I pick his limp body up by the armpits, and carry him to his room and shut the door.
Not for punishment so much as for his own protection. He comes out making this face like there is simply no hope.
And, at a point, I agree. I know this is just a phase. I know these things pass, kids grow out of it, things get better and he learns the proper way to behave. I can remember being sent to my room for what felt like hours. I would lay in my room and swear my mother had forgotten about me entirely. I remember being sent outside to play, only to return to a locked back door and a glass of ice water on the porch. I remember being spanked, being screamed at, being yanked so hard out of a store I was certain I no longer had a functioning right arm. I was slapped in the mouth, flicked on the back of the head, and looked at just so...and I knew I was in for it.
But, kids these days, or at least my kid...it's not the same. I don't do a lot of the things my parents did because I remember how it made me feel inside. I don't want Dylan to feel that way inside. But there are some things that come out of my mouth that I have heard my parents say to me a million times. There are times I sit him down, look him in the eye, and explain just why his behavior is unacceptable. I feel like he finally understands what has happened and why.
Those are the victorious times, the times I know there is a meaning behind all my frustration and endless annoyances. I'm pretty sure that is what Mother's Day is about. To remind us moms of the times we have threatened to choke our kids and really felt like it reached them that one time.
"At work, you think of the children you have left at home. At home, you think of the work you've left unfinished. Such a struggle is unleashed within yourself. Your heart is rent." - Golda Meir
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