Hello living world, again.
I’m back. Literally, but actually figuratively, I died for a week. I was sick to my bones, and my blood was slowly oozing through my veins carrying more antibiotics than plasma. But, bright side… I lost 12 pounds. And, let’s be honest, I’d do it all over again for another 12.
I’m not going to waste your time with talking about my apologies for falling off of my blog challenge. I’m not sorry. Life happened. I blogged for 14 days straight, which is better than I have ever done, and I’m cool with that. I’m picking up and carrying on.
Talking about carrying on… let’s discuss parenting… and when it carries on beyond the four walls of our homes. If you don’t know me well, it should probably be mentioned at this point that I love my children as fiercely as the next set of parents, but I have very little patience for disrespect and bad behavior… as do all of us. If you want to read more about my thoughts on this… please check out this blog. Carrying on…
Today we were at #loveonlarkspur checking out the progress of the remodel; which is a daily event for us. When I mentioned that it was time to leave, Brodrick… my dear youngest boy with his aggressive and feisty spirit… turned to me in our construction site of a living room with a look of disgust on his face and yelled at me in a disgusting, disrespectful tone. I actually can’t even remember what he was yelling about because the fire that boiled in my core rendered all of my other senses useless. Four contractors stood around to hear his disrespect… which only added salt to my wounds, but didn’t change my approach to the situation at all.
As Brody’s disrespect poured from his mouth, the scathing bubbled over inside of mine. My hand catapulted from my jacket pocket and around his tiny arm, quickly and efficiently bringing him to his ass against a wall. I squatted before him, shot my hand underneath his chin to bring his eyes to mine. In a very stern and angry voice, I told him all of the parenting things I’m supposed to say… And then… only then… did his world collapse. Because that silly, silly boy decided to talk back.
From there his walk-in-the-park scolding turned into what I will only call child-hell. The wrath of a mother’s verbal beat-down, coupled with his arms being held in front of him, and a full-length timeout without him being able to move a muscle. This is his torture. The tears streamed down his beet red face in misery.
The thing is, we weren’t alone for this timeout. We weren’t confined inside of the four walls of our private home, and I could feel the stares of the other adults in the room. None of them said a word, but I knew that it made them uncomfortable to watch a little boy be held captive in punishment for 3 full minutes.
But you know what… I’d rather make other people feel uncomfortable for a few minutes than worry that my children will grow up to be assholes who waste their tax dollars because they turn into disrespectful juvenile delinquents that were never raised to respect adults or authority figures.
Because… honestly… how could these little angels ever be anything but cherubs who grace this world with perfection?