A Conversation

Today Brandt had a read-a-thon at school.  It wasn't all day, but for a couple of hours.  He brought home a note yesterday saying he should bring a pillow, a snack, and a book.  I suggested he take all of our Elephant and Piggie books (by Mo Willems; delightful, funny, easy readers that everyone in class loves, and we have all 18), and popcorn for everyone.  Brandt thought that sounded fantastic.  I go into his class on Thursdays, so I brought a backpack full of the books, his pillow pet, and two grocery sacks full of popcorn.  Brandt must have told everyone his mom was bringing a surprise because he spirited the bags away to a back room without showing anyone.  It totally smelled like popcorn, however, so it wasn't much of a surprise once I arrived.

I preface the actual conversation with this explanation because it figures in significantly.

This afternoon, while Blythe was at dance, I told Brandt he could finish watching a program on TV and then he needed to turn it off and do his homework.  The program ended, I turned off the TV, and Brandt flipped out.  He began to shriek and slugged me three or four times in the back.  It hurt.  I told him he could not hit and he needed to go upstairs to his bedroom and have a time out.  He defiantly refused.  I tried to grab him to help him upstairs to his bedroom, but he ran around the other side of the table and wouldn't let me get near him.  I had to push the table towards him and corner him, then fight him upstairs to his room.  I did it all very calmly, didn't raise my voice, and wasn't, I felt, unkind, but I was firm and was not going to let him off without some sort of consequence.

I left him in his room, but I went back up after a couple of minutes so that he knew I was still his friend, I just wanted him to behave.  When I walked into his room he glared and at and said, "Get out!"  I did.  He called me back up about a minute later, and I went right back up, thinking he was probably calmer.  When I walked into his room again, he said, "Get out--of the house!"  I laughed and went away.  I went up again to tell him his time out was over, and he said, "You don't love me!"  I assured him that I did, that he is my best boy, and that I think he is great.  I don't this his hitting is great, but I think he is great. We were fine then, played for a bit, and went together to pick up Blythe.

Later in the evening, Brandt said to me (here is where the conversation part actually starts), "Everybody in my class wants a good mom, and you are kind of good.  You are really mean sometimes, like when you gave me a time out."

"Was I the only one who was mean today?" I asked.

"Yes."

"So you think hitting is nice?" I asked again.

"No," Brandt said.

"So you were mean too, then?"

Looking sort of sheepish, Brandt said, "Yes. I guess."

I suppose that makes me a kind of good mom, and Brandt a kind of good son.