I think I can

I try to be a sympathetic person.

That's not entirely true.

I try to be a sympathetic spouse, parent and friend.

I'm not very good at it.

So, when in the course of daily events, my kids do crazy shit, I am not very tolerant.

Did they break something?  They shouldn't have been horsing around.  Did they hurt each other?  Then they shouldn't have been horsing around.  Did one hurt himself?  Then he shouldn't have been horsing around. 

You know how I know that horsing around is the culprit?   Because grown ups 1.  Hardly ever hurt themselves while doing something appropriate.  2.  Don't horse around inappropriately.  And when they do, bad things happen.  How many weekend warriors sport knee braces on a Monday?  How many dares end up in the ER? 

So, right.  When my kids misbehave and the consequences are negative, I usually have no hesitation in meting out punishment. 

Horseplay=loss of stuff you like to do.

There are exceptions, of course.  And mostly they involve misbehavior of another sort.  The mouthy, limit-pushing variety.  The type of misbehavior that is followed by the kids' wide-eyed stare.  They've thrown down the gauntlet, they're curious to see how you respond.  This is a test.  It is only a test. 

Your response must be both instant and thoughtful.  It must show strength, consistency, control, and compassion.  It must exact justice rather than revenge.

In short, the perfect response is unattainable.   It's an oasis-like shimmering of possibility that dries up the moment you need to execute.  It's theoretical, academic, Ivory Tower parenting.  It's the measured, but completely unhelpful response from a parenting magazine.  It's not the response that boils up to your lips in a singularly infuriating moment that reveals your child's deepest, darkest inner-workings.  It's a fight or flight instinct that must be reined in by willpower, civility and the horrible judgy stares of the community.

It's the moment when you see how your family functions at their most dysfunctional.

Predictably, there are two times every year where my family are at their worst (including me.)  These are the moments when I thank the dignity gods that I am not on a reality show, or under the purview of Children's Services, or in any way worse of  a human than I already am.

The last week (or two) of school in May and the last week (or two) of summer in August, are consistently disastrous around here.

The primary reason, and what I was thinking about when I started this entry, is that usually my kid makes a bad choice and receives an appropriate punishment and everything is straight-forward.  But for those two (or four) weeks a year, the "bad" initial behavior stems from my S's total inability to handle change.

S spent the last two weeks of school this year rudely criticizing my cooking, picking fights with his brother, provoking his dad.  And the last two weeks have been a re-run of that miserable show.

I know the behavior is coming, I want to be able to yield a cushion for him.  I want to be able to give him leeway that I usually wouldn't offer.  And, when necessary, I'd like to exhibit leniency I wouldn't usually extend.

But then it comes.  The mouthiness, the foul language, the total disregard for instructions and responsibility.  The hair trigger.

And in my moment?  In these moments when I can behave like a cultured human who reaches out to her child with patience instead of wrath?

Almost got it.  Sort of.  Not quite.

I've been lenient.  I have avoided restricting the last few days of summer.  But, boy, have I been tested.

I throw up my hands thinking, those boys haven't lifted a finger all summer.  They haven't helped, they've complained about every bit of work we've asked them to do.  They've put up their feet and been waited upon like kings.  And NOW they're yelling at me over the smallest of domestic chores.

Three more days.  Three more days.  Three more days.