Clean socks, lots of tears, and a touching parental moment

Raising a kid is hard.  Watching them grow and learn is amazing.  It’s also gut-wrenching.

This morning was one of those moments where I questioned my parenting skills, my sanity, The Minion’s sanity, and a found myself in the bathroom, blow drying my hair and crying.

It started with a pair of socks.

The Minion has a thing about socks.  He absolutely refuses to put on a clean pair each day.  He’s small, and not too terribly stinky for the most part, so I usually don’t fight him on it.  He will wear them a couple of days and then be fine with changing.  But not this morning.

Wednesdays are a late night for us.  We go to the Y after work and I walk and then we swim.  Last night we also had to hit the grocery store afterward, so it was after 8 when we got home, close to 9 by the time he inhaled two bowls of gorgonzola chicken pasta.  It was a late night, and I knew he would be tired and cranky today.  I just wasn’t expecting this particular level of rage.

Imagine little (almost) 5 year old Bruce Banner.  Mild-mannered, shy, sweet boy.  Usually busy conducting some sort of experiment that could change the world.  But then, suddenly, something triggers that temper, and he becomes a little green lump of RAGE.

That was my house this morning.  And while The Minion was RAGE, he didn’t exactly understand why.

So, it started with socks.  And then came the temper tantrum.  The yelling, the crying, the refusal to get dressed.  The demanding that I go away, not to even be in the same room with him.  He was so MAD AT ME.  But he didn’t know why.  Not really.

And this is where it gets hard.  Because (almost) 5 year olds have a LOT going on.  They are learning and developing and exploring all kinds of new feelings and emotions.  And while they might be starting to understand what some of the more complex emotions look like, they really don’t have a handle on what they feel like when they happen.  So, we basically operate on happy and mad.  Considering his father pretty much existed on these two emotions for his first 30 years, I am at least fairly well equipped to deal.

But he’s so small.  And so upset.  And it breaks my little black heart into a million pieces.  And usually, I cry.  I try to go in another room and have a few tears and be done, because it does upset him when I am upset.  But today, I cried.  I sat there on the edge of his bed, while he was smooshed into the corner farthest away from me, screaming at me to LEAVE HIM ALONE. 

I told him I couldn’t.  He knew what was coming and said he did NOT want me to hold him.  Didn’t even want me in the room.  Demanded I leave.  So, I asked if he would get dressed if I left.  And when he said no, I told him that if he wasn’t getting dressed, then I had no reason to leave.  And he screeched at me.  And I cried.  Because he was just so tortured in that moment.  All anger and not knowing exactly why.

I had already popped his butt once for throwing his clothes at me with a screamed no, so I decided to try a different tactic. I waited a minute, and I asked him if he was still mad at me.  He said yes.  So I asked why.  At first he couldn’t answer.  Then he finally said that it was because he didn’t’ get enough sleep.  So I clarified and said, “So, you really aren’t mad at me, you are just tired and cranky and don’t know how else to show it?”  And he said yes.

I asked him if screaming made him feel better.  He didn’t answer.  But he did make eye contact.  So I told him to go ahead, scream the mad out.  Nothing.  So I asked again if he felt better after yelling.  He shook his head no.  I asked him what he thought might make him feel better if yelling didn’t help.  He was looking down, silent.  Then, very quietly, he said, “You have to tickle me.  That will make me feel better.”

And let me tell you, in that moment, I cried big huge tears.  And he patted my head and I tickled him, first in just one spot.  Then, at his insistence, all over just to be sure it worked.  And it was all better.  Just like that.

I told him I had to finish getting ready and asked if he was ready to get dressed.  He nodded. I left to go brush my teeth and dry my hair.  And that’s how I ended up sobbing into my hair dryer at 8 AM.  But they were tears of relief.  I made it through.  It was an emotionally tense half hour.  My nerves were a bit frayed.  But I was able to help him work it out, to help him recognize his feeling and talk them through so that he felt better.  I felt like I’d just won the Super Bowl.

Two minutes later, he’s racing into the bathroom fully dressed, shoes on, frantically chewing his waffle.  And asking if he could play a game on the tablet in the car on the way to school.  Like nothing happened.  The Tiny Hulk of Rage was gone, and there was my sweet boy once again.

I know it will happen again in the future.  I know I will be frustrated and exasperated and aggravated.  But I also know that we can work through it.  Maybe next time I will be able to watch with a little more wonder and a little less anxiety.  Because seeing that little brain that I had a hand in creating actually make connections and figure stuff out is pretty damn amazing.  Stressful on this mama’s heart, but amazing to behold.