Thus far I have twice had moments where I was knee-knockingly, jaw-droppingly proud of my son.
I am proud of him all the time – when he is kind and thoughtful, when he writes his name while concentrating so hard he bores a hole into the paper with his laser beam eyes, when he has worked out a puzzle. I am often proud of him.
But twice I have been so proud you could have used my puffed out chest as a foundation to a house. Allow me to explain.
The first time he was nearly three. We were at a children’s birthday party which had, frankly, the tallest children’s slide I’d ever seen. I’m pretty sure the ladder was ripped straight off of Everest as well, and parked at a 90 degree angle. Fucking terrifying.
None of the other kids would even contemplate going near it.
But Nick took one look at it, grabbed the rails with both hands, and was soon at the top of the slide. With a face full of pure joy (or just an overdose of adrenaline) he shot down the slide, laughing. When he got to the bottom, he stood up, dusted himself off, and promptly did it again.
Mind-blowingly proud I was.
Unbelievably.
Yesterday was the second time I have felt that proud.
I think it’s no secret that we are strict parents. We have boundaries because both of us believe boundaries are important. We are very keen that the twins are not picky eaters, either – all new foods must be tried. If they don’t like them then that’s absolutely fine and we won’t make them eat them, but they have to try everything (which explains why two of Nora’s favorite foods are green olives and capers. She rocks.) Likewise we have rules – you don’t play with your food (or throw it). You don’t get dessert if the meal isn’t eaten (if you don’t eat your meat, you can’t have any pudding). Kids eat what grown-ups eat, although they may love a diet of macaroni cheese and chicken nuggets (which frankly sounds tempting), they are eating the same curry we do (and the truth is they prefer it spicier than I do). It has on the whole made them not picky eaters at all, and they are very daring in what they’ll eat. I am not Mommy Dearest acting like a hard-ass – the twins get to be kids all the time (it’s a thing with me, to let kids be kids). But they also have to grow up understanding that their world is shared with many others, they may be kids but there are boundaries, to boot.
Flash forward to yesterday. The twins were at a children’s birthday party (aka the Seventh Circle of Hell). It was lunchtime, the typical children’s birthday party fare of sausage rolls, cheesy wotsits, and Marmite sandwiches. The twins quietly ate their plates of food, including the stack of carrots I stuck on their plates. They sat next to a little boy who was a typical kid, who came to the party armed with a typical parent. Said typical kid had spent ages talking loudly throughout the magician’s act and got into a massive row with his mother as he repeatedly tried to set free the hosts’ rabbits. You know you know kids like this. You know their parents, too.
“Muuuuuuuuuuuum! I hate this! I won’t eat it!” he shrieks, winging a cheese and ham sandwich triangle across the grass.
“Oh that’s ok Lucifer. You don’t have to eat it my lovely.” She smiles at me. “He and his brother Beelzebub, they’re such picky eaters.”
“Right,” I murmur.
“Lucifer, darling, it’s ok. You can just eat the chocolate biscuits. That’s fine,” she calls over, adjusting her necklace. Lucifer would eat his chocolate, only he’s busy mashing his hand into his cup of punch, spilling it all over his arms and his trousers.
Nick is staring at Lucifer as if he’s grown another head.
Lucifer, having realized that his fist does indeed displace liquid, then gets up and walks to his mum.
“Mummy. Mummy! More! I need more drink! Now!”
“Well Lucifer my lovely, you drank it all you need to go get some more,” says his mother, the bastion of tough love.
Lucifer goes and gets more punch. He strolls back out to us and stops, standing directly in front of his mother and I. Lucifer smiles at us. He takes one sip. He then proceeds to pour out the entire cup of punch onto the grass.
Nick looks at Lucifer with something akin to pure unadulterated disgust.
“Lucifer that was quite silly, now you’ve nothing to drink!” trills his mother with a smile. Lucifer shrugs and then – I swear I make not this up – he starts jumping up and down in the puddle of punch he’s made in the grass. “Awwww, are you puddle jumping, my little star?” coos his mother as Lucifer splashes all of us with pale pink splashback.
Nick looks at Lucifer. He looks at me. He shakes his head and makes an attempt to roll his eyes.
Satan’s Little Helper and his mother wander away to get more chocolate (since Lucifer doesn’t like sandwiches). Nick quietly hands his empty plate and cup to me. I bend down to him. “Nick?” I say. “I am so proud of you. You are, absolutely, very, very cool.”
Nick grins.
I grin back.
Second time I have been so proud.
-S.
High five!
Nice!
My girl has been subjected to some fairly strict rules, but unfortunately has also taken to expressing her displeasure with the behavior of others (i.e. that which does not conform to her lifestyle) at the top of her lungs. Mostly, it’s been commentary as we walk along the street and see litter, but I’m picturing a day when someone throws a fit about something and she starts opining about how she would NEVER behave like that. It’s coming. I know it.
Good Lord, who allows their child to throw things and deliberately pour stuff out and then splash in it? Also, have you ever seen Doc Martin? There’s a fantastic episode about parents like that.
Your kid? He’s cool. Hi-fives to mom and dad and fist bumps to Mr. Smooth and his sister.
I can sort of relate – my oldest of baby cousins (baby equating to once-removed) is now 13. While having dinner with him and his sister one night, he turned to me and asked what I thought of the Republican presidential candidates, and which Clinton would make a better president. It was a watershed moment. Sure, I realized my love of politics at age six, but it was such a step up from Farmville and Xbox. I promptly bought him both of Jon Stewart’s books.
As for not letting the twins live off fishsticks and cheese doodles, I believe that my early exposure to exotic foods made me a more open and cultured person. Even if nowadays I am a ridiculously picky eater. They must try oysters, those things delighted me as a kid.
*beams approval*
The cute! Er Nick, not the devil’s spawn…
I’m not at all surprised you’re proud.
I have not the patience for children who will not eat.
How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?!
You’re an awesome mom and you and A have built a stellar, warm, scrumptious family.
Boundaries are good-very good.
Nick, however, is awesome-very awesome.
I would have grabbed him and kissed him wildly for that!!
Oh, man, I was cringing as I scrolled down the comments, just waiting for someone to jump in all, “Have you ever considered that poor Lucifer is a special-needs child? He OBVIOUSLY has sensory issues, and THAT’S why he spilled his juice and then stomped in it, and MY CHILD does the exact same thing because he is on the autistic SPECTRUM, and you all are HORRIBLE for saying that Lucifer is an ill-mannered child, when the poor thing is SO PRECIOUS and he can’t HELP himself and …”
Your readers are cool.
RockyCat: There’s special needs children, and then there’s children of doormats. I know a lot of special needs children, and Lucifer strikes me as a child whose special need is for a parent with some backbone.
When I was a child, I did not understand why kids weren’t supposed to like their vegetables. (When I was an adult, I moved away from the agricultural powerhouse and discovered what many kids were exposed to. Yuck.) But if you offer that to them all the time, it’s familiar and wonderful.
Nick is a rockstar.
I’m the mom of twins, close in age to Nick and Nora, and one of my boys has special needs – no real label, but delays everywhere and a clinical dx of cerebral palsy. He didn’t walk until he was 3.
He has had problems with eating, food tolerance and textures and eating behavior since about 18 months. However, my other son is a typical 4 year old and will try to eat just about anything. We have generally treated them the same at feeding time, so they are just different children with different bodies. different genetics, and different issues.
So, I agree with B. Durbin’s comment above that there is a difference between a special needs child and the child of a doormat/Satan’s spawn… and a well-trained eye can usually tell.
And while I am very proud of Shannon, Alastair and both Nick and Nora for being so exploratory and tolerant of new and diverse foods, I’m frankly a little jealous that it can’t be that way for *both* of my kids – not for lack of trying.
I hope you get what I’m trying to say… no offense intended.
p.s. though I do think that Nick and Nora rock. That is undeniable! :-) Definitely *not* children of the devil.
I have two children. One who behaved marvelously in public, the other who is a Lucifer. He hasn’t been labeled special needs but he’s in Early Intervention with a speech therapist, an inclusion consultant and an occupational therapist trying to help me figure this willful child out and make his life easier (and my life, and the lives of his teachers). It’s scary for me, wondering if we will ever crack the code. I haven’t done anything differently with him. Some people think they are marvelous parents when they were just blessed.
The worst part is that no matter what I do, I am judged by everyone around us in public. No one knows what we go through – they just label me a bad mother. It’s so fun and easy to do that, isn’t it?
Paula, your reply struck a chord with me. Most children are responsive, eager to please, pay attention, and can be taught to be well-behaved. Like Nick and Nora, they are a joy to parent, as Shannon so eloquently describes. But some children (like my grandson) are not, and their behavior will elicit advice, judgment, and scorn. The beleaguered parents–usually the mother–thus are hammered twice – once by the child’s difficult behavior and next by those who observe and judge. It’s a lonely place to be. If I may recommend a website, http://www.easytolovebut.com/, a blog written by parents needing community and support? It eases the stress to know we are not alone.
I can’t stand parents who just let their kids act like animals. Granted, my kids aren’t perfect. They are expected to follow rules, but they’re at these perfect coordinating ages where they constantly egg each other on. They’ll hide in clothing racks, and just be general pests. I’m keen on being stern with them, and have not hesitated for a second in letting them know that if they’re not paying attention, I’ll leave them there.
But they know how to act in a restaurant (within reason), and are generally pretty well behaved in comparison to a lot of other kids.
They’re shitty eaters, though. I don’t know where the hell that went downhill, because we don’t even feed them chicken nuggets. They don’t even LIKE chicken nuggets.