I've never been good at dispensing tough love.
Just ask my friends. They'll tell you.
I'm that mom that is constantly asking my kiddos how they're feeling in their heart, if there's anything I can do to make them more comfortable and telling them I love them constantly.
And so, it was with much dismay and sadness in my heart that I had to put the smack down on the older two this morning.
Much like you, we have morning rituals that are fairly sacred. We lay out their school uniforms the night before, place colored cereal bowls on the table and make sure that coats, hats, mittens and shoes are by the door for quick grabbing prior to departure.
Sam is seven and a half years old. Kate is five and a half years old. They're both old enough to know exactly how to pour their own bowl of cereal, throw their pajamas down the laundry shoot, get dressed, brush their teeth, and get their coats and back packs on before leaving the house.
But for whatever reason, I find myself assisting more than I should and before I know it, I'm nagging them to do the same old tasks and fighting to get us out the door so that we're on time.
And if there's anything I despise, it's sending my kids to start their day with a feeling of stress or a memory of a yelling mama who's told them that they need to take care of business.
But, Sweet Fancy Moses...what in the hell is a mother to do? I can either enable the behavior or nip this shit in the bud. And it's time to put the boxing gloves on and show them who's boss.
In the process, I'm conflicted wondering whether I should drive to school and bring Sam his mittens so that he's not cold on the playground and Kate her chap stick, so that her lips don't continue to get chapped.
I'm forcing myself to stay put and let the kiddos sit with my lesson of tough love and pray that tomorrow will bring a new found sense of responsibility in the both of them and a new level of patience for me.
The trials and tribulations of parenting.