this.
came back to read this again in a moment of more-than-halfway-to-motherhood panic where things are getting less pastel and fuzzy. Just have to remember, not my job to be his friend. I am the mother. Oh boy.