Returning from holiday is undeniably effortful. Not least for my husband who does all the driving and takes care of all the big practical stuff, but when we get home I still like to consider myself a martyr over my part of the caravan emptying and sorting, laundry mountains, putting stuff away, etc. and then feel miffed when no one sufficiently marvels at my magical ability to turn around five machine loads in a day.
This year my cunning plan was to immediately invite another child over for a sleepover, partly because he is so loved and has been so missed while we were away, and partly on the grounds that adding another child shifts the dynamic and adds interest and therefore leads to increased likelihood of my getting on with scrubbing things uninterrupted.
Of course, there is still the need for the practicalities of life. I needed to pick up said extra child and then the Tesco order. There was lunch to be made for six, a friend’s puppy to play with (priorities!), library books which urgently needed to be exchanged, and then a park visit (again on the grounds that if they have an opportunity to run off some energy, there is more chance they will be docile back in the house).
As we returned home, I explained to the boys: “I have fetched your friend and the food to feed you; I have taken you to play with an insanely cute puppy; I have taken you on trips to the library and park; now, when we get home, I just need you to play and let me get on with my jobs.” (I could have stopped there but I added with an ironic smile none of them could actually even see:) “And… if you can’t find things to play nicely without bothering me, I’m sure I could just find you jobs to do with me – you could help pair socks or do the dusting or something.”
I entertained myself with this threat; the words felt pleasurable in my mouth. What witty cunning I had. Was it Facebook-worthy, perhaps, my idea to scare them into quiet Lego play to avoid a fate of sock-pairing? Sadly, no one else in the car was over ten and able to appreciate the clever irony and humour inflicted upon them. Would my heroine, parenting guru Jen Wilkins approve, I wondered?
The cracks in the plan started to show immediately. One son was upset. “But what if my brothers are winding me up, and if I come to tell you, you’ll punish me with making me do dusting?”
“Ah, well let’s see if you can sort it out yourself first,” I persisted. “You could try talking to them, or walking away and doing something else.”
He decided the best course of action was to shut himself alone in his room to avoid the risk of any fraternal upset which might lead to chore consequences.
Back at the house, when another boy bemoaned that he might have to do jobs, I quickly handed him a pack of ice lollies by way of distraction: “Ah ha – well your job can be to give everyone an ice lolly.” Rather than diffuse the situation, this led to further confusion and suspicion – were the ice lollies some kind of punishment?
The boys did then manage to mostly entertain themselves till dinner, and I did get the satisfaction of completing some jobs, but there was plenty to reflect on that night in bed, as I tried to unpick the flaws in my brilliant strategy.
Well, I had threatened them. The request not to disturb me could have been sufficient; a threat was there mostly for my own entertainment.
Next, I had used humour and irony against them. Noone likes to feel they are being made fun of. Just because I am older and wittier, doesn’t mean I get to manipulate them.
Thirdly, in my desire to get my jobs done, I had lost sight of what is important for me in my role as mum/carer ie being available to them when needed. I had created a barrier of fear to keep them away from me. I had viewed the children as barriers to fulfilling my work, instead of recognising that the children ARE my work.
Finally, I had made helping me complete chores a punishment, instead of just an expectation of how we all chip in. Next time I ask someone to sort laundry, will it have the negative connotations of its being a consequence for a misdemeanour? And if housework is a punishment, what crime must I have committed to shoulder the brunt of it?
Over thinking? Perhaps. This was definitely not the most terrible moment of my parenting by a loooooong way. It’s not unreasonable to tell primary age children to play without an adult for a short time. Children do need to learn about consequences. Much worse will befall them in life than a superfluous threat of having to pair socks.
But a reminder that I am learning, must learn, on the job, striving to do better in this role I've been entrusted with for this season.
And next time I want to get stuff done? Maybe I’ll make a different blunder. Or just admit defeat and give them loads of screen time. Or perhaps by the grace of God I’ll be a bit wiser and try to do a bit better.
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