The Hairy Banana Debacle

Parenting is hard.

It's a known fact, one of the most secure truths in life, next to death and taxes. It doesn't matter if you have one kid, ten kids or no kids. It's fucking hard.

I was reminded of this again today. It all started with a banana.

There I was, minding my own business, eating the nutritious lunch I'd prepared with the kids, when a yellow orb flew by my face and hit the floor.

Time stopped. Everyone held their breath. The gears usually going a thousand miles an hour in my head ground to a halt.

I looked at my son, the one guilty of chucking the perfectly good banana onto the floor, but he seemed unfazed by the sudden shift around him. I picked up the banana and held it out to him, and in my most calm of irritated mother voices I could muster, asked him:

"Why did you throw the banana on the floor?"

He looked at me with the most innocently arrogant blue eyes I'd ever seen. I was hoping for a response along the lines of "Oops, dropped that. Thanks, Mom." or "I thought that would be funny. Don't worry, I'll eat it now." Instead, I receieved:

"It had a hair on it."

Breathe in, breath out. Count. One. Two Three. Four. Breathe in, breathe out.

Suddenly, I realized that I was raising a spoiled brat. Worse, an ungrateful spoiled brat. Nu-uh. Nope. This is definitely not going to fly.

I *calmly* explained how throwing the banana on the floor was the wrong action. He wasn't into listening however, being 6 years old now and suddenly thinking he's magically moved up the ranks. I kept talking, explaining how some kids don't get bananas and that he needs to be grateful for every piece of food he gets.

Apparently he heard me say that Santa Claus had died because he screamed. Time out it is then. I thought for sure that would help, since it usually does.

Nope. After an extra 5 minutes of whining and crying, he finally sat through his time out quietly. After, I had him explain to me why he was in one, and he did, completely. I told him he could now eat his lunch and turned my back.

Score one for the parent. That was a lot easier than -

*Countdown to detonation in 3... 2... 1...*

Turns out his sister touched a half of his sandwich, so he didn't want to eat that either. And his apples were yucky now because I made him sit in a time out. I just nodded at all of this, letting him know that it's his choice if he wants to eat the food in front of him or not. Thinking he was getting the upper hand, he demanded (no, not asked) for more apples.

"Nope."

Ka-Boom!

Not since Chernobyl has there been a meltdown of such epic proportions.

Somehow, I retained my calm demeanor and explained that the food he was given is perfectly good and that I will not cater to him nor tolerate his ungrateful attitude. He can eat what he was given or be hungry.

So he asked for milk.

And I obliged.

Ka-Blam!

Turns out the milk was gross because I "don't wash the dishes good enough." {That's a direct quote, my friends. Yeah, parenting is super sucky sometimes.}

That was my tipping point. I sent him to his room. How I managed to remain calm during this entire episode is the real feat of this story. Don't worry, I'll get my reward later in the form of wine and chocolate and comfortable sweat pants.

So what do we do now? The time out didn't work. He's hungry, but I'm standing my ground and not giving him anymore food. He did ask for a freezy pop and I said no, explaining that he doesn't get anything else until he learns to appreciate what he has. And we're not going to the library today. I told him that only thankful kids get to do fun things like that. I'm not going to be carting him around everywhere if that's the way he decides to treat me.

After all, I'm his mother. Not his personal assistant. I'm the parent and I make the rules.

And he's 6 and simply doesn't care.

Ugh.

This is the point where the fear sets in. That fear that no matter what I do, no matter what I attempt to teach my son, that he will end up hating me for things like this. He will only remember being in trouble and won't remember why. He won't learn his lessons and will simply learn that I am mean.

It's not that I expect him to immediately understand and become altruistic. I don't expect him to understand that we have to pay for these things and we have to work to get paid. I don't expect him to comprehend worldwide hunger and that not everyone has the "luxuries" he does. To him, he is 6 and this is his life. His world is small and I want him to enjoy it.

But I also want him to be thankful and grateful and not expect it to be given just because he wants it. Consider it a small wish. I was ungrateful at that age, too, but somewhere along the lines I learned what it meant to be thankful and content with what I have. I somehow managed to look at what others had and realized that I was just as happy without it.

There is such a delicate line when teaching little ones about the troubles and horrors of the world without hardening their innocent little hearts. I could show him a documentary on homelessness, children starving all over the world, not having clean drinking water or clothes and not being able to go to school. But what good would it do? I don't want him to be sad, I want him to be grateful.

It's one of those moments I call a parenting fail. I'm raising a spoiled brat, and I hate it. The good news is that I can stop it. I can start the process of teaching him to be grateful, to appreciate what he does have and to never expect anything he hasn't earned.

I don't care if he's only 6. I'm going to start today. I thought I was doing this all along, but clearly my methods need some strong adjusting.

Parenting. It's hard. It drains your mind, body and soul on a daily basis. It really is a thankless task. My only hope is that one day, he will understand. One day he will appreciate the small things in life and be content.

And hopefully one day, he will love me for loving him.