I want to say in advance of the story I'm about to tell you that I love my children. I'd throw myself in front of a bus for them. But every now and then, they act like...well, children, despite the lessons in conduct and deportment my DH and I try to teach them.
Well, one of my kids learned why NOT to throw a temper tantrum in Mom's room. I was in the middle of preparing my receipts for our taxes, while at the same time grading 30 very overdue essays to return to my students tomorrow. I decided my kids could eat frozen dinners today, and I had stashed two kid dinners in the freezer just for this purpose. I called to the kids, "Which kid wants what?" Well, the instructions I received were how I filled the orders. I left the plates on the table and hurried back to my bedroom/home office to complete the tax paperwork. One son then came stomping into the room, yelling, "I said I wanted the chicken nuggets dinner, not the corn dog dinner!" His brother yells from the dining room, "No, you said the corn dog, I said chicken nuggets." "NO I DIDN'T!" I turned to Number One son and explained, "Yes, you said the corn dogs." "NO I DIDN'T!!" "Yes," I explained, trying very hard to maintain my patience over this interruption, "you did."
Well, I guess he didn't agree, because he hauled off and kicked what he thought was a pile of soft pillows at the end of the bed in a fit of anger. Suddenly, he shrieked in pain and hopped away, grabbing his foot. I look over at the foot of the bed--the pillows had been concealing a small stool, which in his temper, he hit dead square with his big toe.
Well, I admit I did point out to him that the consequence of violence is often a return of violence, and that next time, maybe he should consider admitting he might have made a mistake and misspoken his request. I bandaged his bleeding toenail while he sobbed, and suggested an apology might be in order, and also the next time his dad says to let him cut his overly long toenails, he should let him do it without complaint. He glared at me, then sullenly hobbled off to eat his hated corn dog, mumbling a half-hearted apology as he went.
Does it make me a bad mother that I actually looked up to heaven and said, "Guess we showed him"? Or am I a good mother in that I waited until he left the room before I burst out laughing? Oh, somehow I think he'll think twice before pitching a hissy fit at me again. God, as I always tell him, is on the mother's side.