If I had known how happy having kids would make my parents I would have had them years ago. Of course had I known how much my mother would drive me crazy with her helpful advice I might not have had them at all. Actually it's not so much the advice that makes me insane; it's the assumption that my mom knows how to raise my children better than I do.
There is nothing more annoying than being told that your child would be perfect except for the fact that you are doing every thing wrong. Actually there is something more annoying, having that told to you as you try to administer to your tantruming child. Sometimes I feel like screaming at her "It's amazing how I manage to take care of them every day yet somehow you know better than I do." Okay, I actually have screamed this at her before.
But I thought I had moved past all that. I had come to peace with my mother's warped view of my children as perfect little dolls. I had gotten over her befuddlement when they act out. Her little comments were just tuned out as I thought about how I wouldn't have to get up with the "perfect angels" in the morning. Little did I know that my zen like state would be destroyed by Doorknobgate 2010.
You see, we lock our kids in their room. It sounds awful but it's really for their own health. Not only does it keep them from wandering about in the middle of the night it also keeps me from killing Calamity Jane since she is no longer scaling down from the crib and
waking me up at 5:30 in the morning. Sleep is important: to me, to them, to our family harmony. And if a doorknob lock means they spend five minutes playing then falling asleep together rather than an hour of us replacing them in their room and beds, so be it.
But according to my mom, I am damaging their emotional health and should just have the patience to walk them gently back to sleep. We argued about it for almost an hour. My sister came over to discuss it and agreed with my mom and then switched her position when she realized that her five month year old would eventually be able to move about on her own. My dad just said he agreed with whatever I was doing while my mom shot death rays at him. Finally I whined "well it's MY kids and I am going to do it MY way" like I was 12 because being home turns me into a petulant teenager.
However like the mature woman I am I didn't even gloat the next day when Calamity Jane went into full on rage mode because she didn't have doorknob enforced quiet time. I just smiled victoriously when my mom said "maybe you were right". Four sweetest words in the English language. I savored them for almost a full moment before my mom told me I should be ironing the girls' clothes.
It's going to be a long week.