There's this great farm not far from our house. They really do it up for fall. Wagon rides, pumpkin picking, an underground slide, animals to pet and feed, pig races, cider donuts, you name it. There is even a clown who makes kick-ass balloon animals.
Last year, hubby and I took BIG there. We were going to meet up with my sister, her husband and their daughter, who is BIG's best friend in the whole world.
Thank goodness we came in separate cars.
My little family never got to the clown who makes kick-ass balloon animals. Because BIG was misbehaving. So badly that we told her if she didn't pull herself together, we'd have to leave. She didn't, so we did.
Oh, it all sounds so level-headed and Child Psych 101 now, doesn't it? Yeah, I'm skipping the series of nuclear, batshit, off-her-nut meltdowns—both BIG's and mine—that led to us having to flee the farm without even saying goodbye to my sister and her family. BIG and I both sobbed the whole ride home.
***
There's this great farm not far from our house. They really do it up for fall. Wagon rides, pumpkin picking, an underground slide, animals to pet and feed, pig races, cider donuts, you name it. There is even a clown who makes kick-ass balloon animals.
Today, hubby and I took BIG (and now LITTLE) there. We were going to meet up with my sister (her husband was away) and their daughter, who is BIG's best friend in the whole world.
On the drive to the farm, hubby touched my shoulder and asked, "What's wrong? You seem tense." And it hit me like a ton of bricks.
I realized that, had we been on our own last year—just hubby, BIG and me—we would have given BIG pass for that initial bit of bad behavior, chalking it up to a missed nap or incomplete meal. We would have taken some time, sat under a tree, distracted her with the chance to pet a baby cow. Tickled her. Relaxed the rules a bit. And maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't have escalated. And we would not have had to flee the farm.
But my sister and her family had been there—just like they were going to be there today. They had been watching—most likely not judging—our spiral out of control. And as much as I would like to blame it on them, I realized that even before things went south that day, I had been on red alert. Hyper-aware. Of every. Single. Thing. BIG. Did. Said. Ate. Smelled. Touched. From the start, BIG hadn't stood a chance.
Today in the car, as hubby pointed out that my shoulders had crept up into my ears, I realized that I am always hyper-aware of BIG when we get together with my sister and her family. Maybe simply because she's my sister. Maybe because our parenting styles are so different. Our rules so different. Our kids so different and yet so close in age that it's easy to fall into the trap of comparing them. Of comparing us.
Certainly not because of anything my sister has done to me. Or, I hope, that I have done to her. As much as I hate the expression, it just is what it is.
So today I took a deep breath and said, "Fuck it." "Fuck them"—not in a bad, snarky way. But in a way that would allow me to try to be myself, to be the mom that I usually am to BIG and LITTLE. To let the kids get away with a little here and there. To get my shoulders out of my ears and drop the alert from red to yellow. Or at least orange.
And you know what? BIG and I both behaved so well, we got to do everything. Even visit the clown who makes kick-ass balloon animals. (She picked a Jack-o-lantern.) Better still, she had absolutely no recollection of what happened last year. And for that I am grateful.
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