Okay, that's not exactly true.
But part of me wishes it was.
Let me preface by saying three things. Primarily: I'm aware that consistency is the key with raising children. At the very least, it's always been highly effective with my child. The problem with that is, we haven't found something that works for us all yet, so yes, we're inconsistent in our discipline while we struggle to find something that works. The second thing is that I'm not judging anyone but my extremely fallable self. So if you do discipline your child by a method that doesn't work for us it's okay. Seriously. None of my business. Finally, when I talk about corporal punishment I'm not blaming my mother for me doing it. I accept full responsability for my actions, okay? I'm just saying being in an accepting environment influenced me... made it seem more ok.Xan is embracing the Terrible Twos as if he knows he's counting down the last mere weeks until he will be three and no longer qualify for that evil distinction.
He is tearing things, climbing them, ripping them apart. He spits. He screams. He touches people, pushes people. Limitations? Boundaries? Are these real words?
He is a Master of Tuning Out His Mother. My voice? Wind, really. Barely any sound at all.
I'm pretty much at my Wit's end. Which, by the by, is a horrible place to be.
When Andrew and I were first faced with Xan's Very First Act of Will we were stumped. I, as a product of reading too many books on parenting, told Andrew we had to distract and redirect Xan towards things we wanted him to do, away from the things he wasn't supposed to do.
Yeah, right. Ok, that might work, for someone. It didn't work at all with us. Xan was encouraged to do more. Part of my brain is saying "he's doing it for attention" and that part of my brain needs to shut up. Xan gets more individual attention than I ever got, in my entire freaking life.
But, because of that nagging part of my brain, we decided to ignore the bad behavior and ignore Xan when he did things he wasn't supposed to.
That lasted less than a day, because it's not right to let a toddler beat on a cat with a block because the cat expects you to rescue her and the toddler thinks he's allowed to because no one is stopping him.
As a by-product of living with my corporal-punishment-lovin' mother, and her equally spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child boyfriend, I started smacking Xan's butt or his hand. Except I really sucked at it. So I'd miss his little hand. And have to swing again. I was having anxiety about not doing it right.
Oh, the guilt. The horrible horrible guilt. Adults around me kept assuring me it was the right thing to do, and yet it felt so terribly wrong for me, for us.
I started doing Time Outs very very recently, something which I mocked as a precocious teenager, witnessing mothers trying this tactic in stores or the doctor's office: "Time outs? Yeah cause THAT works..."
I don't know that they are working. The first few times I stuck Xan in the corner (I arbitrarily decided a minute in the corner per year of his life) he thought it was fun. He assumed there was something incredibly fun and interesting there. "Wow, it must be something good. She's insisting I stand here and look at the corner. Whatever could it be?"
Now he's on to me. When he's in TimeOutLOL, he's bored. He's messing with the door. Singing. Practicing his Tree Pose. Trying to set a record for number of times he can pitifully/annoyingly/demandingly ask/shriek/yell/moan "mama?" in his two minutes of TimeOutLOL. Then, about 15 seconds before time's up: he's crying. Wailing. Begging to be let out. (Which is so frustrating! So if I let him out then, at the time he's supposed to be out, it's like reinforcing the crying! This is so hard, this parenting!)
I don't know who this kid is. And I'm finding that frustrating. I made him. I, of all people, have been with him more than 85% of his life. How can I not know who he is?
The last few days I'm so on edge... God, I don't know what it is. Xan summons the Voice of God (out of me) probably ten times a day or more. I find myself ranting at him sometimes. Shrieking. Dragging him by his arm to the corner.
And, I'm noticing I don't know who I am at those moments.
In a moment of clarity, and calm I wonder:
Is it that I don't know who I am or I don't like who I am?And I still don't know how to effectively discipline my son. I have no control over him. I'm shamed by that.
Regardless, we're sticking with TimeOutLOL for now. Interspersed randomly (based on the Wit and how close to it's End we are, I suppose) with the Voice of God and yeah, some beatings.
Here's hoping morale improves soon. I'm already tired of being the bad guy and he's only two.
