I’m Serious by childgrower A. Woz.

My stomach still hurts and I bent a nail backward but my daughter got the message that I’m serious. I am done with her disrespectful behavior.

Or is it disrespect? maybe it is just anger? maybe she’s too tired? too much sugar at the party? Whatever the excuse, it’s gotta go.

We are at a potluck to celebrate the end of the season and these ten-year old team mates are all having a great time together. It is warm outside and they are playing hide and seek and basketball and loving the time together in the night.  A few families have left already and one girl is staying over night but the ones who are playing outside are really running wild.

Two hours and several desserts later it is time to go home and already I know that my player, number 13, is having too good of a time to want to leave without a fuss.

The chicken in me sends her big sister to drop the news that we are leaving and 10 minutes later, with my goodbyes done and those extra minutes of conversation over, I grab my empty dish and tell my daughter to say her goodbyes.

I hear her protest but I keep walking. I set a good example by saying goodnight to some of the girls as I pass by and I head to my car and get in. Player number 13 starts begging to stay later, longer, a little bit longer, mama.

I tell her that the party is over and that it is time to head home as I start up the car.

She opens the door, leans in with the top half of her wiry self, firmly plants her soccer cleats into the grass and starts the begging to try and get permission to stay late.

I tell her again that it is time to go and remind her that I will physically put her in the car if she does not get in.  She doesn’t. So I do.

I roll the windows down to stop her from yelling, “I hate you!” and “You are so mean,” because I know this is just an act. She stops yelling so her friends won’t hear her, but kicks in the repetitive whining in a lower voice and pleads, “I want to stay, I want to stay, I want to stay, I want to stay…”

She is angry, but thankfully, not willing to be embarrassed.

We drive a block and she kicks it up a notch,  unbuckling her seat belt, she starts hitting me in the shoulder while reminding me I am mean and she hates me.
She is going to feel bad about this outburst-  I understand that she wants to be with her friends – but I’m beyond irritated with her behavior.

It takes all of my years of parenting goofs to keep me focused on handling this properly. I’m tired of the guilt-ridden feeling after yelling back at her during past tirades. I’m tired of feeling like I needed a timeout more than she did after one of her fits. I’m tired of seeing myself lose my cool when I’m asking her to keep hers.

I channel all my previous mistakes into a meaningful moment of mommy seriousness.  Acting like I deserve the gift of being given a child to grow, I know that this is my moment to live up to the honor.

I drive another block toward home with my lips gripped together in a very straight line and try some deep breathing exercises but a half-block further, I realize that she isn’t going to let up- and buckle up- and I have to take some action.

I pullover, okay, I sort of hit the brakes hard for effect and pull over to the side and tell her to get out of the car until she can ride wearing the seat belt and without verbally abusing me.  She does not believe me.

But I believe me.

I am fighting with myself not to yell just like she is and despite all the aggravation of her tantrum, I am able to think back to a time when I would have lost it and screamed right back at her and added a few swear words for good measure. I remember how bad I felt then, and I don’t want the sore throat either. Mostly, I want to do it right this time. I want to win the tantrum battle ONE TIME, fair and square. I am drawing on every ounce of patience and parenting skill that I’ve gleaned from books and tapes and seminars and conversations with girlfriends who are also mothers of what we call, “children who are just like we were as kids.”

My poooooor parents.

Meanwhile, I have a kid who is figuring out that I’m serious but is paralyzed with the fear that I am going to leave her on the side of the road. Part of me wants to sarcastically tell her to get out and walk back to the party.

I see a bit of fear on her face. This makes me relax my own.  I try to replace my angry grimace with a calm assuring mask and worry that if I don’t handle this tonight, I’ll be dealing with a 17-year-old who is out of control.  This fear puts my super-human-mother-strength in gear, and gives me the courage to back up my request with action.

I pull an unwilling child out of the back seat of a car where I demand that she choose to follow my rules in the car or to stand outside until she is ready. Surprisingly, none of the neighborhood porches light up to bear witness to my screaming child’s pleas.  I am both relieved and embarrassed. Am I really handling this situation or am I making it worse?

She believes I will leave her there, though I have never felt that is an option. I could never leave my child on the side of any road, and I don’t threaten to leave, though it would be easier than diffusing this full-blown fit.

In a mere 5 seconds, she is back in the car, seat-belted and silent.

My breathing is heavy and I am shaking from somewhere deep in my stomach. I have an enormous headache and I am having difficulty focusing on driving. But my child is contained and quiet, and my job as a parent is secure – until the next critical situation.  I take comfort in knowing that the whole thing is over in four blocks.  Cars are hard places to have these kinds of disagreements but if we had been at home, I know that this could have been a four-hour ordeal.

Flipping thru the radio stations I cannot seem to pick up a station playing music.  All I’m getting is static and news. I want something soothing but cannot find a thing. I switch on the cd player, and skip through the cds sailing past her favorites, Taylor Swift , Hannah Montana knowing I’m not going to give the tantrum thrower the satisfaction of her music.

(Yes…I’ll have to work on that punishment part…I must remember that discipline is about teaching not punishing….) 

Meanwhile I’m taking the long cut home and head out on the highway. Going home now will just be a slamming door fest, with her stomping up the stairs and disturbing the rest of the family. She’ll shove her little brother, scream at big sister for effect and generally continue railing on the unfair status of her life until she is exhausted. 

What I really need is a beam of light to shine down on me or an audience to respond to a cue card with thundering applause.  I want affirmation that I’m doing something right as a mom. I am in emotional pain. She is, too, she’s been struggling with these behaviors as long as I have. I have failed to help her conquer them for a decade.  I humbly admit I have too few answers to so many hard questions.

My finger stops stabbing the cd changer when I hit the next disc and in an aha moment, I recognize the voice of James Lehman as it floods the car through CD number four.  An odd sense of relief comes over me.  I crank up the volume, mentally measuring my responses tonight against the list making sure I did something to help my girl this time instead of adding to the list of issues she’ll work on in therapy about 10 years from now.

My daughter is covering her ears, but she is listening to every word. I am crying and so is she.  Both of us are silent, but we are saying so much.   

There is no excuse for abuse, kids benefit from actually experiencing the consequence, stop the conversation and disengage, tell them you will not let them talk to you that way, walk away, don’t allow their excuses to distract you from what is their responsibility to do, parents must consistently ask for change, but it is up to your child to do the changing…

Now what is an appropriate consequence after this behavior?

### Annita Woz, for EP.