There is something dictatorial about being a parent. It goes against all I have learned and hold dear to say to William "It doesn't matter what you want, you need to do what I want you to do because I know better." In a sense I do no better. I know what is good for him to eat, I know what we need to get done in a day, I know that we are going to the park and that he will like it even though he fusses when I put him in his car seat. But where does "Scottie knows best" turn into "I just want you to make things easier on me"? For example: If William and I are at the library, and he wants to leave the kids room to wander the Library, but I want him to stay in the kids area, not only so he doesn't disturb the books and the patrons, but because it is easier for me to sit and watch him in the kids room than to follow him around the library. William is at the age where he is learning about his own ability to make decisions, the power of words, and that he can be contrary, although he is fast learning that this means having privileges taken away and not having attention paid to you when you fake cry.
I've been questioning where my authority comes from since the day I became a role model for William. I suppose for most parents this authority is a little more believed, being a biological parent means your child is physically yours and the law, evolution and society say you should do whatever you want in order to raise them. Of course I over exaggerate, but as a biological parent the social, federal, religious and natural instincts of knowing best are a little stronger than me, whose authority lies in that I love William and want whats best and that his mommy trusts me. My authority lies in just personal belief that I know what to do, when quite often I don't or I find what I've known is wrong.
Alright enough serious talk, ya'll came here for cute tales of William, not a college student's view on parenthood. Of course we will be talking today of William's contrary moments, for a post that starts with how contrary William is, followed by evidence that would support the contrary, would make me a bad story teller indeed. I will start with a tale that proves it slightly wrong though.
Last night, at dinner, we told William to eat the cheerios the restaurant had given him with his hands, and fully expected him to do so. Having hands full of crayons however, William devised a plan. In what was seven parts luck, three parts skill, he deftly used a crayon to pick up a cheerio and eat it in front of his mother and I. I will admit that in this situation I did not know best, because that was just plain awesome.
Now that that bit of awesome is out of the way, let us begin where all stories that I seem to write do, at the mall. My girlfriend had to work all day and William and I found ourselves in Fredericksburg with no place to go. Throughout the day we'd wander to the library, target, books a million, cheeburger cheeburger and a few other places. Our day, however, is not the story. The story is William and how his newfound love of the word no met with my authority and how I learned to get by it.
William despises shopping carts. For some reason the idea of sitting there and shopping is as abhorrent to him as rooting for the cowboys is seen as in DC. Now, the trouble comes in both the form of ease and better for him. In order to get to the playground faster I need to get the supplies for the day faster, and thus if he is in the cart he gets what he wants sooner. There is also ease. I cannot hold him, as he is heavy and pushing a cart while holding him would become tiring after a fason. I could not let him walk, as he is in his "pull everything off the walls" phase as well. So my choice was fairly well made, the cart is where he would sit. Despite my plans William locked his legs and refused to sit, cries of "uh uh" breaking the quiet store. I finally sat him down despite his screams and protests and then said "go, go, go, go, go!" And began to push the cart quickly and rode on it. His complaints stopped, as long as whenever he cried "go, go, go, go, go!" The cart moved at a speed he wished.
Perhaps one area that I could not fix was that of food. William's food pallet is changing daily and I cannot keep up with what he does and does not eat. Simple standbys such as fries and apples are no longer acceptable. This makes lunch time much more challenging. At cheeburger cheeburger, a new 50's style diner, I ordered a burger and got william milk, chicken strips and fries. William refused all of it, but eyed my burger and my onion rings until I simply decided to hand them over. I cannot wait until he can order for himself, or learns that he actually likes more than he will admit.
The final example I will use is one from our moments in the car, waiting for his mommy to get off work. I asked if I could read him his book. He said no. I gave him the book and asked him to read. He turned it around (Upside down) and began to read it to me as he had seen me read to him. This is when I realized that many of his no's are just him trying to figure things out on his own, and even though I need to show him some authority to influence his development, he needs to develop his own decisions by trial.
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