We were home from a lovely event at Riverdale Farm last week — from meeting with farmers and learning about agriculture in Ontario — when the kids came over with temporary tattoos, bright yellow rectangles that read “Farmers Feed Cities.” Okay, sure, why not. Irene lifted up her shirt and I stuck one on her belly. Colum grinned and pointed to his forehead.
“You know what, buddy, I don’t think you really want a tattoo on your face. Why not pick any other part of your body?”
He insisted that his face was where it was at. I insisted that face tattoos are not the look he was going for. (I may even have let him scroll through the Google image results for “face tattoo” in a misguided attempt to dissuade him. “Cool, mom! That guy has the Iron Man mask!”)
In the end he refused to let me put the tattoo anywhere else on his body and just sulked. There was no big scene or anything, but he was sad and I wondered (to myself and on Facebook) if I should have just let him stick the bloody thing on his face.
The days have been long, filled with trips to the farm and the park and lots of running around. Bedtime has quietly slid later and later into the night while the sun, and my children with it, persists in rising at the regular time.
So, yes, she was tired. She was tired at 6:30pm the night before when I dragged everybody out for ice cream after dinner. She was tired at 8:30 when I was putting baby Mary down. She was tired at 10 pm (!) when she finally got to bed after watching the rerun of the Olympic Games opening ceremony with her dad.
She was still beyond exhausted when she woke up the next morning. She’s not yet four, after all. She pitched a fit over the colour of her cereal bowl. She insisted I fill it up higher. She refused to eat any fruit at all and then, after a couple bites, refused even her cereal. “I don’t LIKE Rice Krispies anymore!”
I offered her some peach slices and almonds as a mid-morning snack and she refused them. Then, just as I’m frantically trying to get something finished so I can start on lunch, the whining starts. It quickly escalates to stomping and yelling. She hungry. She wants a snack. She doesn’t LIKE healthy snacks. She doesn’t LIKE lunch.
I knew she was tired. I also knew this routine was starting to wear away at my last nerve. This whole picking at meals only to keep begging for snacks all day routine was taking up all my time. I have three kids and a work-from-home job and I can’t spend more than half my day preparing food for this girl. And even if I could, it’s just not right. That’s how I felt, except a tad more screamy.
I said no and she flipped out. Full-on exhausted three-year-old-style meltdown. She couldn’t stop the tears now even if she tried. In the end I wound up acquiescing with a handful of Craisins and Honey Nut Cheerios in front of the TV. What was the point of even trying to put my foot down on a day she was so clearly overtired?
And then I read Mom 101’s post about how she’s trying to say “yes” to her kids’ more harmless requests more often and how she got flamed on Twitter for letting them have a lollipop. I immediately thought, How dare she?! Doesn’t she have any dried fruit around? Wait, no. Clearly the people turning a lollipop treat into the tip of the childhood obesity iceberg and whatever else they were on about are crazy. It says more about them than it does about the lollipop.
Hold on.
I think I’m onto something there. I think that maybe when I say no to my kids it’s because I’m trying to make up for all the times I’ve allowed them to do things against my better judgement because it’s just easier. I confess. I have turned on the TV to babysit my kids for an hour so I can meet a deadline. I have thrown candy at Irene from my desk to buy me an extra few minutes. I’ve let Colum skip his bath more times than I care to admit. I bring Mary into bed at night to nurse even though I swore she’d be night weaned before Blogher (which is in three days, so, er, sorry Ed).
But how is that fair? Clearly, the children need some limits, but “no” isn’t always the answer. I can’t make up for my leniency by suddenly pulling out the rule book when it suits me either. And sometimes it doesn’t even matter, does it?
Photo credit: Hector Vasquez Photography
5 replies on “The No Refrain”
I’m a big fan of picking my battles, but I absolutely hear you about saying no to make up for the lapses in parenting perfection. Or sometimes I hear myself worrying in my head about what someone else would think.
But really, it’s good to say yes too (within reason) They might learn from some poor choices (tattoo on forehead – been there) or maybe they’ll just have a little extra fun. So long as they’re not asking to stick things in electrical outlets or jump off bridges.
Right. Let’s let our “no”s mean something. Maybe then they’ll listen when it really is serious.
I would have let him put the tattoo on his forehead. Not because I am some uber cool, easy going parent…just because some things aren’t worth fighting about. Or rather, I just don’t have the energy to fight about some things.
The rest of what you describe, sounds alot like what goes on in my house….
Yeah, I’m not sure why I didn’t just go with that. I think I expected that he would be just as happy with it somewhere else. There was no fighting either, just sadness.
Ugh. I think it’s worse when they don’t fight. No worries, though…it’s unlikely that he will be laying on a couch somewhere, some day telling someone about the time his mom wouldn’t let him put the tattoo on his forehead. It’s how I console myself about the little things. :)