When they are YOUR kids

Today at church, a couple of my friends and I were talking about how exasperating our kids can be. How they make so much noise and never stop and argue and are difficult and cry and whine and…you get the point. My boys had acted up so much in the first five minutes of the church service that I just picked them up and took them to the nursery to save the rest of the congregation the headache. (Plus, the boys much prefer the nursery to the “boring” church service.)

One of my friends said, “Sometimes, when that happens, I’m so glad it’s not my kid.” Don’t we all feel that way? How many times have you been in a store, someone else’s kids are going buck wild and you think, “Oh, I’m so glad those aren’t my kids.” I know I’ve done it. I think I’ve even high-fived Aaron in one of those moments thinking that, thank goodness, I’m not the one whose children are causing a ruckus.

But lately, and more often than not, the noise in the store has been coming from my kids — usually it’s Flash. He’s 19 months old, and he’s learning how to speak up for himself. He’s at the budding independence, and it’s becoming more and more difficult each day. To go shopping with him is something that takes lots of planning: he and I must both be well fed and not nearing a nap time. This keeps us both from melting down.

That doesn’t always work, though. Sometimes, he just loses patience with having to sit in the cart. He tries his best to escape the confines of the cart’s belt (which – by the way – don’t really make sense: why are they up under a child’s armpit!? and never adjustable?!). He argues with me if I don’t pick up a package of something he’s wildly pointing at but can’t say. And then he melts into a pool of blubbering, screaming, snotty anger.

And at that moment, it’s my kid that someone else is silently smiling about and breathing a sigh of relief. Not out of spite or judgment but out of absolute understanding.

It got even better tonight at our Love Feast at church. It was the kids’ chance to sing. Flash would not be still, and then he accidentally rammed his head against the pew. Screaming ensued, and I took him out. One of the awesome ladies of the church came out and offered to take him to the nursery. He freaked. More than freaked. It was like she was taking him away from me forever. So, we went back to letting him squirm in my arms.

Right before the final song, the Animal lost it and had to come sit with Aaron. He did so well with the first two songs (they let him have a mic, and he whispered “Away in a Manger” – hilarious), but for some reason he decided he was done.

So once again, they were my kids. My kids were the difficult ones. My kids were the loud, cranky ones. As much as I tried to not let myself get worried about it, I knew someone in the church was thinking, “Geez, doesn’t she have control over her kids?”

And someone else was thinking, “Phew, glad those aren’t my kids.”

I reassure myself that this is totally normal — and it’s probably not as bad as I think it is.

Tell me I’m right. You’ve been in my shoes, yes?

Tags: kids, parenting