empty praise

I am sure that if I put a little effort into it, I could have come up with some quip or witty title for this blog post. Instead, I’m opting for a brain-dump-ish type post, a “write this down before I forget” and revisit it later thing.

I’m once again amazed and humbled by my nearly 5 year old son figuring life out. He’s a smart one that little E. Smart and sassy. Smart and defiant. Smart and more smart. Here’s today’s story. This morning I had to run by my office to drop off some receipts. I needed to go to the main office to fill out the paper work, so I decided to pretty much lock the boys in my office while I hustled down the hall to get it done since they were having some ‘listening & obeying’ issues in staying with me. I said, “I need 5 minutes. Play with the trucks, read books, color, sit in the chairs…whatever, just take care of each other and STAY IN HERE.” I just needed 5 minutes, right? While I’m standing at the copier I hear the shrieking and screaming of little C. Shrieking and screaming from the small one means the big one did something. It’s a given. And he did. So, 30 seconds into my 5 minutes I went back down to the office and sure enough, big one is aggravating small one. So, I remind him of his responsibilities and leave again. One minute later, I hear screams again. Oh come on. I walk the 50 feet back to my office and say, “Really?” (Yes, I’m awful and sarcastic to my children sometimes.) Yes, really. So I say, “Okay, I’m taking C with me and you are going to stay here by yourself. I want to leave soon, too, but we can’t if I can’t get this done. You stay here and I’ll be back in 2 minutes.” There were tears and anguish at the unfairness of it all, that brother got to go with me and “WHY CAN’T I COME TOO???” “Well honey, I need to see that you can be a good listener when we come here and so far today you’ve run away from me two times. So, you have to stay here so I know you are safe and not getting into things.” Sure enough, I was back in 2 minutes and we started to gather ourselves to leave.

As toys were being put away I noticed on the floor the little plastic end piece that goes on the cord for my window blinds. Hmmm. “How did this happen?”

“I pulled it off.”

Hmmm. “Why did you pull it off?”

“I was angry.”

“What were you angry about?”

“I was angry because I had to stay in here.”

(I love the honesty in this moment.)

“I understand that, but it still doesn’t mean you can break things, especially things that aren’t yours.”

And here’s the stop-me-in-my-tracks question:

“So what should I do when I’m angry?”

Um, are there any super-parents out there who would like to take over this conversation now? Anyone? Bueller?

I told him that is a really, really great question and that I would think about it because I am so proud of him for asking it, and I think it’s an important question. I told him I know that there are times we have to do things we don’t want to do and it’s not fun, but we are going to keep talking about this anger thing. Oh my gosh, I’m raising boys. Smart boys. Boys that are going to kick my butt, because I suppose I get to think about this as more than an answer or conversation where we talk about it, but I’m going to have to live out my reply. Yowza.