It was one of those mornings again. We’re running late and in panic mode. Papers to be signed are shoved at me by my daughter who is still barefoot, five minutes after we should have been on the road. And we are arguing once again over who’s right and who’s wrong about which bag she should be using, which important papers should be given to me and when, and over the contents of her bag that have exploded all over the living room. And when I point out that she is notorious for being the messy one in the household, she counters back that I am worse than she is. And I don’t know what made me angrier, the fact that my 9 year old daughter was talking back to me once again or that fact that she was right (and I hated that).

Just over the weekend a young teenager I know witnessed my children talking back to me. And she made a side remark to her father that if she ever talked to her mother that way…. It was suddenly clear to me that my kids talked back to me way too often. And I fueled the fire by arguing back with them. There was this one instance during the summer when I was encouraging my son to get out of the pool at camp. He was downright refusing by pretending he couldn’t hear me. I’d finally get him to the edge, and he’d suddenly remember that he needed to get a toy from the very center of the pool. The lifeguard was getting impatient, and I was trying so hard to get him to come out without causing a scene, when really I wanted to just ring his neck. I pleaded with him to get out as he came up with more and more excuses to stay in. And in desperation I finally told him that I was not going to argue with him. My friend that was with us that day turned to me to tell me I already was. On a side note, this nosy friend is now serving in the Peace Corps on a remote island with no luxury of electricity, regular plumbing, cable TV, or American chocolate. Side note #2, so what if that sounds like absolute heaven to me…. Point is, I have been arguing with my kids for some time, and am now at the point where they think nothing of disagreeing with my (lack of) authority.

But then there’s the other side. As a kid, my dad’s favorite saying was, “placate the situation.” This was a fancy way of saying, “don’t argue with your mother.” And I would be frustrated because my mother was always wrong or unfair and I would be stifled because I couldn’t speak my mind at all. As a result, I learned to stuff my feelings until I was to the breaking point and would erupt in a mess of tears and anger that would be uncontrollable for days, sometimes for weeks. And still I was unable to pinpoint what the exact problem was because by that point there was way too much going on inside of me to be able to distinguish between any of it. I also used to date this one guy who would exert total control over his son, to the point of making him call him “sir”. And I understand that this is supposed to be a term of respect, but I have a problem when someone is supposed to view their parent as someone detached from them and someone they fear.

So where’s the middle ground? Where do we stand so that our children learn how to respect authority, while also allowing them to grow as individuals and remain close to us? I’m still figuring that one out. In the meantime, I am solving my messy house problem by doling out chores for instances of total disrespect. I don’t know if their behavior is improving, but you should see how white my toilet bowl is now!

If you want to come over and sniff my bowl, email me at winecountrymom@winecountrymom.com.