My world was filled with small, angry people

I have learned something in the past 9 days because of the Illness that Will Not Leave. Something about my own skills as a mother and the (heretofore unaware of) carefully balanced social structure in my house.

Let’s just say that the book Lord of the Flies has achieved a whole new clarity for me.

It’s been – for lack of a virulent description involving quite a few obscenitites – ah … frustrating. My ears are clogged up so I cannot hear. My throat is sore and full of mucousy sludge so every word comes out as a choked, hoarse, (and painful) whisper. My head aches, my chest and back are sore, my throat is on fire. I’ve not been sleeping.

Subsequently, I have been spending the majority of every day hunched on the couch or at the computer, miserable, deaf, and surrounded by wadded up tissues.

I don’t require my children to be right up under my feet all day, similarly they don’t expect me to be up in their faces entertaining them every waking hour either. They have the run of our sprawling farmhouse and spend the day being what they are: kids.

What I wasn’t aware of – and here’s where the learning part comes in – is how much I really interact with them all day. Apparently we usually keep up a running communication. I depend on audio cues to let me know what’s going on in other rooms (breaking glass, bloodcurdling screams, small explosions, ect), and I then begin The Dialogue:

(Dull thud followed by outraged cries)
Me: “Boy, why is your sister crying?”
Boy: (from kitchen) “Uh … I dunno, Momma!”
Me: “Tall Girl, what’s the matter?”
Tall: “Waaaaaahhhhhhh! *garbled words* Momma, waaahhhhh!”
Boy: (running down hall from kitchen) “I love you momma!”

At this point I’d know to put down the towels I was folding and go into the kitchen. This method worked well and was augmented by them showing up in the family room every few minutes and/ or myself walking to various parts of the house doing my daily routine. This latter part provided me with multiple visual checks thoughout.

Add to all this the meals and snacks taken at the table, the midday going-down-for-nap, the multiple book-readings, plus any kissing of boo-boos or soothing of hurt feelings and we were actualy together a LOT.

Now lets go back to the hunched and miserable sickie me.

Because I wasn’t more perky and was not hearing the cues, they were getting into more trouble than normal. I’d realise that I hadn’t heard or seen from them in several minutes and I’d wander in to another room to find things overturned, in disarray, or – one memorable day – the fishtank full of toys and a leftover PB&J sandwich from lunch.

I have a hard and fast rule: I will not punish if I didn’t see you do it (or wasn’t standing right there). Now I may well change this later on but for now it’s my policy.

I believe in spanking (we pop the hand or, rarely, the back of the leg) but I do NOT think that you can take a child who’s not yet two up to a broken vase and say: “See this? This is bad.” and spank her for it.

So then I found myself getting more and more frustrated. It seemed like I couldn’t do anything for a second without finding the kids up to some misdeed - or worse - the remains of the misdeed. And, trust me, it’s not nearly so effective when screamed epithets come out in a frustrated, croaking whisper

Add to this that my Darling Hubby’s son, Boy (ok, ok, he's my son too, but when he’s bad he gets to be hubby’s) who’s at that dangerous age: almost 3, was taking advantage of the circumstances. Sinks got turned on, peanut butter got eaten straight from the jar, and most of all Tall Girl got tormented, all because clever Boy was quick to see my lack of response.

The evenings were hell, poor Dearest Hubby would arrive home and the babies would be wailing and I’d be ill PLUS fed-up and just want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry. Normally my children exasperate me some – I’ve had my over-the-edge moments. I have actually screamed at my son: “WE DO NOT SCREAM AT PEOPLE!” but this took the cake. I have always prided myself on my well-behaved children and our good relationshsip with each other.

I’m so glad I figured it out and it all clicked. Now I’m feeling microscopically better physically and MUCH more confident mentally. My babies and I have a very tight relationship it seems and with a few minor crack-downs today (much to the perturbation of Boy) we’re headed back to our peaceful former life.

Oh, great … what was that crash?



Note: for those of you who wonder where Bitty Girl was during all this: at 11 months she can crawl but can’t quite make it up the steps out of the Family Room, so she was stuck in here with me.