I, an announced, confessed, baptized control freak, am determined to teach my son how not to be a control freak.
The phrase my boy uses most often is, "You mean," followed by an insert of whatever it is he thinks I should've said in place of what I actually said. He knows now, from a single look, not to say this to his mother, ever. "Oh," he says meekly, flashing his dimples, "you mean what you say, huh mommy? Sorry."
So the other day, while not watching t.v., my control freak, my tasmanian and I, were all sitting down for a nice, peaceful game of Candy Land. But my know-it-all hadn't changed into play clothes (it was Sunday, and he was still in his church clothes) and he needed to don the appropriate apparel before throwin' down some mad gamin' skills.
"Pause, mom. That means stop the game, until I come back."
"I know what pause means, son. We won't play until you get back."
"I want to be blue!"
"Okay, you're blue."
"And you be red, and Kembry, you be yellow."
"Cohen, go into your bedroom and change, pleeeease."
(From his bedroom, approximately 4 seconds later) "MOM! Don't start without me!"
(From the living room, after a deep, relaxing breath) "We're not!"
But I didn't have to the yell. My wild-eyed maniac was suddenly standing right next to me, still in his church clothes, looking down at an untouched game. "Cohen, go into your room and change."
"But you did the cards without me!"
It went on like this for about five minutes. Kembry had completely abandoned any hope of ever playing her beloved Candy Land, and I had decided that the time was ripe for some butt kickin'. I mean, the time was ripe for teaching and inspiring and loving and nurturing.
I got up, left the game, and went into his room where he was struggling to button his shirt because he was trying to go so fast. "You need some help?"
"No!" Um...yes, you do.
"Okay, but if you let me help you, we can play sooner."
"Fine!" So I button his shirt.
"Son, do you trust mommy?"
A blank stare.
"Trust means that if I say something like I'll give you ten kisses, you know for sure that I will give you ten kisses." He smiles unsurely. I give him ten kisses, counting out loud.
"Or, if I say I'll make you lunch..." (this is a big issue in our house, he finished it for me) "That means you'll make it and we don't have to worry or keep asking!" He smiled broadly, knowing he got an answer right. That's a big deal for us know-it-alls.
"That's right. And if I say we won't play a game until you come back, then..."
I wait for it, wait for it....wait for it...I can see the cogs turning...
"That means you will wait for me. And not play without me. And you'll be red and I'll be blue and Kembry doesn't get to play because she kicked me."
Hey, it's a start!
Having no t.v. is fuuuun....
*Update. Unfortunately not being able to move is not conducive to not watching t.v. My children went to their grandmothers today. I don't know what happened there. I don't want to know. But I'm sure at some time today, t.v. was invovled. I'm trying not to think about it. Some things are out of my control (rinse and repeat) and like Bethany said, the Devil knows when you make a goal. He sets your uterus on fire and causes you to be on bed rest. Pooh on the Devil.