As a mother, you repeat yourself so often the words are like lyrics to a song. All that's needed is a rhythm and a beat. And all through the day, the song doesn't change all that much. It goes like this:
Chorus: Get in the bath, Get dressed, Hurry up and eat, Stop wasting time. Verse 1: Did you brush your teeth? Did get your things together? Have you forgotten anything? Did you comb your hair and put lotion on your skin? Verse 2: Put away the toys, Is that a book on the floor? What should you be doing right now? Do I have to repeat myself? I could go on writing lyrics, but it wouldn't change anything. And this has nothing to do with the many conversations I have with my boys about behaviour and conduct. One time, it got so bad that when I began to lecture, Shakir jumped right in reciting my words like a well rehearsed choral speaking piece. Once I realised he knew it so well, I talked less and let my weapon be my voice. These days, when I begin to tell Shakir the consequences of his bad behaviour, he calmly looks at me and asks a question that will further define the level of his punishment. For example, I say; "if you don't stop, I'm going to put you in a corner to stand up!" His response: "and I have to put my hands in the air?" I used to wonder why this child would ask these things. I mean, doesn't he realise that he is giving me ideas on how to further punish him? I've come to realise that he does it so that he can be fully aware of the consequences, then he makes a conscious decision based on if he can handle the punishment or not. One time, his father told him he would be on ban until further notice, meaning no games or any electronic devices. The phrase "until further notice" seemed not to compute in his mind. He kept asking how long. When he realised the answer wasn't as clear cut as he thought, he told his father he would rather be spanked. I swear, these children challenge your parenting skills. You learn to toss everything you think you know through the window and just deal with the monster that is your child. You begin to realise that with some children, banning them from games and TV means they'll find other ways to annoy you and you won't have any release. Thankfully, God blessed me with a child that will get his colouring book and crayons or pencil and paper and occupy himself. For those of you who aren't so blessed, I'll leave with you the cliché phrase that all children are different. I'm sorry, I honestly don't have any magical words of wisdom that will help you.
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Its Shakir's birthday and the kids had a blast. They woke early and were pretending to be a van driver and the conductor. It is amazing what children pick up when you think they're oblivious. I noticed that Jaheim was the driver and Shakir was the conductor. Several times, the van stopped to pick up passengers and I could hear Shakir telling the people to come quickly. I think it must have been a ZR they were driving because I noticed that Shakir was unable to stand upright in the vehicle. When I heard him ask Jaheim if the police was behind them, I knew it was time to put an end to the game, so I found two scarves and tied up their heads so they could play pirates instead. The game was decidedly less action-packed, but they had miniature pirates and a toy pirate ship and even some armed bandits from the wild west put in an appearance. If I hadn't been busy, I would have had to join in the play.
Anyway, later in the day, we met up with a cousin whose son will be celebrating his birthday on Monday. We took the boys to Chefette for a treat and play park fun. I told Shakir to keep an eye on his brother and sent them on their way. Asking Shakir to keep an eye on his brother in the midst of having fun is a futile exercise. The truth is, despite my words to Shakir, I usually I say a prayer that neither of them get hurt and try to forget that they're even around. I know a few of you are probably gasping at my audacity right about now, but believe me, you have to step back sometimes and allow the children to be... well, children. As parents, we're supposed to prepare them to be independent and we can't do that by hovering. Think of all the different stages they have to go through in life, starting with school. You can't be there all the time. So as I'm sitting there making conversation with my companion, I notice Jaheim climbing the steep ladder to the third and highest level, close behind his brother and cousin. Now, if it had been the first time I had seen him do this, I would have probably had my heart in my hand, so I suppose I could understand people marvelling at him. But there is his brother urging him on like its no big deal and I find myself thinking how as adults we let fear paralyse us, but not kids. Soon after, Jaheim goes off on his own enjoying himself alone, sliding and jumping. With each shenanigan, he shouts, "you see what me just do, mummy?" It is while he is yelling this that a boy comes down the slide and bounces him. It was a clear accident and he was extremely apologetic. Jaheim responds by pointing a finger at him, his face bent, and in a loud, stern voice, he says, "don't do that again." The boy and his companion, clearly stuck at the sight of this tiny boy with attitude, paused for a heartbeat and apologised some more. Then, as Jaheim proceeded to climb up the slide the wrong way, I heard one say "gimme a knock." They knocked each other, high-fived and the matter was solved. At the end of it, I found myself thinking, not for the first time, that Jaheim is not easily intimidated. I also wondered at how easily children solve their differences sometimes. Why can't adults do the same? This blog's heading might give the false impression that I'm about to launch into a long diatribe about black heritage and pride, but I assure you its not about that and it is pretty short. Years ago, I saw an episode of Golden Girls where this Cuban guy was interviewing for a prestigious college. Initially, he hoped to apply for the music program, but due to a slight head trauma, he decided to apply for performing arts instead. His performance was a monologue about prejudice entitled, "its because I'm Cuban." After that, I started to tell people that they were prejudiced toward me because I'm black, which is quite amusing since the population in Barbados is probably about 80% black.
Even today, when my husband or any of my friends do anything, I'll sometimes insist that its a prejudice as a result of me being black. It's all in the name of foolish talk because I'm not insecure about my dark colour. Anyway, so I come home from work tonight and my husband says that he and Jaheim had just come out of the bath. I smile and remark that they both look white, but I swear I wasn't being wicked. There was a nice glow to their skin and there is no other way I could think to describe it. Feeling pretty good, I decided to get an early shower myself. So there I am in the bath when my husband yells that I came in and didn't give him any attention. "That's not true," I say, "you were on the phone so I'm going to bathe and make myself smell pretty." "Oh! You want to be like Jaheim and me!" He yells back. Before I can respond, I hear Shakir say, "but she can't be like we daddy. She black!" My husband is very fair in complexion and Shakir favours him greatly. Jaheim is darker, but still slightly clearer than I am. His words caught me by surprise, I have to admit, but I'm not upset. It just reminded me of my jokes. Later, he came to me smiling asking me if I had heard him. I just smiled. Let him enjoy his little joke. Vengeance will be mine and she who laughs last, laughs loudest! The school term has officially started in my household. I had a hell of a time with those boys this morning. Sending Shakir in the shower resulted in him bursting into whiny complaints of unfairness as he pointed fingers at his brother. I took the weapon in hand early. Today was the wrong day to start with me. You'd think he'd retract, but noooo. Anyway, you can be sure that as I dispensed justice, it honestly hurt him way more than it hurt me. As a child, I wondered at the cliché that punishment hurts me more than the child, but to date, I can honestly say I've found this to be untrue. A child who is not disciplined will be an embarrassment to me publicly and I'm not dealing with that. Better you learn now than cause your own destruction later.
There are those who will disagree with my methods and I'm not saying you should beat a child for everything, but you've got to declare your hand early. Its important to have your children at the stage where once you're in public, you only need to whisper to them and they straighten up. I say this because we live in a society where people are malicious. Don't get me wrong, there is genuine concern and then there is blatant interference. People who will tell you how not to discipline your children and try to beg for them, but then, behind your back, will talk about how disgusting said child is. Back chat and those type things are cute to these people when the child is now learning to speak, but once that child is past five, those same people will say he's rude. Don't mistreat your children, but make sure that they understand that you mean business with that one look and be prepared to take away privileges, etc. Yes, they will pout, they will tell you they aren't friends with you and things like that, but these lessons will ensure that in future you aren't communicating with them at Her Majesty's pleasure. On a lighter note, sitting in the bus this evening, it was amazing to see the number of school children with cell phones. And not just regular run of the mill cell phones either, but fancy, expensive phones that put mine in the shade. All of a sudden, this boy who had vacated his seat because he would soon be getting out, asks his friends to call his phone because he can't find it. As I glance up, I see the outline of what appears to be a phone in his top pocket and all I'm thinking is, let him sweat a little. Wicked of me? Maybe. When one of his friend's pointed out the phone in his pocket, I heard him say, "that's embarrassing." LOL! Don't feel no pressure youngster, we mothers have similar episodes daily. I hate roaches. I say hate because it is not a matter of being afraid of them. I've stomped on roaches, smashed them with my shoe and even drowned a few that dared to find themselves in my kitchen sink.
Well I haven't seen a roach in a few days so tonight, imagine my surprise when I noticed one in the sink. I have to admit, these things bring out the worst in me. I turned the water on and turned the hose on that little sucker, hoping not to kill it this time, but to scare it. I wanted to keep it alive to leave a message for its friends that this isn't the place for trespassing. Sure enough, I turned the pipe off to give it a minute to catch itself and escape. In seconds, the creature kind of half scurried, half wobbled to the edge of the sink. Perched there for a few seconds, it seemed to try to get its bearings to determine if its legs were strong enough to allow it to climb down the slope or whether it could simply jump the rest of the way. All the while, there I am with the hose in my hand, wondering at this strange bought of mercy I was dispensing. The next thing I know, the creature dove for the floor in a desperate and equally foolish attempt at escape and landed on its back. Its little legs danced around for a few seconds as it tried to turn over, but I guess it had not fully recovered from its swim and soon it stopped. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure its dead. I can't begin to express the level of grief and disappointment that I feel. I should have just drowned the stupid bastard. SIGH! The whole scenario reminded me of this one night, I was on the phone with my mother, carrying on a rather hearty conversation when all of a sudden, she remarked quite loudly, "wait, you's an idiot?" Struck by this random, out of place comment, I paused. "Wait, hold on Allison," she continued. "He got to be an idiot. Let me get the weapon of mass destruction." It was at this point that I realised my mother was speaking to some unsuspecting roach who either had a death wish, or one of his friends probably dared him to go into that crazy woman's house. I could just picture them all huddled around like its some sort of Halloween prank, if you believe in those things, cheering him on and telling him to try his luck by going in. He probably new in town and was a bit sceptical about the tales of other young, dare devil roaches that dared to cross my mother's path, but never lived to tell the tale. Anyway, there I sat listening to sound of insecticide being sprayed and I pictured the roach brethren outside with their heads bowed in sorrowful silence as they realised that yet another one had bit the dust. Another few seconds later, my mother came back to the phone to begin to explain to me how she had to go and deal with the idiot cockroach. So, by now, you've probably deduced two things: 1. I have inherited my mother's obvious aversion to roaches and 2. My mother also has a weapon of mass destruction, but hers is quite different to mine. These days, the only villains it fights are the occasional insect and that isn't too often. Would you believe I was so wiped out last night that I turned the computer on, wrote one line and promptly fell asleep? I'm really not adjusting well to being back at work. Used to be that I still had a little energy after work, but these days that is surely not the case. And its easy for me to sit here and say, its the kids that have me wiped out, but in this case its simply not true.
As a mother, I enjoy listening to my boys tell me all about their respective days. I find it amusing how once one starts to tell me something, how the other one suddenly remembers that he had something he needed to say. Most times I end up listening to two different stories at the same time. Right now, Jaheim is on a mission to get his hair cut. He has been telling absolutely everyone that he needs a haircut. He even most recently gave me instructions to tell Aunty Lena that she needs to cut his hair. He isn't bothered who cuts it as long as it gets done. You'd think that the boy's hair is whipping him in his back with each step he takes because its so long, or that it keeps getting in his way in the shower or the wind is blowing it in his eyes. Nope. If this child has an inch of hair on his head, he has a lot. But everyday until its cut, he will be there to remind me that it needs to be done. Then, even though I picked Shakir up from by my mom when I left work and was with him in virtual silence all the way home, he suddenly thinks of a burning question, like, "mummy, why didn't cover my hymn book?" "You told me you didn't want it covered," I say. "Oh." And then, after a pause, "is that braids on your head?" He knows it isn't, but he just wants to be sure he has my attention, I suppose. My response: "Shakir, go and get undressed, please!" Trust that a similar dialogue occurs later when his father and I are talking, or when I announce that it is lights out and its time to sleep. Suddenly, his little brain starts to remember all the things he wants to know, like how street lights work. To the colleague who told me he tells his son that there is monkey inside playing with coloured candles, I totally understand and endorse it 100% if it works for you. My son would simply look at me with a straight with and wide, intelligent eyes and ask me how the money gets inside or some random question that would throw me for a loop. But anyway, last night, none of the usual stuff I mentioned happened. I sent Shakir in the bath and I heard him telling Jaheim in a rather firm, adult-sounding voice, "take off your clothes and let us go and bathe. I'm going to bathe you." Well, I nipped that in the bud because as tired as I was, I couldn't take the bickering and stress that would ensue. I also had Miss Makayla with me so I set them to watch some TV after they were all bathed, then I cooked a very quick pot of food. By the time I turned the TV off and put everyone to bed, I was all geared up for a nice blogging session, but it seemed sleep was there waiting in the wings. I don't know how long I slept with my hands posed on the computer keys before my husband called my name to tell me I was falling asleep. That might have been slightly amusing if I was coherent enough to consider it or to actually wake up, but I was too wiped out. Thankfully, it was a quiet evening in Metro-bados and there was no need to dispense justice and restore peace. Shakir was excited to wear his new school shoes from since last night so getting him ready for school today was relatively easy. He was eager to get dressed and nobody had to tell him to hurry up today. If anything, he had to be told to slow down and relax a little.
Anyway, since he is a growing child, I had to outfit him from head to toe, but I drew the line when it came to buying him a new school bag. I saw no reason to replace an almost new bag that I had only bought last term. It's not likely to last out the whole year, since its one of those cheap bags, but there's no reason for the added expense right now. Shakir didn't appear to mind either, but when a boy in his class asked him if he had gotten a new bag, I wasn't sure what to expect. I wasn't sure if he'd mind that the other children appeared to have new bags and he didn't. His father and I try to encourage him to be an individual and to not be concerned with what other people have, but sometimes its a challenge. An invisible smile lit my face when he tossed me a look that seemed to ask, "is he serious? A new bag? There's nothing wrong with this one." Then, as he returned his attention to the boy, he said no in a manner that sort of mirrored the look on his face. It got me thinking about the manner in which a lot of us spend money and the impression we give children. Children aren't likely to think that money has value if we just give them everything they want. It feels good to buy your kids the things they want and to be able to do so, but there are times when you have to draw the line. When Shakir was younger, each time we went to town, he'd bring me a bunch of things to show me and ask if he could have them. Well one day, I sat him down and we had a long discussion about money and expenses and why I cannot and would not give him everything that his little eye spies and likes. Now, we go to town and yes, he still asks for things, but he asks differently. "Mummy, when you get money, could you get me one of these?" "Mummy, if I behave myself, will you get me one of these?" "Look mummy, this one only costs $20." "Mummy, I have money, I want to buy this." Bless his heart, I hope he never changes. This evening now, on the van heading to town, he asks me the strangest question. "Mummy, you know that the principal can send you home for behaving bad for a certain amount of days?" "Yes. It is called being suspended." "What you does have to do to get suspended?" "Be really naughty and probably the teachers can't control you." "Yes, but how?" The trouble with having a conversation with this child, is his need for specifics. He can keep you talking for several minutes with his hundred questions and then when you get all warmed up in your subject, he'll switch it up by throwing a question that bowls you clear out of the ballpark. "Shakir, I just told you." "Okay." Hoping he's finished, but knowing better, I wait. A few seconds later, "you get suspended if you're naughty by making a pool at school?" A pool? Something is clearly up. "Shakir, are you planning something?" "No. I just want to know." "I'm not going to get into specifics with you. You need to behave yourself and be a good boy. You mustn't do anything to find yourself in trouble and its important to know that if you ever do anything bad enough for the principal to think you need to be suspended, that will be nothing compared to the punishment I will dispense at home." "What will you do?" Ever felt like you were moving in circles? Its always like this with this kid. He wants to know everything about everything and then why and how. Thankfully, I have amazing super mom powers of improvising. "I'm pretty sure you don't really want to know," I say. "You getting suspended means I will have to take time out from work to be home with you, and it means I will be forced to spend money on lessons for you, etc. None of this pleases me, so punishment will be severe. Be sure that there will be no TV, no wii, no DS, no tablet, no bicycle, no outside and whatever else comes to mind at that point in time, because none of that is enough. You can use your imagination here, but trust me, you don't want to ever find out what will happen." For the first time ever, I actually rendered him silent. My powers are growing. People say kids are a joy, but the thing they don't tell you is that a lot of the joy you feel happens in retrospect. When they're born, you have to try to squeeze in sleep where you can or walk around like a zombie until the baby gets adjusted to the night/day sequence. And I can bet that joy is the last thing on your mind when you smell your first baby bomb. When they start walking and talking, you spend so much time while they are awake yelling "stop that", "come here" and "put that down" that joy is clearly isn't the first expression that comes to mind.
It's similar to when you hear women talking about pregnancy and calling it a joy. There is so much that they don't tell you. They use decorative phrases like "everyone's experiences are different" and no one says exactly what it means. Having two different experiences in both my pregnancies, I can certainly agree that everyone's experiences are different. My first time, I ate like a beast, slept upright due to indigestion and other than that, it was great. It was the labour itself that had me swearing I wasn't about to get another one. To this day, I still don't know how I convinced myself that I wanted a second baby. And that second pregnancy? Let's just say it is more of a retrospective type of joy I feel. I look back and praise God that its over and to my husband's chagrin, I pray that it is the last time I will experience the miracle of giving birth. My kids spent the day out today and the house has been quiet all day. I should be elated - joyful, even. Instead, I find myself wondering what type of condition they'll be in when they return. Most days, Jaheim comes home miserable and exhausted. He races to undress so that he can get into the shower with his brother and then the next few minutes are punctuated with screams, yelling and complaints. These days, Shakir - Mr. Bossy Pants - has fallen into the habit of telling Jaheim what to do and if he doesn't cooperate, Shakir actually physically lifts him and puts him where he wants him. And Jaheim - Mr. Drama King - launches himself against the floor, in a fit of tears trying to convince me that he was pushed by Shakir. Right about this time, I raise my voice and summon my weapon of mass destruction in order to restore peace and order to the kingdom. Today in particular, I don't know where the weapon is. I often wish that I could call it, much like how Lion-O, Lord of the Thundercats, commands the sword of omens to come to his hands. My call would be something like this: "WOMD, I command you to rise. Transform this kingdom to peaceful contentment." Heck, if I could get it to do that, when its done, I'd ask it to make me a cup of cocoa or mauby depending on the mood. SIGH. But the reality is that real life super heroes have to extend themselves more and work harder than their TV counterparts. That's one of the many reasons that I like Batman. He doesn't have any special powers, he uses his brains, gadgets and has been trained in several areas of combat. Now, don't misunderstand what I'm saying about kids and pregnancy. I do believe that they are a joy, but they are also a full-time and stressful job. You've actually got to plan ahead for the trouble they give and be ready to initiate the backup plan for the backup plan as needed. Tonight, since I'm feeling a bit exhausted and I am bummed about having to return to work on Monday, my backup plan will be to send the kids to bed early. If it works, I will know true joy. Getting out of bed this morning was hard, but I eventually dragged myself up at 6:30 to discover that Shakir was MIA. A cold hand of fear sent shivers down my spine. Not because I thought he had been bed-napped, but rather because I was afraid of what havoc he had wrought while I lay asleep. I didn't take a genius to discover that he was in the living room rifling through his toy box as if it was Saturday morning. "Shakir, what are you doing?" "I just went to get something!" He yelled back and then a heartbeat later, he appeared wearing a Rey Mysterio mask and clutching a Nerf gun in his hand. Clearly, he is not a wrestler, I'm thinking, then, stealthily, like a vigilante, he began to track his way along the room in search of evildoers. It does a super hero's heart proud to see that she has surely done something right with this one, but, as I mentioned, I did wake up late and I've got to get him ready to leave the house so I can resume my vacation in blessed peace and quiet. "Shakir, you know better than to get up and go directly for toys!" I say. He looks at me, his expression one of confusion. "Mummy, is today school already?" I don't know what he means by "already". This child had eight full, action-packed weeks of vacation. As far as I'm concerned, he should be more than ready for school. Still, I understand what it is to savour vacation. After all, I have to return to my regular day job on Monday and I'm not ready. I haven't even begun to marinate properly in the routine of sleeping late and spending most of the day in front of the idiot box. SIGH. Anyway, taking a deep breath, I inform him that he doesn't have school but Aunty Lena will be here soon to take him and his brother away. The next thing I know, a smiling jubilant Jaheim appears with a handful of toys. "Come, Shakir!" He beckons as he dumps his bounty on the floor. "Jaheim," I say with a calmness I surely don't feel. "No toys. Its time to get ready." I don't know why, but I'm getting the sinking feeling that this prep for next week when I really need them to get ready. SIGH. Time to iron my cape and boots and put back on my super hero mask. Mischief and mayhem must be eradicated! Today was a day of quiet reflection. My husband took me on an unexpected drive around the countryside and as I gazed on nature's unkempt beauty, I felt inspired to take out a pencil and pad to draw. I couldn't of course, since we were in a moving vehicle and I had not left home with anything of the sort. But, oh, the memories it brought back. Perhaps sometime soon I'll be able to commune with nature and draw to my heart's content.
Aside from nature, these days I find myself looking at houses. I guess you could say that I've got houses on my brain. I keep remembering all the things we did growing up in our house as kids and I'd like to build some of those memories with my kids. I remember playing in the churchyard one time and my sister climbing high on the old building that housed the bathroom. She was almost to the top and I was terrified. "Get down!" I cried. "You could fall!" Do you believe she had the audacity to look over at me and ask if I felt she could jump from the bathroom roof, onto the roof of the old schoolroom and then jump the rest of the way onto the church roof? Even then, I was quite practical and I threatened to tell. That's when she informed me that I was much too pessimistic. Well, I knew right away that I couldn't ask my parents the meaning because my mother would surely send me to look in the dictionary. First though, I would be forced to explain the context in which I heard the word and Carlene would get into trouble. Then I would still be forced to sound the word out to ensure I got the correct spelling and look it up. So thinking myself smart, I went home to search for the dictionary all on my own. The first person to get suspicious was my father. "What you doing in here? Where the rest?" My father was about ready to send me to call home everybody. You see, we were taught that there is safety in numbers and we are our brother's keepers. If one of us was going to the park, we all went and we were expected to know where eachother were and return home together, etc. Anyway, I quickly explained that I just came to look a word up and I would be rejoining the others soon. Well, something there must have caught my mother's ears. She likes to mention how good my hearing was when she and my dad would try to sneak snacks, but I swear, my mother often appeared to be completely oblivious and then all of a sudden, there she was. Well, she found it curious that I felt it necessary to stop playing to come and check out the meaning of a word and so the grilling began. This led to my sister getting scolded and she was so furious at me for telling. I never liked when she was angry at me, but in this situation, I was glad it meant we wouldn't face a repeat of the acrobat incident. |
About AllisonAllison is mother to two active boys who challenge her on a day to day basis with their escapades. In her other life, Allison juggles a regular day job as a marketing executive in a health food organization. At night, when everyone is asleep, she dreams of being a fulltime writer and super hero. Archives
October 2016
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