Just when I thought I was getting good at this mothering thing. . .

The other day Tate got in trouble for throwing a tantrum and was in time out. Shortly thereafter Ayden was playing with one of my tea light candles and got a time out. So while they were both sitting there Tate looks over at Ayden and asks, "Why are you in time out Ayden?"

She replies something partly unintelligible which ends with candle.

So Tate says, "Oh, you were playing with the candle?"

"Yes"

"I got a time out because I was screaming," Tate says.

Ayden shakes her head yes.

Tate sums it up with "I won't scream anymore. That's not a good way to act."

I was just standing there listening, a little in awe, amazed that I was doing such a good job that they were discussing AMONGST THEMSELVES the issues they were having. Then, of course, I felt like I could prance around as those mothers do in the commercials (you know the ones I'm talking about. The mother and her kids all dressed in white, running through a beautiful meadow, and everything is wonderful, and perfect and her kids don't whine and cry and fuss and. . . ok, well you get my drift). I was on cloud nine. Something was actually sinking in. I felt victorious.

Until the next day (Tate's first day of preschool). Because just when I thought I was getting good at this mothering thing I get a slap in the face that reminds me I know NOTHING. It started innocently enough with picking up my child from school. I gathered the normal paperwork that accompanies a kid home (I know how much it can be, me being a teacher and all), in this case it was two papers. One a scholastic book order form (ok, normal, normal) and the next a picture that Tate drew, and as I looked at it I thought, 'Oh, how cute! His first day of preschool picture. His first schoolwork! Oh! That is so. . What the . . .?!?!?' That is when I noticed the caption on the bottom of the picture: A gun.

So my mind went immediately to the scene in the classroom. All the kids sitting around drawing their wonderful pictures, there teacher heads around to all the students asking them what they are drawing, such as: "Grant, what are you drawing?" He replies, (so sweetly) " A baseball" When she gets to my son, "Tate, what are you drawing?" He replies (in a menacing tone), "A gun." What the flip???? My son doesn't even know what a gun is. He's never seen one, we don't talk about them, he's not around kids who talk about them. I was so flabbergasted that I still can't believe that picture is right now sitting in our house. All I could do was sputter, "What. . .I mean. . . huh?" Slap in the face.

Today I was letting the kids do some drawing. I start to hear these weird noises that should never be heard while drawing and go to investigate. They are writing on the wall. Yep, you heard me. Writing on the WALL! Did we not discuss this many times before??? Only write on the paper provided!! Wall is not paper!! AHHHH! You wrote on yourselves too??? Oh, my god!! I am going to be taken in for child abuse. My daughter has a black eye, my son is drawing guns and now apparently I am so lax that even writing on walls seems to be ok! Slap in the FACE!

This should be a lesson to me. I am remembering all the other slaps. I am going down.
Tate writing on Ayden.
Tate pulling the fire alarm.
Both of them throwing balls in the pond (among other things).
Ayden walking around the outlet mall and her diaper falls off. (Passersby laughing at us)
Tate throwing a fit because he couldn't ride one of the quarter toys at a store.

Ok, some of these seem so trivial but when added up they only mean one thing: I better just always understand I don't know what I'm doing, it'll be safer that way.

The evidence: Foreground: what they should have been doing. Background: what they were actually doing.
A close up of their work. For posterity.

The clean up. Thank goodness for washable markers.See how my daughter is showing her great remorse for this wrongdoing?