(Sorry Jen and Adam, nuthin’ to do with that great romantic comedy of yours…)
Jekyll and Hyde Rockstar
Ever had one of those days when your child decides anything you want him to do is everything he shall, by wile or strength of will, NOT do?
Hello. So this actually happens fairly often in our household, so often it doesn’t feel blog-worthy… And then friends will go, “He’s so well-behaved!” or “He’s eating all that!” and to be honest I usually pause and wonder if they’re just being kind. Maybe they just wanted to say something encouraging. How nice of them, right?
Except very recently it dawned on me sometimes it isn’t just people being nice. I go around saying things like Be Careful Not To Awaken The Beast and then when I get What Beast? I assumed it was kindness, not realizing they didn’t actually meet Beast.
Beast Rockstar at a very young age (about 2) could develop Pavlovian responses of the Get Me Out Of Here Now – I Refuse To Be A Part Of This And I Don’t Care That Music Time In A Playroom Is Fun sort. As in, hear music on, calmly toddle over to the exit after politely and icily saying his goodbyes above the music and singing. “No. Thank you.“
So this morning – after ingesting maybe half a boiled egg, the Rockstar decides he will not eat breakfast.
Me: We’re going swimming later. You’re going to need breakfast.
Rockstar: Runs round and round living room screaming at the spoon following him, the other end of which is attached to a very exasperated parent. Whose eyes light up hopefully when, rummaging through his toy chest, the Rockstar comes up with an old boggle-esque game. A-ha! The chance to strike up a reading/ spelling conversation!
With a little help, Rockstar proceeds to spell “Cat.” Great, add an S, that makes more than one cat. But then for some reason he wants to do “Goat.” Remembering the school instructions about tying words that rhyme together, I try to move him to “Boat.” That is, if you can possibly attempt a communication with someone who abruptly starts gabbling “No! NooO! Nooo! Nnnno!”
O-kay, how about breakfast?
“No! NooO! Nooo! Nnnno!”
Swallowing frustration, I exit the room and, looking for something to do, start packing our swimming bag. <Thinking> Come on, Aileen.You can’t even remember the last time he went near a spelling game. You gave up too easily. Go back. Try again.
Oh, look! You got “Goat”! Guess what “Boat” looks like!
“No. Don’t want.”
O-kay, let’s try – “No. I don’t want to do it.”
Huffily, I pack the game up and toss it with a clang back into his toy bin. The Rockstar covers his face with his hands and buries himself in the sofa. That is Rockstar-speak for I Know I’ve Been Bad. Unfortunately the next few words after that can be a) Let’s Change The Subject, e.g. Mum. Have You Checked The Weather Channel Today? (yes, seriously) or b) So Sue Me. You’re Supposed To Love Me Even When I’m Naughty.
10 minutes. He’s still not moving. Except when he can hear my flip flops, at the sound of which his little shoulders tense, and then he tries to bury himself deeper in the sofa. Sigh. I don’t suppose breakfast is still an option.
“I’m going swimming. You can follow me or not,” is answered with a sulky, stoney silence, but when I emerge with our swimming bag, the Rockstar is standing by the front door, waiting. He’s also taken his swimming crocs out and put them on. “Don’t be surprised if you feel tired or hungry quickly and can’t do much today – you didn’t eat breakfast, remember?” is met with a sullen stare.
We make an odd pair, walking along. We don’t look at each other in the mirrored lift, ditto as we walk the short distance to our development pool. As always, we get surprised looks from development staff as we trudge along. “I’d like you to take note of how it feels to be naughty, compared to when you’re being good. Because you sure look like you’re having more fun when you’re being good.” Rockstar blinks in surprise – then quickly falls back into the sulk.
I ignore it and walk on – and hear hurried footsteps behind me. I turn around. Immediately Rockstar stops walking, goes back to sulking n staring at the floor. I start walking again, and hear the hurried little footsteps start up. This time I don’t turn. I watch his reflection in the large mirrors of the various tower lobbies we pass along the way. Rockstar’s expression when he thinks I’m not looking is one of earnestness to get to the pool. I can’t stay too mad at the comic-ness of the whole thing: Oh. Mum’s looking. Sulk on. Ok, she’s turned away. Sulk off. All the way to the lap pool that Rockstar makes a beeline for.
One of the lifeguards chuckles. The pint-sized lapster who squeals in delight the whole time up and down the lap pool is back. His idea of “fun”/ “going swimming” is kicking out laps while holding my hands. Not say, playing about in the kiddie pool – time and place for kiddie pool is after laps, you see. The Rockstar decided. (We’ve graduated from my holding him under the armpits but he still can’t swim the laps unassisted – and he still prefers to hold his head above water to do them, though he will very occasionally fully immerse.)
“I’ll do 23 today.”
“We’ll see. You didn’t eat breakfast remember?”
The last of Rockstar’s sulking dissolves into giggly laps up and down the pool, and then – “How do you spell ‘Goat’ again?”
“G-O-A-T.”
“Doesn’t ‘Boat’ sound the same?”
“Yeah but that’s ‘B-O-T'”
“It’s not, it rhymes with goat, so…” This time he gets it.
The Rockstar stops after 17 laps, a little disappointed (I’m not – I got my goat haha). It’s probably the first time he hasn’t hit his ‘target’ (and btw I don’t set his targets, partly because I don’t want him to form the concept of meeting/ not meeting my target.)
“Can we shoot green men (in the arcade)?”
I promised him earlier, so Sure. But I Bet You’re hungry.
“Yeah I am.”
“Well, then I guess you’re going to be feeling hungry the whole time you’re shooting those green men.” Smug Mum. “You’d probably have enjoyed it more if you’d eaten something.” Silent Rockstar, but he has that Lightbulb-on Look I live for, for when what I say hits home.
And yes, we left the arcade early to go home and eat a huge lunch. The Rockstar fed himself more lunch than I ate.
“Mum. Goat. Boat. Moat – it’s easy.”
Oh, shut up. For you maybe. (No, I didn’t say it. But I was certainly dreaming of saying it.)
HE can smile...
Parents are supposed to be the smarter but honestly I’m struggling – and the Rockstar, not even 3-and-a-half yet. But… I hope somewhere during the story it came across that I probably wouldn’t have gotten a more productive result from Tigermothering him into it…
