It was 5:00pm. We had eaten an early dinner, and the kids were sitting on the couch watching Pete’s Dragon. Ryder was acting up and I knew it was because he was tired – he hadn’t had a nap, and his crazies were coming out.
After jumping on me several times, and hinting that he would like “boob-couch” – to nurse – I told him that he wasn’t going to get ‘boob’ again until it was bed time. He immediately went into urgent, melt-down mode, insisting that it WAS bed time, and he wanted boob-bed immediately.
Brock and I had a quick, hushed conversation about the dangers of letting him go to bed for the night when it was only 5 o’clock, and decided that it was too early. I told Ryder that he could have boob-bed in 30 minutes, and we could go to bed if he waited. The baby gate was blocking the upstairs, so he wasn’t able to just head up the stairs. I told him several times to play, or sit and watch the show until 5:30, and we would go upstairs together.
In traditional Ryder fashion, he decided to PUSH ALL OF THE BUTTONS. Because Rory was sleeping upstairs, I didn’t want to let him go up and play/jump around to pass the time. Instead of listening to my suggestion, he went and got a small chair and climbed over the baby gate. On his way up the stairs, he laughed tauntingly, “I over the baaaaaby gaaaaate.”
In order to keep Rory from being woken up, I went with him. At this point, it was probably 5:10. I kept reminded him that he only had x number of minutes until we could go to sleep.
I suppose, in retrospect, there was no harm in letting him go to bed early, but the principal of him getting to do something just because he throws a giant fit is really what we are trying to avoid here.
Upstairs, I sat by the entrance to his bedroom and told him I would come lay in bed with him as soon as it was 5:30. He was jumping around and acting like a maniac – well beyond any sort of normal level of maniac. He kept yelling at me, “I. WANT. BOOB. BED.” I ignored most of his behavior. Eventually, I went into the bedroom with him to keep the noise sequestered to his room (again, trying to stop him from waking Rory) and sat by the door. Jumping and flipping around in bed, it didn’t seem like it was should be that difficult to wait the remaining 7 minutes to 5:30.
I guess at that point, Ryder decided it was time to up his game again. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he demanded I give him boob-bed. I reminded him, calmly, that I don’t give him ANYTHING when he speaks to me that way, and that he needed to calm down. He took a deep breath, and assured me he was calm. I told him there were 5 more minutes before we could go to sleep… and he lost his shit. He picked up the fan that was sitting next to the bed, and threw it at me. In the very dim light of the bedroom, I didn’t see it coming, only heard it.
When it hit me, I immediately went to level 10 rage. In a monumental demonstration of self control, I didn’t immediately beat the shit out of him, which was the very real, very physical urge. I stood up, and walked over to the bed, and sat down next to him. Voice cold as ice, I told him, “NOW, you will not be getting boob. It’s time to lie down and go to sleep.”
Not one to be dismissed, Ryder launched into a full on physical and auditory assault. He screamed, he punched, he flipped and kicked. He alternated between, “I WANT BOOB” and “I WANT TO GO BACK DOWNSTAIRS.” He promised me, “I will not do that again!” and in the next breath told me, “I’M GOING TO BITE YOU.”
I was deeply entrenched in my rage, and not giving an inch. I held his hands and didn’t let him hit me. I stopped him from biting me. I resisted every urge to punish him physically, and sat stoically as he threw the most epic fit I have ever witnessed. I kept telling myself to hold space for his calm to come back, kept swallowing my rage and disgust.
At one point, when he became physically frightening, I pinned him down on the bed. He was screaming and throwing his body around, and I let the weight of my body keep him from hurting himself or me. It was a matter of minutes, but finally his screaming quieted and his breath slowed down. He was still demanding that I give him boob bed, or let him go back downstairs. I was still insisting that neither was going to happen, and we were embroiled in a full-on power-struggle.
I rolled off of him, resolute that he was NOT going to be leaving this room, NOR was he going to get to have boob, and it SERVES HIM RIGHT for being such a JACKASS.
He scrambled away from me, out of breath and talking harshly. I knew that he was talking, but I wasn’t really listening. I was still deep in my anger.
“I. WANT. GO. DOWNSTAIRS. COME. BACK. UP. START. OVER.”
He said it through clenched teeth, and it didn’t immediately register what he was asking. And then it did.
For the last several weeks, I have been using the technique of escaping a power struggle that allows both of us to get what we want: when we are in the middle of a fight for something, I offer him the choice of ‘starting over.’ For example, when I am tired of waiting for him to get in his car seat, and I want to scream at him, instead I suggest, “Let’s go back to the beginning, and I will ask you to get in your car seat, then you can show me how you SHOULD get in your car seat, and everyone will be happy.”
He was asking for a do-over.
My rage was immediately gone, and I took a deep breath.
“You want to start over, Ryder? You want to try again?”
Real tears this time, instead of the angry rage tears. “Yes. I want to try again.”
So together, Ryder and I held hands and went downstairs. We sat on the couch for a minute, and I told him to ask again. He said, “Mama, may I have boob bed please?”
I nodded and said, “Okay buddy. Go upstairs and get in bed and I will come lay with you.”
He excitedly got up, ran upstairs and jumped into bed. He was smiling as he waited for me, and I laid down next to him. I let him nurse himself to sleep at 5:47pm, and it took mere minutes.
I honestly did not expect that beautiful resolution. I didn’t expect the solution to come from him. I have never been more proud. And I never, ever, cease to be amazed by what my children can teach me about being generous, forgiving, and kind.