Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Mood Swings, cont.

The funny thing about Grace and all her carrying on is that when it happened I immediately began wondering where she could have learned this kind of behavior.  Was it a kid at school?  Was it Logan?  Was it a cousin?  It never crossed my mind (at the time) that this was just Grace being Grace.  Grace is a little girl who doesn't like not getting her way and still expresses her anger by crying, yelling, and screaming.  This wasn't behavior she learned from someone else.  This is Grace, take it or leave it.

Do all moms do this?  Do we just inherently believe that our children are angels who only learn bad things from someone else?  Sometimes it's obvious that the action was picked up from someone else.  For example, Logan and I were watching the end of the Daytona 500 on Sunday.  Dale Jr. (our favorite) was  running very well and our hopes were high.  Then, crash, he's done.  Logan, in a moment of disappoinment, yelled "Dammit!"  And then sheepishly looked at me.  I didn't freak out, just calmly told him he knows that he is not supposed to say those kinds of words.  But I know where he learned it.  Daddy.  Alright, maybe me too. 

The point is, sometimes I have to remember who my children really are and not immediately begin pointing fingers at innocent bystanders.  And sometimes they remind me.

Grace has a quick fuse when she is told no, but get her giggling and all is forgotten.  When she misbehaves, a sharp word hurts her feelings enough to get her to straighten up (most of the time).  When she smiles it lights up the room.  Her laugh makes it clear she's happy - no hesitation.  She likes to wear skirts and play in the dirt with her brother.  She doesn't care that it's February - she wants to wear flip flops.  She is opinionated and headstrong and expects to get her way.

Logan, however, doesn't seem to care that you're telling him no until you're yelling at him and threatening to take away Wii.  Then he cries because you're yelling at him, not because he's in trouble.  He smiles in a sneaky way, like maybe he's up to something, or maybe he just loves you.  He hugs fiercely, sometimes pushing me back with the force of it.  He doesn't like wearing his jacket, even as snowflakes land on his shoulders.  He is a go with the flow, get along with everyone kind of kid.

I guess what I mean to say with all of this is, I love these kids.  Even when they've woken me up at 1:00 in the morning and I'm fighting to get them back to bed, I love them.  Even whey they yell "I hate you!" in anger, I love them.  I suppose this is all part of being a mom.

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