When they suffer from End-Of-Term-Itis
The second half of the summer term, where even the most lovely of children develop an attitude problem. Never evident in the classroom, only at home.
“He better be suffering from end-of-term-itis because otherwise he’s going in the bin.”[/box]
The Beast is currently suffering from end-of-term-itis and it’s really starting to get on my wick. You see, for all his faults, The Beast isn’t really that bad when it comes to attitude. I’d say for a five-year-old boy, he could be a lot worse. However, since going back to school after half-term he has pushed me to my limits.
I know it’s a busy term for them. So much to do, so much to cram in. They’re ready for their break, they’re aware of impending change, which is why for the last few weeks I have made excuses to myself for him. You know how you do that? When a child suddenly turns into a monster and you don’t want to admit that what they’re suffering from is actually a severe attitude problem? For example, I blamed the first bought on him returning from his school residential. “It’s a big deal,” I told myself. “He’s coped so well, especially as he’s one of the youngest.” I continued on, as I put his peg on the cloud and wagged my finger at him for answering back.
“Don’t talk to me like that Theodore…if you do there will be no Friday night film!”
“You can’t take that off me, we always do that so it’s not a treat!”
Was his rather logical reply.
Then he got sick. So obviously if you’re feeling rubbish you are a bit touchy, so I reminded myself as I moved him onto the thunder and banned any iPad use for one day after him telling me that I was a ‘horrible person’ for not letting him stay up and watch Spider-Man again on a Sunday night.
Then he got better, and started growing. Because, I don’t know about your kids, but if mine are even a little bit hungry they are a lot horrible. So I emptied the cupboards, the fridge and the freezer into his mouth (except anything with too much sugar in, I took the bullet for that). But that didn’t stop him from sleep procrastination, and often, at 9.30pm when I’m half asleep on the sofa, we could still hear him slamming about, whimpering for more milk or books when long ago we’d left him with a story tape and told him we were ignoring him.
But this week, it’s gone past excuses. And after drawing up a few screen time rules, this morning we had a brief moment in the eye of the storm before the hurricane of super-intergalactic-meltdown hit.
You see, after school pick up it all went a bit Pete Tong. The attitude in the car resorted in my very grown up replies of “NAH AH!” and “If you don’t stop winding your brother up I will send you back to school in the holidays” and my personal favourite “By the time I count to five, if you haven’t stopped hitting each other I am going to tell Ewan and Lola’s mummy that they can’t come and play and have pizza in the garden!” (Yeah right, like I’m going to do that, that would mean 3 and a half hours of pain with no ipad to soften the blow).
If they’d listened it wouldn’t have been so bad, but HE JUST ANSWERED BACK!
“You can’t school is closed” “YAH HA” and “It’s too late. They’ll be there by the time we get home because you are always late.”
I AM NOT ALWAYS LATE! DADDY IS ALWAYS LATE!!!!
Luckily they redeemed themselves, although The Beast was in full attitude flow, ignoring what I said, and at one point I pulled him to one side and said “if I have to ask you again not to do that, then I will be taking your ipad away again tomorrow. I won’t tell you off in front of your friend, but we will discuss it at peg time.”
He just shrugged. SHRUGGED!!!
The thing that gets me, is that he knows he’s being naughty, because he went off and did it again, and when it came to peg time…
…he actually hid behind daddy because and I quote “I was being rude and giving attitude.”
The banning of the ipad resulted in a monumental meltdown which included him going to bed and refusing to speak to me. “I don’t want to talk to you ever again, you’ve made me sad.”
STAB. IN. THE. HEART.
I went downstairs, poured wine, and as the procrastination poo began (anyone elses child save it until after bedtime?) I sent Mr Aimee up to deal with it. He came down and informed me that The Beast thinks we are “being very selfish” for not wiping his bottom and that he’d said “I am not your slave!”
I thought I was meant to be dealing with this at thirteen not now?
“It’s ok, he’s just over-tired. He’ll be fine after a good nights sleep” I say, and top up my wine glass.
Was he heck. At 6am (SIX AY-EM! HE NEVER WAKES UP THAT EARLY!) he skipped into the bedroom.
“Goooood morning mummmmyyyy can I have my ipad please?”
When I said no, he asked daddy, and when daddy said no, he lost it.
After a bit of stomping and slamming which resulted in him being sent back to his room after he woke up The Chunk, I decided I needed some space.
Being the bad cop is hard. It’s emotionally draining, and Mr Aimee needed to leave early for a meeting, the thought of not having any space to sort my head out before the school run made me pull on my trainers and go for a run.
Three miles of this, and I came back to the scene of The Chunk crying on the stairs and The Beast screaming on the bed, and Daddy threatening report books which need to be filled in daily.
“Maybe something is wrong at school? Or he’s sick…he does feel rather hot…”
That’ll be from the crying Aimee.
So I threw in my final and only thing that scares him ‘IF YOU DON’T GET DRESSED NOW I AM TELLING MRS HART!”
I have never seen that child get dressed so fast.
“Would you talk to Mrs Hart like that?” I question in the car, when things have calmed down and we’re talking about next steps in the car.
“NO! I would never behave like that at school!” he looks aghast at the thought.
“So why do you do it at home?”
“Because you won’t let me do what I want.”
I got out of the car at school, and stood behind it so they couldn’t me before having a brief tantrum of my own.
“He’s been just the same, a little toad,” says one mum.
“Mine won’t stop crying. Always crying. She’s driving me mad,” Another comment from another mum.
“They don’t believe me when I say he’s been horrible!” Another exclaims.
Which is good to know it’s not just me, but it’s not just us that have children that suffer from end-of-term-itis is it?
#PassTheGin – It’s going to be a long few weeks.