I had one of those horrible, sinking-feeling-in-your-gut moments Friday evening. You know what I'm talking about - you've just done something that you immediately regret and feel terrible about?
It all started when we made pizza using one of those Boboli crusts. It was so good. I added fresh tomatoes, oil-cured black olive, feta, and fresh basil to my two pieces, along with the normal stuff. Chris also put ham and onions on his *gag* so I was careful to keep my little third of the pizza completely apart from his & the kids. (Sophie ate an entire piece!!) We cook it and since we're all starving, we're a happy bunch of people when we sit down to eat. I've got my salt-shaker and bottle of Tabasco ready (have I ever mentioned that I'm a total hot sauce addict? To the point that I got a "Year of Tabasco" in the mail for Valentine's day?) and I'm getting ready to dig in.
Suddenly Izzy jumps up and runs into the kitchen saying something we can't quite make out. He needs his peppers? He likes the hot peppers that Papa John's put in with their pizza so maybe that's what he's thinking. I sit closest to the kitchen and Izzy sits beside me. I turned towards his plate - don't remember why, but probably to cut up his pizza - and suddenly Izzy is pouring soy sauce all over my pizza.
I got mad. I jerked the bottle out of his hand and smacked his hand. "Bad boy Izzy!," I yelled at him. "Why in the world would you ruin my pizza like that?!" He looks so surprised and confused. I grabbed his hand and took him to his room. That's our current method of punishment when he's acting up at dinner. We take him to his room and sit him on his bed and tell him to stay there until he can be a good boy. Sometimes he runs right back out, sometimes it takes a few minutes, but it usually works.
We get to his room and I'm telling him all this and he's fussing and saying, "I wanna eat my pizza!!!" Then it hit me. MY SOY SAUCE IS TABASCO BRAND. THE LABEL HAS THE SAME DESIGN. I ALWAYS EAT TABASCO ON MY PIZZA AND MY POOR CHILD WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP. My heart sank. I so badly don't want him to have memories like this, memories where his actions were sorely misinterpreted when he was just trying to be a good boy.
I sat down on his bed, held his hands in mine and I said, "Look at me Izzy: why did you pour soy sauce all over my pizza? Were you trying to be bad?"
"Noooo!," he says so sincerely, big blue eyes so wide and innocent, so loving.
"Were you just trying to help mommy?"
"Yes!" He shook his head violently up and down, looking more hopeful by the second. "I eat my pizza?," he asked.
I told him, yes, we'd go back and eat our pizza, and that I appreciated him trying to help, but to just hand me the bottle next time, and I'd put the hot sauce on myself.
We head back to the kitchen and Chris, who has also realized what Izzy was thinking, says, "Now you have every right to be angry, but..." I interrupted him, saying, "I know. We just had a talk about it."
Izzy and I sit back down and he asks me to help him eat his dinner. He rarely does this, but I think he needed that validation from me, needed to know that his crazy mom still wanted to take care of him. Chris went into the kitchen and I leaned over to Izzy.
"I'm sorry I got so mad at you, buddy."
"That's okay, mama." He happily ate his two pieces of pizza and I ate mine too. Covered with soy sauce. Even worse, it didn't taste bad at all, so I risked my first born's psyche over a complete non-issue. Even more of a non-issue than it was already.
It's so hard to always do the right thing with your kids. Every mom I know usually tries, but when stuff like this happens it rocks your foundation. You know, the one that says, Hey! I'm doing a pretty good job at this mom thing! Maybe the kids will turn out okay after all!
Several things about this really bothers me. 1. Why did I get mad over pizza anyhow? Could I be more childish or stupid? 2. Why didn't I take the time to understand the situation from his perspective first, instead of reacting like an animal? And 3., which is the biggie: Why did I smack his hand??
Just last week, Chris and I decided to eliminate all forms of physical punishment from our house. We are tired of anger. While Izzy has never gotten more than a swat or two on his bottom, when we first had him we were never going to resort to smacking as a means of discipline. But he is a challenging kid, and it has become a habit to smack at his hand or bottom for any number of minor offenses. Keep getting out of bed at bedtime? Swat on the butt. Bite his cousin? Swat on the butt. Act up, refusing to brush teeth? Swat on the butt.
Not only was Izzy not paying ANY attention to the spanking, it was creating the wrong kind of environment in our house. We are not the kind of people who spank children, so we decided to stop. But then I smacked his hand over something as stupid as putting soy sauce on my pizza. This is why we've stopped. It's so much easier to smack his hand and have the issue end there than to sit down with him and figure out why he's misbehaving.
I guess two positive things have come out of my tantrum. The first is that my resolve to eliminate spankings has been strengthened. But I also showed Izzy that even grown-ups have to apologize when they're wrong.
I know some of you are thinking, stupid liberal hippie is going to raise a spoiled brat. While others are horrified that I smacked my baby's hand in anger. That's why parenting is so difficult. There's no set of rules to follow, to guarantee that you won't do lasting damage to your kids mental state.
All I can do is love my babies with all of my heart, and hope that when I do make mistakes, as I know that I will, that I'll always have the guts to apologize to them. That I will take to heart such difficult lessons as this one.
Maybe I'll sprinkle soy sauce on my pizza from now on as a reminder. Okay, I won't do that, but I will never forget how absolutely terrible it felt to hurt my baby's feelings.
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