August 23, 2011

good Mom, bad Mom
TerryAugust 23, 2011 0 comments

Yesternight I had a serious tiff my 7.5 year old son and his partner in crime, his 4 year old sister. At 8:00pm, they suddenly had the urge to ride their bikes in the house. I told them to stop, they said they really needed to ride, I gave them the 'Mommy' look, you know the one your Mom used to direct at you and you stopped in your tracks, but my kids felt nothing. They continued riding.
I told their Dad to stop them, they said something to the effect that his girlfriend is mean, that made him laugh from Nairobi to Timbuktu. So I decided to ignore their antics but still kept a corner eye on them.
I was starting tolerate the rides until I don't know what happened, my son let go of his bike and it made a scratch on the dining table. I was done, what if he'd injured himself or his sister? or worse still, next time he decided to ride it in the kitchen with all its weapons of children destruction, boiling pots, fire and knives?
I had him take his bike outside with a stern warning to throw it over the fence if he didn't. He took it out, against his childhood desires whilst giving me the meanest look ever and saying how annoying I am.
His sister joined him in the mean looks department and because the girl has lip, she went ahead to tell me I'm not her friend anymore since I annoyed her best friend and play mate. I reminded her of the many times  I've had to rescue each from the other when things boil over between them, she continued to give lip.
What broke the camel's back though was when they decided they can both ride her bike like a boda bodam rider and his passenger while making those Naija mschew! sounds.
I am not in the business of raising spoilt disrespectful brats.
I'm not a big fun of spanking though sometimes I do, African style, but No, not this time. I decided to scare the nonsense out of them with what each loves the most. I have realised, my daughter loves her hair more than anything and my son, his 'johnny' is his treasure, yeah!
I took a pair of scissors, brandishing them like a Mommy who means business threatening to cut off their precious assets.
I have never seen my kids run up the stairs so fast and under their beds they went , I felt like bursting into laughter but I couldn't. I needed them to apologise and promise never to be disrespectful again before I hid the scissors. They were utterly terrified but you know kids, they soon forgot and started their 'normal' indoor games but I don't think they'll be ignoring Mommy again anytime soon.
You may not agree with the solution I used, well, am not sure it was the best but A mom gotta do what a mom gotta do. I was replaying the incident this morning and wondering how a good mom would have handled the situation but when they came to kiss me good morning, my confidence that I am a good mom was restored.
Motherhood is a journey in the quest of raising the best kids. Sometimes its ridden with self doubt - an occupational hazard of being a mom.
So how do you know if you’re actually being a good mother? Figuring out what works for you and your kids and learning to trust yourself is the best way, says http://www.webmd.com/parenting/features/being-good-mom.
I'm raising my children to be the best they can be, and good citizens of the world, yet I have no maua nopt that I need one, i take all challenges in my stride as i prepare them to handle life’s curve balls -- a tough task for kids who have always gotten their way or have no discipline.





Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together.  ~Pearl S. Buck
 


It's not easy being a mother.  If it were easy, fathers would do it.  ~From the television show The Golden Girls
About The Author Ali Bajwa Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore. Magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Facebook and Twitter

0 comments

Post a Comment