Frank had a rough night. First of all, he used up his daily allotted hour for cartoons and/or video games by playing his new Sponge Bob video game during the day, which is actually the only video game he has, that he got for his birthday from someone I won’t likely invite again next year. (. . . uh, just kidding Frank if you ever read this, like when you’re fifteen).
So as I was saying, he used up his cartoon watching time, and instead we had game night. We should’ve turned off the television, but Daddy likes having the television on, and I shouldn’t go into that right now. Since we didn’t turn off the television, Supernanny was on. And I guess if you’re six, Supernanny isn’t all that nice. If you combine missing cartoons and being scared by Supernanny, it doesn’t make for an easy bedtime. He asked me to come in and lay with him for a while, which I did.
Every other minute he’d say something like, “Mama, if we were at, um, Los Cab . . . and I was swimming . . . in the big pool . . . and I was stuck in the middle on a noodle (floatation device) . . . and you asked CJ where I was . . . and um . . . you couldn’t find me . . . what would you do?” Oh God, how do I answer that one? As the corners of his mouth turn down, his lower lip goes out and tears well up in his eyes, I say, “Well, you were floating on the noodle . . . above water . . . right?” “Yes,” he says. “Well then, I wouldn’t stop looking for you until I found you.” Puzzled look on his face. However, I really don’t want to prolong whatever his thought processes are by asking whether he understands or not.
The next question was something about Supernanny getting rid of all of his stuffed animals, with the same sad face and eyes brimming with tears. “Honey that isn’t going to happen. You have nannies who love you, and would never take away your stuffed animals, and neither would Daddy or I.” Okay. He’s satisfied with that. A few more questions, the time between them getting increasingly longer, and then he finally drifts off.
I watch myself, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience, as I do all the things with Frank that I said I would never do. I get impatient with him, and irritated with him--mainly because he’s so damned much like me. (I must be a joy to be around.) I worry constantly about whether what I’m doing is going to screw him up for life. And I also hear the warnings in my head from the positive parenting class about what will happen in the future if we choose the wrong form of discipline in the present. I get caught up with work, and don’t spend enough time with him, and then when I’m with him, I find I’m not focused on him and what he’s doing or saying, I’m noticing that he needs to wash his face, or I need to cut his nails, or I wish he wouldn’t wear that shirt with those shorts.
And then I reassure myself by telling myself that when he gets hurt, he wants Mama. And when he wants to know the truth about something, he asks me. And when we’re going somewhere and he thinks Daddy’s going the wrong way and Daddy assures him that he’s going the right way, he always confirms it with me before he accepts it as being true. And if he’s really worried about something, he’ll tell me so I have the opportunity to reassure him. I guess I may not be all that fun, like Daddy and CJ are, but I’m trustworthy.
God, it’s hard, and God, please give me strength. And more patience. He’s growing up so fast, and I don’t want to do it wrong because I can’t go back and do it over.
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