a hippy chick

Obviously timing is a huge issue in my quest for emotional health. I’ve always tended to put off things until the very last possible moment, whether term papers or household chores; when there is no choice except to kick a little butt I generally do so. Of course this doesn’t stop me from worrying about what I should be doing, and even planning how to do it once I actually get started with the doing part. Somehow my procrastination usually works out–like the time I was complimented by the Dean on my 35 page end of year term paper (written in 24 hours when it was my only assignment all semester). Or the time I chose David Copperfield for an over-Christmas book report in 11th grade, reading it from start to finish on New Years Eve, writing it New Years Day, and going back to school fully expecting the A I received. It’s often with a sense of impending doom, knowing I really, really should be getting started, that I put things off until the very last minute.

Take tonight for example. I’d worked a full day and endured a few budget crises from our grant sponsor, and was forced to be courteous and overly explanative in the face of idiocy all day. As I got in the car I realized that we were out of Coke and cheese, practically like not having a place to live for me and lil pill.

So. So I decided that–tired and hungry—I wouldn’t procrastinate for another day, eating old dry cereal or some such item tucked in the corner of my pantry. I really don’t have a pantry…it’s one shelf crammed with half empty boxes and random spices like cream of tartar. But pantry sounds better. I digress.

It was Mr. A’s night to pick up lil pill for a couple of hours, but I decided to take pill to the grocery store instead since he loves pushing the little carts. I knew it wouldn’t be too long as a shopping expedition–I had a small gift card so our items would be limited– and I didn’t want to have to deal with going to pick up pill right after I got home. All was well until he saw the flag. We’d gotten the essentials–ice cream, coke, cheese, crescent rolls, cereal, toilet paper–thanks to my Mom who is, by golly, making sure we at least eat. I knew I would only have about $2 left on the gift card after buying that stuff, so I was a little stressed and wanting to get out of there. Then he saw the flag and all hell broke lose.

Ever since July 4th lil pill has been rather obsessed with American flags. They were on sale in the discount aisle and he was pushing the cart. He got it in his head that he wanted a flag and that was that. I feel the need to remind those of you who don’t read every day that lil pill is like a pit bull in the ring. Just to say that my pill never, ever gives up. He’s an Aries, 100% of him a fighter and a leader and a tell-me-why’r. He will remember things for weeks, asking you at the most inopportune moments about the movie you promised or wondering why you were so mean that one time at band camp. I know this, or at least I think I’ve learned that much in four years. Fighting him (or, Lord knows, winning against him) isn’t possible because it just gets worse and worse. I don’t have the mental capacity to outwait someone repeating the same phrase over and over for 11 or 12 hours in a row. (He’ll even wake up and say it in the middle of the night.) I usually pick my battles. All this is to say that at the first breath of resistance I should’ve simply left the nearly full teeny-tiny cart in the middle of the aisle and carried him out of the store.

But unfortunately for everyone else in the store, I am not that smart when I’m tired and I also like to inflict my personal pain on everyone around me. I tried talking. I tried reasoning. I tried getting on his level. Rationally, calmly. He continued an Oscar-worthy performance. At this point the ice cream is melting and people are turning their heads wondering how I could possibly be making this precious, beautiful child cry so hard. We had the typical power struggle “pill, I’m going to leave right now if you don’t stop” followed by “fine, I’ll just walk really fast so you can’t keep up with me mommy!” He cried in the aisle. He screamed in the checkout. He refused to walk. He walked really fast. He wouldn’t push the little cart. He threw himself on the floor and had a full-scale tantrum when I tried to push it.

Did I mention that apparently everyone in the state of Virginia goes to the grocery store at 5 pm on Monday?

Oh, dear. All through the parking lot as I wrestled with the tiny cart 1/4 of my height, he screamed and sobbed and repeated “I want the flag! I promise I’ll be good! I want to watch a movie! Stop walking!” I stalked to the car and threw in the bags, threatened his bottom if he didn’t get in the carseat, drove home at about 60 mph, parked in our spot listening to the sobs of “please, please give me one more chance for a movie!”, dropped the groceries, picked up the ice cream rolling all over the pavement, carried 5 bags and a pack of Coke to the door, threw the groceries in, shoved the dog out of my way, and had a real old-fashioned temper tantrum. But not before I’d manhandled lil pill into our bedroom and shut the door so I wouldn’t spank him.

He kindly gave me the option of having some alone time after we’d kissed and made up (peeking in the room every 2 seconds or so), but it’s the reality of single mommyhood that this molotov cocktail– of pressure, exhaustion, and responsibility–brings childish behavior out in me. I never treated him like this, not once, in the 4 years prior to being together 24/7, but now there are times I just can’t deal. In my heart I know he’s 4 and he’s programmed to try to push every boundary I feel is important, but in my tired, stressed, procrastinating mind he’s the enemy and he just needs to go away until I can get myself under control again.

On the other hand, Mulan II and ice cream is a perfect way to spend the evening together. Too bad we had to go there to get here. I took a hungry and tired kid to the grocery store, and didn’t listen to my head telling me to put it off one more day. He couldn’t handle it and I couldn’t handle his reaction. The thing about lil pill is that he always takes apologies well and is a very gracious and compassionate kid, and I’m grateful for that. I just wish it wasn’t ever necessary…and mostlyI wish for those days that I oh-so-superiorly thought I had no problems at all being a kind, loving, fair and firm parent. I wish for the days that I knew everything, where growth wasn’t necessary or profitable, where I was the Mother of the Year. Growth sucks.