by Mel (Mon Jul 13, 2009)
It is week one of the summer holidays and I am perplexed. At what point did I take my eye off the ball and raise monsters?
I thought I was a pretty good full time Mum, but it turns out that I am rubbish. I oscillate between erupting like a raging bull and staring dully at the wall, cradling my large glass of red like a baby. Why do they all seem so unhappy at home? Why are they so dreadful to each other? Why does my Stay at Home Mum job suddenly seem so dead end? A long haul flight on my own is looking like a good career break right around now.
When you have four children, you feel the weight of other people's expectations. ‘Are you some kind of lovely Earth Mother that just kept wanting more?' someone asked me once. The truth is, it was fun having three children, and I wanted one more to even up the numbers. I liked the roly poly madness. I liked seeing how beautiful my children were and I loved them desperately.
I still love my beautiful children desperately, but they are no longer tiny, malleable tots. They have opinions and personalities, which have been clashing since the end of term. The girls that used to cuddle in bed together now hurl insults across the room. The boy that adored one of his sisters now unites with another sister against her and is cruel. I watched two of them have a punch up in the rear of the car today. I was on the motorway; I had very few intervening options. It was horrible to watch how much they wanted to hurt each other. To see the vicious look in their eyes, and the satisfaction when one cried out in pain. They are acting like a pack of feral animals.
And when the pack unites and turns on me, I am helpless. It happened today in a supermarket. I had used all the ‘perfect Mummy' strategies. The older two were dispatched to find an item on the other side of the store, they ran off giggling, loving the thrill of independence. The remaining two chose to push the trolley and weigh the fruit. I had managed their expectations, ‘I have to buy five things, that's all', and I had outlined the behaviour required, ‘I expect you to act well, with no running and no shouting.'
And still it all went wrong. They did their fun jobs then started to piss about. Pushing each other, playing chase, trying to trip each other up. Again, the weight of other people's expectations: ‘Can't she control those children?' When I am faced with a baying, excited pack, sometimes there's only one thing to do; a very loud stern voice and a public dressing down. It worked. It stopped them in their tracks and the 10 year old nearly expired from embarrassment. Me too, what an awful way to do the shopping.
I don't know how to get past their bickering, screaming, fighting and sullenness. I have tried sleepovers, play dates and a trip to the cinema. I have tried separating them. I have tried losing every vestige of self control. I have tried calmly telling them that I'm not going to intervene but that they are acting despicably. I have tried walking in the woods and helping them build a den. I have tried playing board games with them, reading books, and listening to music. And when I am pushed beyond my limits, I have tried whacking them.
I can confirm that nothing is working.
The websites and parenting books say to leave them to it unless someone is in danger of getting hurt. The websites and parenting books say I should set an example and not get furious and out of control. So as I sit in front of my laptop and listen to them being the kind of children I never wanted to have, I am leaving them to it. I am also thinking that it's been a bad few days and perhaps things will perk up over the next 8 weeks.
And if the latter proves not to be the case, I still have a cellar of good red to get through, and enough air miles to fly me Business Class to Kuala Lumpur.
