Boys Will Be Boys... ?!?!

Yesterday was a planning day at school. Being the well-prepared mother that I am, I had gotten the museum pass from our municipal library so we could go to the Canadian Museum of Science and Technology for free. (Our library has free passes to several museums - very handy for a low-income family. Very easy on the budget.)

Before we even made it to the museum, the boys were fighting in the back seat. Second Son had a pine cone and for some reason he saw fit to take bits of it and throw them at First Son. First Son responded with punches. I was understandably annoyed. First of all, because of the mess in the back seat. It looked like a squirrel had been left loose back there. (Actually, considering it was my two boys, I'm glad the upholstery is still intact!) But the most important reason for my annoyance was the fact that the boys just can't get along. I have to say, it really wears on the nerves, all this provocation and violence between them. Not to mention the added stress that I was driving while having to verbally manage the situation, which I did not do very efficiently. The boys knew there was nothing I could do while driving, and they ignored me.

I was definitely feeling the frustration of having disobedient children who don't listen. Honestly, I should have just turned around, brought them home and sent them to their room, but that wouldn't have been fair to Daughter. She was looking forward to the museum trip. She had gone with her class last Monday and had come home disappointed that none of her classmates had wanted to go see the part of the exhibit that was devoted to the Titanic. It would not have been fair to punish her for her brothers' misbehavior. Another reason for which I didn't turn around was that I knew that if we spent the day at home, the boys would be insufferable. They can't be shut up in an apartment all day. They need to move.

The other reason that I was feeling so frustrated was that I felt really alone in this situation. The boys have often resorted to physical fighting to settle their differences, and sometimes it seems like I just can't come up for air. They are always at it! I have mentioned this - let's be honest, I have complained about this! - to friends and acquaintances, and have been disappointed and equally frustrated with the answer: "They're boys." I hear that a lot nowadays, and it sounds to me as if society seems to be giving boys free reign to violence. Just because they're boys, I am supposed to expect them to be hitting each other all the time? Am I supposed to let them do this? Sorry, I don't buy it!

Some people have tried to pat me on the shoulder and tell me to wait until they are a little older, to tell me that they will grow out of it, but it seems to me that if I let this go on, they will only get worse. It shouldn't take maturity for a boy to be civil with his siblings. It should only take him being told once that violent behavior is unacceptable. I talk with the boys about this all the time. I reason, I beg, I lecture. Nothing has worked thus far. Why is it so easy and natural for them to settle things by reaching out and hitting one another? Where is their sense of empathy, their feeling that they shouldn't hurt one another because that hurts? I don't know. It's a complete mystery.

This is a really sore point with me because as a single mother, I constantly feel judged about how my children behave, which is a reflection to how I am raising them. As I am the main influence in their lives (if we disregard the fact that they do spend all day with their teachers), I am disappointed that they don't follow my way of behaving, that they haven't assumed my values. Sometimes I wonder if the more I exhibit my values, the more they will exhibit the opposite. If I treat them generously, will they turn out selfish? If I am patient with them, will they learn to take advantage of me? If I provide them with things out of love for them, will they grow up to feel entitled? I waited 23 years just to get pregnant, just to finally become a mother. I dreamt, daydreamed, babysat to practice, read books, researched, watched documentaries. In the end, I still end up feeling inadequate. Sometimes I despair that heredity has more to do with it than environment, and despite myself I see all their father's shortcomings in the children. Impatience, gruffness, superiority and a lack of empathy. Then of course I rebuke myself for trying to find a scapegoat, when it is I who am raising the kids. I do the best I can, devote my time to them, yet I end up disappointed in the outcome.

I refuse to accept that the boys are allowed to hit and fight just because they are boys. They have plenty of opportunities to channel their testosterone into positive outlets. They play outside every day, they are regularly enrolled in athletic activities, and I am constantly telling them that violence is not the answer. Still, sometimes even I have to admit that it seems that violence is ingrained in them. It is so spontaneous, it's scary.

Well, I am going to soldier on as I have, despite the disappointment and exasperation. I will continue to reason, beg and lecture. Hopefully, some of it will finally sink in some day.

I Could Have Done Without This *sigh*

Last night was definitely a test of my patience. First Son brought another reprimand home from school. He had apparently gotten angry and used inappropriate language. Super.

This time, as a consequence, he had to write a letter to the boy he had been impolite to and apologize. In addition, he had to write what he was going to do to break this bad habit. The problem is, First Son was completely indignant. It wasn't his fault, the other boy wouldn't leave him alone, he lost his temper and said something not nice. It wasn't his fault, he read the bad language in a book, the book put the words in his head, etc., etc., yada, yada, yada.

I had a Dickens of a time getting him to write his letter of apology. At first I just sent him to his room to write it, but he didn't do anything but rage about how injust it was for him to be punished. He was in no mindset to take up his paper and pencil. I went in and listened to him explain how it wasn't his fault, but he told me three times and all three times were different versions of the events. I couldn't understand what he was trying to say and I must admit it almost sounded to me like he was making everything up. Perhaps there were multiple events yesterday that built up his frustration to the breaking point.  First, he talked about how someone had accidentally hit someone else on the head with a soccer ball and he got blamed for it. Then he said he had been reading a book and there were bad words in it and it was the girl's fault who had taken the book to school. Then he said the teacher had called him a tattletale for telling her that another boy was reading when it was time to put their books away, and that she had said that the only reason he had looked at the boy was to see if he was doing anything that he could tell the teacher about. I was at a loss as to how to be supportive.

It took almost two hours for him to sit down to his desk in front of a piece of paper. Then he started in again about how none of this was his fault and finally he started crying. He said everyone at school hated him and he wanted to change schools and he wanted to move away and he never wanted to go back to school. I felt so bad for him. This was the same little boy who had adored his teacher and loved school last year in grade one. He still has the same teacher this year, but somehow the magic has disappeared. Of course the thing to do here is not to protect him from everyone and everything and let him change schools. What he needs now is to recognize that sometimes people disagree or argue but in the end they have to be able to work through it and continue the friendship.

There was no point at the time to say that he was making a mountain out of a mole hill. I mean, okay, he lost his temper, he said a bad word, he had to apologize. That's it, that's all. I myself was back and forth between anger and pity. It didn't help that when his little brother came into the room he told him in no polite way to get lost. I couldn't let that go by without saying anything, and this of course made First Son angry all over again. Getting him to write that letter was like pulling teeth. When he finally finished -and it was not a super letter, I have to say- I really felt like telling him to copy it out on a neater page because he had written it angrily and it was really messy. But it was late and his face was stained with tears and sweat. I thought he deserved a break.

Once the apology was finally written, First Son took his shower and then we read Green Eggs and Ham while his little brother was in the shower. He had fun reading the book and I had fun too because First Son is so adorable when he reads in English with his little French accent. I could visibly see him relax. Good!

Once the children were asleep, I had a bit of time to think about how the evening had gone. It wasn't  a super evening, but I don't know what I could have done differently. I certainly couldn't write the letter in First Son's place or tell him what to put in it. I couldn't pretend he didn't deserve the punishment with a note from his teacher staring me in the face. I think it's a lucky thing I kept my cool because I really did feel a nasty lecture coming on in the "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do as you're told!" vein. That surely wouldn't have helped.

Ultimately, I am worried about what the underlying problem is that makes First Son snap and lash out instead of dealing more calmly with a situation. He obviously hasn't had a very easy life. He has been moved across the Atlantic ocean four times in the last five years, two of those moves were because his father took him on "vacation" and never came back, and then I had to go get him and his siblings with the help of Justice Québec, the RCMP, Air Canada and local Hungarian lawyers, police and social workers. Then there is the separation and drawn-out (but hopefully imminent!) divorce, the parental alienation exercised on him by his father against me, the fact that he hasn't seen his father in a long time since he can't come to Canada, the genetics that may have made him inherit his dad's short temper, etc., etc., etc. No kid has more stacked against him I am sure. I am also sure there is no point in denying my role in all of this. How can I punish him when I feel responsible? How can I help him? The answer is of course to put my guilt aside and discuss all this with him. He needs to talk it out and he needs to be talked with so he can agree that hurting someone back when they are hurting you is not the answer. No matter how badly someone teases or bothers him at school, he has got to learn how to control his temper. This discussion is important for First Son, but last night was not the time. It is a heavy topic of  conversation and we need to find a time when we can discuss it calmly. And soon.

This morning, it was not surprising that First Son had trouble waking up and getting out of bed. I confess I am as nervous about his day as he is. I can't wait for school to be over so I can go get him and let him tell me about it. I hope he had a good day today, but I also know that I can't go live his life for him. This morning may have been awkward, but hopefully he and his friends will have forgotten about it by the last bell of the day.

Magic

Yesterday when I picked him up, my six-year-old son's first words were, "I saw a real princess today!" That of course made me smile. I get such a kick out of him and his view of the world! Often, when he is watching a DVD, he will turn to me and very seriously say, "That can't happen. They did that with a computer just for the film." This is usually at the scarier parts, so I recognize that he is reassuring himself. But otherwise, he is perfectly willing to believe what he sees. Like yesterday, when they were taken to see a play, he saw a real princess.

I think it is so important for children to believe in magic, the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny and, in my family's case, God. It is a real challenge every year to get the Christmas tree up and the presents under it without the children realizing that it was all my doing. (My daughter has caught on, but she has agreed to keep the magic alive for her two little brothers.) Our tradition holds that it isn't Santa who brings the presents. It is the Baby Jesus who brings them as symbols of his gift of Love. (Saint Nicholas comes a little earlier, on December 6th, to put chocolates and oranges in their boots.)

Nowadays, when children have questions, such as about where babies come from, we tend to pull a book off the shelf and explain human anatomy to them, so that we are honest with them, as modern parents should be. I don't quite agree with this. I think there is great value in believing in miracles. Children are happy to get a toonie for their teeth, or to clean their boots and put them in the window for Saint Nicholas. It is a way for them to keep the wonder about the world that increasingly is too informative and makes them grow up too soon.

Don't get me wrong. I am all about explaining photosynthesis to children when we are hiking in the woods. I explain about not picking the wildflowers in a park because they are protected. I talk to them about not littering, about pollution and conservation. But I know they also get a kick out of pretending that the trees that grow in perfect rows are bewitched soldiers, of that elves live in the hollows of trees. It develops their imagination to play this way, and it also helps them be brave, and to move into situations where they might imagine that it would be scary, but they move forward nonetheless. My daughter was afraid of the Easter Bunny for years. She would come get me before going out into the living room to see if there was an Easter basket there for her. I would accompany her and, over the years, she eventually started walking in front of me instead of behind. Finally, she was able to go look on her own. I can see this self-assurance in her today, and wonder if it isn't thanks to the Easter Bunny. :o)