Bad Mothering 101
When my kids play outdoors they drive me nuts. They cannot stay outside for more than a few minutes before they come back in for one reason or another. Multiply their coming in every few minutes by the number of children I have and it is a revolving door of in and out, in and out, in and out. I've been known to lock the front door just to keep them outside, but that is not the worst of my mothering.
Friday it was raining and my three younger children love to play in the rain. They hadn't been out, prancing about in the shower more than 5 minutes before Lil' Wingnut came, soaking wet, needing something.
"If you come in, you are done," I said to him.
"But I have to go to the bathroom."
"If you come in, you are done," I repeated firmly.
He went back out the door and I didn't see him again for at least an hour. He must not have needed to go that badly, right?
When he did finally come in and had changed into dry clothes I asked him if he'd gone to the bathroom yet. He told me he had.
"Oh? Did you go upstairs while you were changing?" I asked.
"Well, no. I went earlier."
"You did? Where did you go?" I asked nervously.
"Do you remember when you said if I came in I was done?"
"Yes, but where did you go?"
"Really, it's ok, Mom. Special K found a Trader Joe's bag, and well . . . " he confessed with his wry little grin.
"I guess that's what I get," I observed, palm to face, "Please tell me the Trader Joe's bag made it to the trash can."
Friday it was raining and my three younger children love to play in the rain. They hadn't been out, prancing about in the shower more than 5 minutes before Lil' Wingnut came, soaking wet, needing something.
"If you come in, you are done," I said to him.
"But I have to go to the bathroom."
"If you come in, you are done," I repeated firmly.
He went back out the door and I didn't see him again for at least an hour. He must not have needed to go that badly, right?
When he did finally come in and had changed into dry clothes I asked him if he'd gone to the bathroom yet. He told me he had.
"Oh? Did you go upstairs while you were changing?" I asked.
"Well, no. I went earlier."
"You did? Where did you go?" I asked nervously.
"Do you remember when you said if I came in I was done?"
"Yes, but where did you go?"
"Really, it's ok, Mom. Special K found a Trader Joe's bag, and well . . . " he confessed with his wry little grin.
"I guess that's what I get," I observed, palm to face, "Please tell me the Trader Joe's bag made it to the trash can."
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