Disclaimer: I really shouldn't have to put a disclaimer on
this because if you know me at all, you would know how much I love my children.
They beat my heart and fill my lungs with air. I truly don’t know who I’d be
without them. But that being said…sometimes they are assholes.
Have you ever had a boss that screams at you for two hours
straight, despite you basically running the company for them? They call you
names and tell you how much they can’t stand you. If so, it sounds like your
boss is an asshole. Now picture yourself madly in love with this boss. And the
boss is about five years old. And ironically enough, you've had lengthy
conversations about how YOU in fact are the boss, not someone who doesn't know
how to tie their shoes yet. This boss is my baby and even though he is my baby,
he is still being an asshole.
Sometimes kids are assholes. I suppose if I were a better
person, I could come up with different adjectives for them. Perhaps “determined,”
“self-assured,” “persistent.” And those words would all be true. But if you put
them all together and add a side of “abusive,” you get a common asshole.
It turns out that I too can be an asshole at times, so my children
come by it naturally. It also means that while exhausting, I can handle it. It
sucks. It wears me down. It makes me question every parenting choice I've made.
But I can (barely) handle it when my handsome five year old becomes a gremlin
and yells and screams at me for two hours because it is bedtime.
These moments become a bad psychology experiment for both of
us. The Rock tries pleading, negotiating, yelling, screaming, name calling,
then backtracks to regret, only to find that it still means it’s bedtime, then
spirals back to screaming and name calling. On my part, I exhibit patience, persistence,
sternness, yelling, screaming, then regret, only to find it still doesn't work,
then I fall back on humor. At a certain point, I’m waiting for Super Nanny to
walk in with her video camera and tell me everything I’m doing wrong to get
little Rock to go to sleep peacefully. Fortunately documentation does not exist
and unfortunately no one drops in to defuse the situation. The Rock and I are
on our own to figure out whose willpower is stronger.
At some point in the madness, one must find something funny
about the situation or else you risk losing your mind. There is something
therapeutic for me when I realize that my sweet baby has turned into an
asshole for the moment. Maybe I put my babies on pedestals a bit and it’s kind
of reassuring that they are also human, and all humans are capable of being
assholes sometimes in my opinion.
And the more I think about it, the world could use more
assholes, as long as their powers are used for good, not evil. We need people
who push and push for their agenda, who get angry when they don’t get their
way, who continue to look for ways to make it right, and keep trying until
justice is served.
So after The Rock and I had both calmed down, embraced the
fact it was indeed bedtime (for both of us), and said our apologies, we had a
conversation.
Me: “You know, someday it’s going to be a good thing that
you get so angry about things. I want you to get angry about children being
hungry. About babies being sick. About people being mean to others. I want you
to get as angry about kids not having enough to eat as you do about going to
bed. And then I want you to do something about it.”
Rock: “What will I do about it?”
Me: “Well, you are going to get so angry about kids being
hungry or sick that you are going to save the world.”
Rock, pausing: “Will you help me?”
Me: “I’ll always help you Baby.”
That night I went to bed, knowing that The Rock would be okay
and that I would be okay. That one day his personality was going to help him do
big things in the world. We just have to work together to channel that energy,
one bedtime at a time.
