Misadventures in Parenting

Sometimes, I'm such an idiot. In my calm moments when all is peaceful and the kids are behaving (usually when they are in bed asleep) I am a perfect parent. Well, not perfect but pretty good. Okay, okay..at least adequate. I plan out my responses and resolve to keep my cool in the face of rages, defiance, and childish misdeeds. In those quiet moments in my mind I can be firm yet loving, handling each situations that arises with grace and humor.

Then they wake up. It's then that I discover that I'm not particularly patient nor particularly gracious in the heat of the moment. I'm probably not even all that nice. Humor? Well, some of the things that happen are hilarious later, even to me. You would think after caring for so many traumatized kids who don't want to be here that I would be somewhat immune to being lashed out at. I understand that many of their behaviors are a result of severe inner turmoil and emotional pain. I get that. I also know that it sometimes stems from self-centeredness, an inability to work things out and problem solve, and an out-of-whack way of looking at the world. In some cases, a big old heaping helping of mental illness also plays a part. As therapeutic foster parents, these are things we willingly accept as we continually equip ourselves to help them navigate and overcome their turbulent emotional states.

But the truth is there are some days I've had it up to HERE with being cursed at and called nasty names just for asking a child to comply with a simple request. I don't have a whole lot of stuff but it bums me out when it is stolen or broken. I get irritated and annoyed when kids are defiant and rude. I don't much care for being blamed for all the hurts and injustices in their pasts nor for being called "abusive" for requiring a child to do chores or to correct their behavior.

Sometimes that heaped up frustration and futility just makes me a parenting dork. Just this morning, Squeaker refused to put her shoes on. It was early yet, so visions of myself as firm, calm, and loving were fresh in my mind. I tried again. No go. Shouts of "Leave me alone!" instead and an unmoving child flat out on the bed. Finally, with much back talk, shoes were on and the resister was out the door. Another refusal, this time about getting in the car. Annoyance creeping in. I took her hand, firmly pulling (and maybe a little gentle pushing) towards the car. Nope. Annoyance rising. "Get. In. The. Car." You guessed it. No compliance, but I did get called "Crackhead" several times. That was nothing. I've been called every name in the book (including the appendices). I tried taking her by the hand again saying "Stop acting like a three year old". Abuse in the past causes her to react violently to being touched when she is angry. I should know better. More name calling, no help. Now thoroughly irritated yet still reasonably calm, I asked Ana to make my apologies at church since I was supposed to be helping in the toddler room and it didn't look like I would be going. Not without some snarky inclinations of my own, I commented that the offender's behavior was determining how her vacation time would be spent. Faced with the prospect of plenty of holiday "room time", the little defyer decided to climb into the car. No way. I grabbed her arm saying, "You're not going." Now I'm stuck at home. Again. Like I said, sometimes I'm such an idiot.