Master and R live in a semi-permanent state of conflict recently, or at least, that's how it feels. I'd like to be able to say, honestly, that I start each day afresh; yesterday's battles forgiven and forgotten, but I don't. I wake up with the emotional baggage of all the arguments we've ever had hanging over me, so the first time he refuses to come upstairs for his shower, tells a blatant lie that he HAS already showered, or complains that "It ISN'T school time yet!" I'm instantly at my wit's end.
I know how we arrived here. Toilet training. That three-year farce of a mission to convince him to stop peeing on everything we owned chipped away at or relationship, leaving us both wary and resentful of each other. I said to a doctor at the time, when I was begging for help with the problem, that it was ruining our relationship. I could feel it happening, no matter how calm and matter of fact I attempted to be. But it happened. And even though toilet training is at last over (Hurrah! Only took till he was 5.5 years... we won't even think about taking away the nappy at night until... I don't even know... can't face it), that lengthy conflict has sunk into the bones of our relationship. We got used to being in conflict. It's unpleasant, but normal.
And now he is 6. He's an energetic, loving, sensitive child with thoughts and ideas which are growing bigger and bigger, and we still end up arguing, daily, about the stupidest things. I know I need to be the bigger person, since I am, in fact, the adult. But adulting is bloody hard and utterly unremitting. I'm emotionally drained from the relentless grind of routine tasks. I have so many responsibilities and it can feel like the weight of the world is quite literally crushing me.
Yesterday went poorly, and I can pinpoint why. During my early morning 2-minute check on Instagram, I saw the post of a wonderfully positive mother, describing how her toddler loves chores and she loves involving him in them, so it's less work for her and he learns how to help around the house and garden. That one post made me stop, compare that claim to the reality of my life, and feel like an utter failure.
I DID used to involved Master R in chores, when he was tiny and my only child. I have an adorable compilation video of him eagerly dusting surfaces, helping to hoover and dragging the mop around. And he did used to "help" a bit. For a few minutes. Before playing became a more appealing idea. Then he'd drop the duster and potter off to get on with his own stuff. Which I accepted. He was a small toddler. I could dust/hoover/mop more efficiently with him playing in the background. Miss O too, has often "helped" and isn't too bad with the hoover, now and then. But do I invite them to help every day? Hell no! I leave them to play alone or together, or chat with them while I get on with chores as quickly as I can. It's more efficient. It feels kinder, because they're kids.
If I actually ask Master R in particular, to do a given task; make his bed (actually, that's not true. He does make his bed nearly every day with no complaints- winning!), put his socks in the washing machine, lay the table, what I generally receive in exchange is a complaint about how "I have to do EVERYTHING! It's not FAIR!" The irony of his claim should make me laugh, but it just makes me seethe. Obviously I do 70% of the household tasks, as the stay-at-home-parent, and it's seldom noticed or commented on. Well, Rachel often says thank you, although she doesn't notice I've cleaned the bathrooms (which I LOATHE doing) unless I point it out, but she does work hard to pull her weight and be grateful. I don't think the children would notice if I stopped doing housework, until the floor was lost entirely under piles of shed clothing, mislaid toys and opened books.
Anyway... the point is, Master R in particular does NOT like to help, complains vigorously if asked and it then results in more dreaded conflict. So seeing this fellow Mum advocating getting children involved made me what to rage and weep simultaneously. What have I done wrong? Why do my children not enjoy hoovering, dusting, tidying up their crap and weeding the allotment?! Do other children ACTUALLY do these things, or is this particular mother so early on in her parenting journey that she's not yet experienced disobedience? Or, is she actually showing her life through rose-tinted specs, focussing only on the positive 3 minutes her child was engaged with dusting rather than the rest of the day, when he was not? I suspect she's simply a more positive human being than me. I suspect her, much younger firstborn is still at that lovely stage of wishing to please 99% of the time. I suspect that there's no way on earth she could know that her post could put me on a downer at the very start of my long day of parenting.
But it did. It made me question my own self-worth, the attitude of the children I'm trying to raise to be good humans and the state of my house in general, which at the moment, is pretty poor. Having spent a delightful day on Monday with my Mum at Wimbledon, I've been playing catch up for two days straight, and I'm still losing. You know how it gets. You've washed up 6 times this week, but the kitchen is still in chaos. You've done two loads of laundry, but there's still a pile in front of the washing machine. You've hoovered the downstairs, but the hall floor is already grotty again. And the children just keep walking around moving toys and random objects into the wrong room, where they abandon them on the floor and continue with their lives, blissfully unaware of how irritating they're being. Yesterday, while I was sweeping up guinea pig poops from the lawn (so glam), I was aware that Miss O was digging around in the ordered box of crafts and mementoes looking for her old ballet pumps. I suspected she'd probably get a few things out. I didn't imagine, until I saw it later that afternoon, that she'd remove EVERY folder (one of each child, for each calendar year) and take out various random pieces of artwork to admire them. It was chaos. Utter chaos. I nearly cried. I did, once they were both asleep, manage to get things back into what I believe are the correct folders, but it was the last thing I needed. Anyway, I digress.
As a result of that post, I invited Miss O to help me by dusting, while I started on another mountain of washing up yesterday morning. She set to work eagerly, frequently returning to the kitchen to let me know what she'd done and receive advice for where to dust next. But then I had to take over (obviously, because she's four, and had put extra water on the cloth, soaked the TV and missed various very dusty sections in the TV cabinet) and ended up cleaning the downstairs surfaces and windows, instead of playing The Lion King. I didn't actually plan to dust yesterday. Dusting is very much a low priority job, whereas sorting the laundry, emptying the paddling pool and sorting the toy shelves in the lounge were high priority. And I did want to play The Lion King. Instead, because a silly post on Instagram made me feel bad, I dusted and polished windows. We didn't get to play The Lion King until after lunch, and even then, we didn't fit in the entire thing. And the place, although relatively dust free, is still a mess.
So no. I do not like getting my children involved in housework. It would be much more beneficial, I think, to get them used to tidying their own crap up at the end of the day, so the floors of the house are not trip hazards. That, for me, is a better priority. I don't find it means I can relax during naptime because my kids are WAY too hold to nap. I don't get time to myself until Thursday and Friday mornings, when Miss O is at nursery. I'm already a bit terrified at the prospect of the 6-week summer holidays, because I know my patience will be put to the test without these sacred 6+ hours to myself. Hours where nobody can ask me questions, invite me to play games, walk in front of me, jump in my lap or otherwise generally antagonise me. I'm going to need a plan to survive.
Don't get me wrong. I love my children. I'm really excited to get them all to myself and to be able to please ourselves. No routine timetables, hurried get-ups, after school clubs, homework deadlines and spelling practice. That, I'm looking forward to. But I know myself, and I need headspace. Or at least, I'm a nicer human when I get some.
Summer Holiday Positivity Plan:
- Yoga. Every damn day. Focussed on breathing and mindfulness. Don't stress about how long I manage or how good my poses are. Just do it.
- Accept that standards will slide. We'll be going from inside to out a lot. Hay will come in. Toys will go out. It will be a bit grubby and muddlesome. Accept that now and don't feel bad. I won't remember it in 10 years. I'll remember that day at the beach and early morning guinea pig cuddles in the garden.
- Make a list of essential routine chores and share them out with the children. They can help with cleaning hutches, tidying toys, colour sorting laundry, making beds, laying the table and taking things to the sink. Aim for manageable small tasks for them. We need to get this established before I go to Uni in February, because at that stage, housework will need to become a shared responsibility.
- Take time to bond and play. Try to say yes to Master R and Miss O as often as possible. Especially to playing, reading and imagining together. Love is spelt T-I-M-E.
- Don't take their behaviour personally. They are not growing into horrible, selfish humans because I've failed as a parent. They are young humans whose brains are still developing. Their behaviour is a reflection of how they feel, not how I've failed. Don't make them feel bad for being small people.
- Unfollow people on Instagram whose posts irk me.