Tag: children

“Hate” is a Four-Year-Old Letter Word

Posted on February 25, 2015 by Mama

Every now and then I catch a glimpse of unexpected assurance that our four-year-old son is actually soaking up a few of our better parenting moments. It’s usually when we least expect it and often when he doesn’t know we’re watching, but when it happens it’s gotta make a parent proud.

The other night there was just nothing on TV for the family to watch, so I switched over to Netflix (no, this is not the fine parenting moment of which I speak). I started searching for a family-friendly Disney movie that was not animated, because frankly there are times my husband and I deserve to watch “real” people doing real things during our son’s waking hours. I settled on The Rocketeer, and although I hadn’t seen it in many years I remembered it being a fun wholesome movie. Perhaps I should get my memory checked (showing an unscreened movie to my preschooler — still not my finest parenting moment, but stay with me here).

The first 10 minutes included a rolling gun battle, death, robbery and the D-A-M-N word at least four times. We finally decided to find something else to watch (which probably ended up being Bubble Guppies or Umizoomi after all), but our son was already riveted to the screen. He just couldn’t understand why we nixed the movie, so we told him that the people in it weren’t being very nice and they were saying bad words. Immediately he asked, “What did they say? What did they say?” Of course when we weren’t forthcoming with the actual term, he was left to ponder what he had heard. A few seconds later he came up with the answer.

“Oh, I know what they said. They said ‘hate’ and that’s not nice.”

I smiled and said, “Yes, baby, they said hate.”

Now this may not seem like much to most, but inside I wanted to take a victory lap or do a whole-hearted chest-bump with my equally triumphant husband. Still lost? Well let me interpret: Thankfully our son hasn’t had enough exposure to the d-word to know it’s connotation and we’ve never heard him say it. On the other hand, he does know and use the h-word. As of late, we have been trying to instill the dislike of hate into his pretty little head, so you just have to understand that it’s a complete proud parent moment when your little one suddenly assumes that “hate” is a four-letter word.

Swim Lessons, Crying and a Mom’s Camera

Posted on February 9, 2015 by Mama

So our four-year-old son finally started swim lessons last week. It was not pretty. I knew he would be anxious, try to cling to me a bit, protest the pool and grip the side with trepidation, but I certainly wasn’t prepared for what actually transpired.

I’m afraid I have a “thinker” on my hands here; and unfortunately, he had lots of time to dream up all kinds of near-death scenarios that might occur at the hands of some unknown swim instructor in the depths of a large public pool. During the days leading up to his first lesson, our little guy asked lots of questions and played out certain events, which included him sinking to the bottom of the pool or choking on loads of water. Finally he voiced his ultimate fear as I pulled on his swim trunks for the evening. He simply looked at me and said, “I don’t want to die,” then burst into tears. Talk about breaking a mother’s heart. I wanted to call off the whole thing then and there and make all his fears magically go away; but instead, I just held him in my arms and made promises I was fairly sure I could keep.

As we waited for lessons to begin, he excitedly watched older kids swim laps and splash around in the water, but I could still see those wheels turning in his head. He admitted it looked like fun, but he also said he was nervous. I tried to rest his fears again, knowing that learning to swim would be best for him. . . someday. Talk about “tough love.”

Lessons started right on time, and that is when it all when downhill. When the perky young swim instructor tried to take his hand, he instead reached for mine. As I tried to coax him into going with her, the tears started flowing. With her approval I walked my bawling and red blotchy-faced boy to the other side of the pool and tried to help him into the instructor’s arms. Nope, nothin’ doing. Again, thoughts of calling off the whole thing entered my mind, but I quickly pushed them aside and got down to business. In as comforting a voice and manner as possible, I forced my child into the innocent-looking swimming pool. While all (I mean every last one of) the other children easily grasped the metal trough, smiled and blew bubbles, my son clawed his way up to the cement rim, hung on with both arms and refused to move.

At this point, what’s a good mom suppose to do? I handed the reins to the instructor, slowly backed away from the pool. . . and whipped out the camera. Yep, as if the little love of my life wasn’t traumatized enough, I proceeded to add insult to injury, perhaps scar him for life, and capture the whole thing in pictures (at least I didn’t film it). I know I should be ashamed of myself, learn a life lesson and yadda, yadda, yadda. . . but I got this really good shot of him with a big ol’ tear running down his cheek.

I’d like to think that one day (when he’s doing swan dives on his own) he will forgive me, be thankful and forget that any of this ever happened. . . but of course I always have the photos to remind him.

photo credit: Drop Aqua via photopin (license)

Going Down in Flames on Three

Posted on February 3, 2015 by Mama

I almost got to three this weekend, as in “you better do as I say by the count of three, or else” kind of three; and momentarily, I panicked. A thousand and seven scenarios rushed through my head in just a few brief seconds as I realized I had no idea what the “else” should be for this particular offense.

You see, I’ve never actually made it to three, so I’ve never really fashioned any worthwhile punishments for any of his various acts of disobedience. In fact, for some reason just counting to the number one usually makes my little man jump to it and at worse, I’ve barely ever made it to two.

I’m not sure where or when he realized that counting translated to “mama means business,” but it has come in very handy, especially since I only pull it out as a last resort. I mean, it worked the very first time I tried it and it has worked every time since. . . but Friday evening, in front of the grandparents, I thought I was going down in flames (and it was going to be a spectator sport). Fortunately for me, I was able to pull my chute just in time to realize that he didn’t really understand my request and he was trying to comply, even if it was in a somewhat four-year-old defiant manner.

By slowing down for a quick conversation, we somehow came to a mutual understanding and were both able to float to the ground safely (and with pride intact). . . Of course I’ll need to repack my chute with a little more preparation for future number threes.

photo credit: The Dive via photopin (license)

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