No Buts!

Sob. Sob. Dramatic inhale.

"But I CAN'T [get a grip on myself] because doing golf with my Dad is my BESTEST thing in the whole world!" Waaaaahhhhhhhhh.

Hmm. Well, I'd say life is back to normal at our house.

I inadvertantly told the boy his dad was out golfing with our friend Cook yesterday, and my, was that a mistake. (Note to any/ all future parents: Honesty is NOT always the best policy!)

He wigged out completely. I instructed him to calm down and got the dialogue above.

He actually said, "But I don't like to do anything else. I don't have anything else special to me." (Drama king!)

I explained how very many things he likes to do in an average week, and reminded him of a few treats he regularly enjoys, and he says....
"But those are just my ORDINARY special things. Not my -- sob -- SPECIALEST thing!"
(Pause while I turn my desk chair so he can't see my rolling eyes.)

"Can't you just drive me there? I'm ready now!"

"I don't know where they are, honey."

"What? You didn't ask him? But! But! WHY?"
(Imagine me shooting a warning stare over my glasses.)

"But I know where. I know! I go there all the time with Daddy. Let's GO"
(Me not moving.)

"Why aren't you going? ...
"...But, but..."

And thus I instituted a new household rule. NO BUTS! Thou shall not say to the mother, "But," anything -- for the mother doesn't want to hear it.

I'm glad to see the boy is feeling up to an afternoon on the links. So very happy he is back to his normal, questioning, problem-solving, assumptive 4-year-old self. BUT (and I use this word with steely purpose), he will drive me and any future authority figure to whom he answers stark raving nuts if I let him continue on this path.

Of course, the boy unleashed great hysteria when I cut off our "discussion" about getting into the game. ("But I CAN'T stop crying. I WANT to go to Daddy! You don't know... But I ... want... DAAAADDDDYYYYY!") I sent him to his room to think about how he's too old to pout and plenty old enough to "respect his elders." (Or, as I wanted to say, in a bout of old-school parenting, "No means no. Now shut up." I doubt either approach was going to bring him around yesterday.)

When M's father arrived home, to a quiet house and a peacefully playing boy (using the room time to construct a staging area on which action figure Batman could perform motorcycle tricks), I rehashed our earlier disruption. I finished with, "He's just 4. He doesn't play golf."

And J (oblivious to the ironic choice of words but smiling purposefully to show he meant no reproach) quickly said, "Oh, but he does! He has his own clubs.... And he's pretty good!"
"...You should see."

Oh, but that I had already.... (Wink.)



Dear Lord of Families, Frustrated Mothers and All Golf-Bonding Boys: Thank you for these two blessings in my life. Thank you for the responsibility of raising a good and respectful man, and for the assistance of a spouse as I try to do my part. Help us laugh often as we do our work well, so that we, and he, will honor You. Amen.