Monday, 11 May 2009

• Exhibit A, B and C

  Remember a while back when I talked about how most people believe some variation (or many variations) of the lie, "my child will never do that" or "I will never do that with my child". 
  
  First, let me admit, if it wasn't clear before, that I was totally guilty of this before I had Nathanael, and in many ways I am still guilty of it--it's like I can't control myself--I look at 'mistakes' being made by parents of children older than mine and judge.  Who cares that I've never parented a child their child's age--or their child. . .You'd think all the times parenthood had humbled me in the past two and a half years would be enough, but apparently my capacity for pride is enormous. 
  
  Fortunately, my God is faithful to put me in my place.  Some examples of ways I've been critical, only to have God chip away at my very specific areas of pride.
  
  We knew a toddler before we had Nathanael who was extremely picky.  Well, actually, I thought this child was extremely picky at the time, but now I think the child (yes, protecting the involved parties by not revealing so much as a gender) was just a typical toddler.  Still, I remember being shocked that this child wouldn't eat what was offered at meals and that said child's parents actually offered other options until finding something that was deemed acceptable.  In the car on the way home from a visit I remember telling Matthew our child would never be allowed to be so picky an eater.  I even remember having conversations with Liz about the kids at her mom's daycare whose parents insisted their kids were picky eaters but who would eat whatever Liz's mom offered them because she did not mess around (this is probably a bit of an understatement).  I chalked it up to lazy parenting and not wanting to be inconvenienced by actually parenting. . .and then guess what?  My child has a strong oral aversion and is hands down the 'pickiest' child I've ever known when it comes to eating.  We're going to get better, I feel confident, but still.  
  
  Once I was visiting with a friend who had a preschooler when Nathanael was a baby and casually over the course of our conversation and her interactions with her child I realized that she basically had the entire kids television lineup for the entire day on multiple channels memorized.  The mom, not the kid.  At the time I was appalled.  I called Matthew on the way home and told him just how sad it all was over there.  Nathanael helped me remain all judgy judgy of the tv thing for a long time since he absolutely would not sit still to watch a show for more than ten minutes until he was like 20 months old or something.  It was just him, but every time I said with feigned exasperation something like, "He just won't watch tv!" I was secretly thinking that it was due to the many outings and activities I planned, how engaged I was with my son--basically, my superior mothering.  Of course, now?  Television is my most reliable distraction for Nathanael, and sometimes in order to take care of Abby well, Nathanael needs to be distracted.  At first it was nursing time distraction, now it's putting Abby down for a nap distraction and sometimes Nate wakes up grumpy from nap and needs a speedy recovery and sometimes at 5:30 we all need a distraction....and all of that adds up to me pretty much having noggin's schedule between 8:00am and 8:00 pm memorized. 
  
  And now, onto the best (or is it worst?) example of God using my own words against me (or is it for me?  yes, it is certainly for me in this case.)  Just after Matthew and I got married we knew a family that had three kids.  We loved this family and we loved their kids.  We babysat for them occasionally and their youngest, who was a toddler at the time was just a wildman.  Adorable, but a wildman.  He would steal our keys, run to the window and pop the trunk of our car and he was just barely a year old!  We always left exhausted, but with funny stories.  Well, one time when we were there that wild little guy got his hands on a couple of butter knives (who knows how! His parents were even home this time!) and he ran toward us with a crazy look in his eye and threw the knives into the air.  This incident became kind of a joke for Matthew and me over the years and especially once we had kids.  When things felt crazy we'd say, 'at least no one is throwing knives in the air'.  hardyharharhar.  It always lightened the mood.  Until Nathanael trumped little Emmett (if you knew him, you probably already knew that is who I was talking about. . .) and his butter knives the other day. 
  
  Here is what happened:  I was feeding Abby a bottle in our family room after naptime and Nathanael was enjoying a snack of yogurt out of my sight at the kitchen table (the next room for those who haven't seen our house).  All was quiet (the universal signal that something has gone terribly, terribly wrong) and then suddenly Nathanael appeared in the doorway, gleam in eye, holding up our largest butcher knife in his hand, saying, "Mama, seeeeeeeeee!'  Using every bit of my self control to remain calm, I said, "Nathanael Robert, stop right there and give mama that knife" as I walked as calmly and quickly as I could across the room.  My son's response, of course, was to turn on his heels and run as fast as his little legs could take him--which is pretty darn fast--across the house, butcher knife in hand.  I will never be able to erase that image of him from my mind.  As I chased him (Abby in my arms) through the kitchen I noticed that he'd pushed the stepstool over to the counter he'd climbed on top of to get to the knives (they were kept out of reach--I thought).  Once I caught him, he quickly handed over the knife and received his punishment with little protest.  It is consistent with his personality to simply be satisfied that I was aware he did something he shouldn't, something I didn't think he could and something that was wildly dangerous.  I took the knives and moved them up to the cabinet above our fridge which is impossible for him to reach even with the help of the stepstool--something confirmed for me several hours later when I watched him attempt to climb the fridge to get to them.  He pushed the stepstool over to the fridge, gripped the handles (we have a side by side fridge) and got both feet flat on the doors, but couldn't get himself up further than that...thank God!  (I do however, have this image burned in my brain forever, too...that child is relentless!)
  
  The moral of the story?  Do not get specific when you are critical of other folks--this extends way beyond parenting, obviously--because God may just use your specific criticisms to teach you a lesson....so if any of you is thinking of adopting 'at least our kids aren't running wild with butcher knives' as a family joke now...be warned!   Also, hide your swords.
  
  Have mercy.
  

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