I don’t care how many parenting books there are out
there, when it comes to the real education in child
rearing, experience comes on-the-job.  And, thanks to
my three-year old son (yes, him again) I learned a
good lesson the other day.

As all kids do, he waited for the perfect time.  At
five o’clock, in the very full waiting room of a
psychiatrist’s office, my son decided to scream bloody
murder.

Dear son shrieked all the way up in the elevator.  He
stomped and spit and thrashed about as a sibling
dragged him into the waiting room.  He spoke in Latin
backwards.  He melted chair cushions with laser beams
that shot from his eyes.  Little horns sprouted from
his head….

Did I mention this was in a mental health facility - a
very calm, soothing, quiet setting?

I can only imagine what the other adults thought of
me.  I thought I had moved up in the ranks of
motherhood and was now in the “I don’t care what you
think of my parenting” leagues until my three-year old
jogged my memory.  What was it I’d forgotten?  Oh,
yeah.  Just when you think you know what you’re doing,
the kids up the ante.

What was I to do?  I could just imagine.

I could shout out:  Quick, call a priest!  I think he’s possessed!  I could slip quietly away and lock myself in the bathroom. I could lock my SON in the bathroom instead.  He loves to go fishing. I could stuff his mouth with candy and promise him a pony. I could let people in the waiting room take turns spanking him.  I could throw myself on the floor and pitch my own fit.

Instead, in the middle of this madness, as patients
ran to the counter to demand to have their
prescriptions for Lithium tripled, I rose above the
dark clouds of anger, anxiety and deep embarrassment
and saw the situation for what it was.  I wasn’t doing
anything wrong.  I was doing all the right things.
And the fact that my son was throwing a fit was not
evidence that I was a bad parent.  He was simply being
a cranky three-year old.

So, I perched him on my left leg and wrapped my right
leg around him - an enforced time out.  I spoke softly
to him and held him in a hug doing my best to calm him
while he shrieked and screamed.

And, then I realized that it’s only taken me five kids
and twelve years of parenting to learn that with a
little patience and perseverance…a parent can use a
child’s livid temper tantrum to get into an
appointment far earlier than scheduled.