A Norman Rockwell Morning...

The powers that be knew how badly I needed one: and I had one. The morning started with a quick errand into a store with narry a complaint or reprimand, then off to bid our farewells to good Ol' Blue 737 at the Museum Airport. She's getting closed up for the season. And there were no tantrums or tears in leaving. Just resolved acceptance that this is what needed to happen. Then we loaded up into the car and drove to our favourite cemetary for a walk in all the fallen colourful leaves, hide and seek, and shouts of joy. Again, no reprimands, tantrums, or tears. Next stop was home for lunch. A messy soupy lunch that everyone ate to the last drop. And the pièce de résistance? Natty went into the bathroom and pooped all by himself on the potty. Wiping up included. Glory be.

Grey days.

I'm tired. Oh, so tired and heavy-hearted. The countless days blur by me in one struggle after another: consequence and discipline after consequence and discipline. They say it's a phase. Really? I'm all done with this phase, thank you. I'm all done with feeling like the biggest nag in the world. For feeling embarrased and ashamed at how angry I get some days with these little people. Who in the world do I think I am storming around like that when I'm angry? Get ahold of myself. I'm tired of looking at other mothers and thinking that they have all their shit together, and only if they knew who I was, or how I yelled that morning... What a failure I feel like sometimes.

And then I have a good moment. A Norman Rockwell moment. All is right with the world. Everyone has fallen in line with the expected norm. There is laughter and sunshine. Oh, my soul. I need more of these moments.

Parenting 101.

Odd, I know. I've taken four months off of my blog, and what is it that drives me back? Another crazy day in the world of Nathaniel. Heaven help me now.

Natty has switched to a new preschool and is now into his second week there. I absolutely adore the place, and am hoping that Natty will also come to see all the positive in it like I do. (Yeah, I do remember he's just four...) Today I happily picked him up from school, started up the stairs to leave, and the teacher was shouting, "Wait! No, wait a moment please. I need to talk with you!" Turns out Nathaniel had been spitting in class. Yes, you read it right. Spitting. He was spitting his snack out on the other children, whom, the teacher informed me, were not impressed (and rightly so), and then once exiled to a table by himself, laughed a manical laughter at the teacher. If that weren't bad enough, he also spat all over the bingo cards when it was time for Bingo right after snack. Spitting? On kids and cards? What the hell is this? I was absolutely mortified. Still am.

Needless to say, Natty got a stern talking to. And sent to his room. And got TV and computer taken away. And any tasty snacks. Anything fun. And he has to apologize to the teacher before next class. I am so angry, and want to be such a good, reassuring, enabling parent. All I can think is that he needs to learn respect and how to function properly in society, and if I don't do a good job now, he's going to be a little monster. I know it will all come and it's boundaries and all that, but still. I'm beside myself. Seriously.

I did feel bad for him though. He honestly felt bad for all of this. Or at least felt bad for all that happened as a result. I hope this isn't our new game in life. This parenting gig is way too hard some days.

Oh. And you, little Isaac. There you are. Happy second birthday, my sweetness. Your day will come.