He tends to melt down during the last few weeks. It's like he spent the whole year behaving (it's a relative term), and these last few weeks, he just can't hold it in any longer. The naughtiness just bursts out of him, and he embraces it. It must feel quite liberating.
It took me a long time to settle down from yesterday's morning fiasco, but by the time I left work, I was calm. I even left a few minutes early, because Mark had a Cub Scout meeting. He wasn't happy about wearing his uniform to school, which I don't understand -- a uniform is a uniform, right? He had to wear it one way or another -- school or Cub Scout. I thought he'd welcome a break from the school uniforms he's always nagging about.
But of course, I thought wrong. I walked into the kid's club, and Mark greeted me as he does every day -- by hiding. Usually I humor him and look, but today we had somewhere to be.
"Let's go Mark, the Cub Scouts are waiting," I said.
He climbed out from behind the couch, grinning. And that's when I noticed his attire -- a blue polo shirt. It was certainly not the Cub Scout uniform he'd been wearing this morning.
"Where's your Cub Scout shirt?" I asked.
"Oh, I left it in the classroom," he said nonchalantly. Then he realized what he'd said, and he froze in fear.
"Why is it in the classroom?" I asked. "Why isn't it on your body?"
He responded as he always does when he's wrong -- defensively. "Geez! I just forgot it in there."
I realized he'd smuggled his polo shirt in his backpack -- this wasn't the first time he's done that. It wasn't even the first time this week -- lately, he's been smuggling all sorts of toys, books and rogue clothing to school. Any other day, I'd be mildly angry, but again, after this morning's incident, I was all out of patience.
"Let's go," I said. We crossed the playground to where the other Scouts were playing -- all of them in their neat uniforms, complete with hats and neckerchiefs. (Mark lost his second neckerchief last week.) I told the den leader that Mark had left his uniform in the classroom, and as a result, was unable to attend the den meeting. He completely understood.
Mark thought he was going home to suffer the consequences, but he was wrong. Instead, I dragged him to four different stores, and he had sense enough to follow me without whining. He knew he was in deep.
I couldn't find exactly what I wanted, but I found this, which was close enough:
"Remove everything from your backpack that you want to keep, and put it in here," I told him. "This is your new backpack."
He looked at me quizzically. "But it's not a backpack."
"It's close enough," I told him. "It's clear, so I can see in it -- you can't take any more toys or clothes in it. And if you 'lose' it, or 'forget' it, then you won't have any backpack at all. You'll have to carry your lunch, planner, flashcards and library books separately."
He wasn't happy, but he was smart enough not to mouth off about it. (I'm sure Monday morning will be a different story!) Instead, he filled it up, snapped it shut, and handed over his backpack.
He also wasn't happy when we got home, and I sent him to put on his pajamas. When he came back out, I handed him a breakfast shake, and told he was going to bed as soon as he finished.
"But it's not even 7 o'clock yet!" he protested.
"I don't care," I answered. "You made a lot of bad choices today. I'm putting you to bed early so you don't make any more. Now scoot!"
And he did. Leaving me alone with my anger, my dinner, and a big glass of wine.
My friend Jill is right -- motherhood is not for sissies!
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