Summer must end because I’m ready to KILL my five kids!
Ok, maybe KILL is too strong.
To place in the timeout corner is more socially acceptable, I know. Maybe a simple grounding is best. Or, should I take my tween’s phone for a few days?
Certainly, a good parent (like me) wouldn’t condone such contemplated, drastic punishment toward my five little ones.
Normally, I’m a good dad. But, today, I’m not. In fact, I haven’t been one for a few weeks. I fear it is getting worse as each hot summer day drags on.
Everything my kids are doing drives me to anger. When my 3-year-old asks for a glass of milk, I demand that she drink water. Everett, my 6-year-old, thinks he’s too old for afternoon naps. To which, I yell that he should appreciate the quiet time! The fighting – about everything – between my three oldest (10 to 13 years old) rings in my ears like the siren of the college dormitory fire alarm while nursing a killer, twenty-something hangover.
I need help. My kids need to go back to school.
Am I alone in my newfound, summertime kid-hatred?
At times, I feel like it. After all, I see your smiling vacation photos. I listen to the stories of your kids adoring their week-long sports camps. I internalize my kids’ jealousy at the mention of the sleepaway camp that will, for a week, relieve you of all parenting responsibilities.
Hell, everyone else seems to be enjoying their summer with their kids. I want to love these lazy summer days, but, on most of them, I yell at my children exponentially more than I chat with my wife.
Don’t misunderstand – there are fleeting instances of hope that I regain my parenting gusto. Yesterday my kids played “house” together for an hour. That hour was heavenly – not only as it provided a respite to recharge, but that it reminded me that my kids do, indeed, love each other.
Through the daily grind, the lesson has become clear to me. The unrelenting onslaught imposed by constant togetherness can erode the best of parents. Parenting can change the way we think, act and respond.
Raising kids is the ultimate mind game where I’m provided a choice:
- (a) to allow the weeds of the bickering voices of my kids to entangle my thoughts like the crab grass invading my once-pristine front yard, or,
- (b) to focus on moments that remind me how fortunate I am to have a family in the first place.
I’d choose (b), but, how do I get there?
Maybe I should watch my wedding video each morning. That day was the best of my life.
Should I dust off the baby photo albums every now and again? I love each of those now-grown babies so dearly.
To be more positive, I’ll wake up even earlier and meditate. Enjoying the early morning quiet will equip me with the solace to be a better dad.
Yes, I’ll do all that – tomorrow. Today, I’m tired, frayed and unhinged. I just don’t have it.
School must start soon.
But, alas, just as I wallow in self-doubt and pity, my 3-year-old, Emersyn, crawls onto my weary lap at a time well after her designated bedtime and asks, “Daddy, will you read a book to me?”
Emersyn looks up at me, holding her favorite story – one I haven’t seen in a while. I smile and concur. As I begin to leaf through, I notice my 6-year-old listening and I catch a smile from my wife from across the room.
Life, again, is good.
School can wait a few weeks, I guess.
That is, even if, just thirty minutes ago, I was ready to KILL my kids.
