On being a mean and weird Mom.

I've had somewhat of a stroke of bad luck with disciplining the two big boys. Let me give you the details:

One evening last week, they were playing outside, and I was getting dinner ready. I can see them from my kitchen/dining room and the atrium windows very clearly, and they usually play on the swingset, in plain view.

Logan comes running in the house saying Brandon took off to his friend Joey's house. Joey's house is behind ours, across the street and down two more houses. Usually, we walk him down there, or at least walk him to the next street and watch him. It's not a busy street, but you know, caution is the... I don't know, something smart and fancy about being a good parent. So I start watching more intently, and I see Brandon strolling back home.

He got a nice talking-to (really, I was 100% calm, even though I know you don't believe me) and was promptly grounded to his room for the evening.

Apparently, "grounding" to him means that he can poke his head out of his door at six-minute intervals and say, "I'm ready to listen." or "I'm sorry I was bad." or "I promise to play nice." (None of these actually pertaining to his real reason for punishment.) I start to go from calm to a little irritated, and the last time I sent him to his room, it was followed by a slamming of the door and him yelling "I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE!"

I was totally caught off-guard for a number of reasons: one being that I was hoping I didn't have to deal with this emotional roller coaster, since I have no girls; and two, I thought I was at least five years away from hearing this from their little, innocent mouths.

Long story short, let's just say that Brandon is very, very, VERY sorry he ever said that in the first place.

Moving on... Two days later, and Brandon and Logan are playing outside again together. I look outside the window - they are playing happily - check! Look outside the window - having a swordfight - check! Look outside the wind -- er, where are they? Not on the swingset... Not in the cul-de-sac... I start circling the house. There's only one other place they could be.

I know you're thinking Joey's right? Me too. Wrong there. They were THREE more houses down from Joey's, at their friend Dylan's house.

They see me, and even though they are reluctant, we head home. We all do happy dances through the yards, on our way to our house, they are singing sweet songs and telling me about how much fun they had, and I'm the super-tastic mom that's all, "Oh, honey, that's wooooonnnnnderful! Tell me more..." They are little red-faced cherubs, gleefully telling me the games they played, the things they did, and the adventure they went on.

We all head inside the house.

Door shuts.

Yelling begins!

I couldn't believe that they had forgotten a mere two days before of the punishment and hullabaloo I had made about leaving the house without telling a parent. Brandon says something about how he goes to sleep and when he wakes up, he forgets things. So, I ask him if he forgets his name every morning when he wakes up... He looks at me like "Der, mom, NO!" Okay, point proven.

I was so furious. And I made sure they understood the reason why. How they could have been kidnapped or hurt or hit by a car and left for dead, and I would have no idea! I wouldn't be able to help them.

Brandon takes the lectures like a champ. He listens to me, stares at me with his big blue eyes (makes me feel all guilty), and he responds with "Yes, ma'am" and "No, ma'am" at every question.

Logan, however. Logan. Oh boy. He stares at me with his eyebrows all crunched together, and every answer is a stern "YES!" or "NO!" I've tried vehemently to discourage this reaction, and it's getting better, although still a work in progress. You see, he also likes to say things that are way out of context, unthoughtful, rude, hurtful and quite frankly, he has no idea what they really mean.

After their lecture, while we are eating dinner, I'm still contemplating a proper punishment and Logan has the gall asks if he can play outside after he's done eating. Obviously, my answer is no.

Here's the kicker... The bad part... My sweet, innocent Logan says to me... "When I get big, I'm going to get a gun and shoot you because you're mean and weird."

Mkay.

My first thought is "I don't think someone being WEIRD warrants them to get shot, but whatever!" But then I realize the words that have just spilled out of my four-year-old son's mouth, and I'm beside myself with a flood of emotions/reactions/thoughts. I can't make sense of what is swirling around in my head. I don't even know how to begin formulating all those thoughts into coherent words. I am speechless.

I'm overcome with emotion, overwhelmed with the responsibility of parenting altogether, and I break down and start crying (and I know crying always works on them. teehee).

When Mike came home and I told him what happened, it turns out that Logan has no idea what "shooting someone" really means. He showed his dad the "gun" that he would use, and it was nothing more than a stick in a twisted shape of a sort of gun. The action was just a "bang, bang" verbiage that Logan would say when he was "shooting" me. And then, after he was done "shooting," I wouldn't be weird and mean anymore, and Logan could play outside all day and night long and eat candy for breakfast.

As it turns out, I think I might like being shot with a gun. Who knew?