“You’re a bad mom!” he said as he turned to storm out of the room.
“You don’t think I am a good mom?” I asked him. I couldn’t believe that he was telling me that I was a bad mom. Not my sweet, loving child - the one who hovers over me when I am sick, the one who is glued to me during church, the one who is ready to fight anyone when he thinks they are being mean to me, the one who showers me with kisses and hugs all day long.
“No, you are a bad mom. A good mom would care about my feelings and make him give me his candy!” With that, he walked out of the room and out of the house.
I can’t say that I was upset with him. It’s Friday, and he is always cranky on Friday. But, it was food for thought for me. He is right; I am not a “good” mom. I make him go to bed at a ridiculous 8:00 PM on school nights. I make him eat balanced meals. I make him take a bath each day and brush his teeth. I make him put on clean clothes every day. I make him say his prayers every night. I make him be nice to his brother. I make him do his homework. I make him abide by rules. I make him work through challenges and come up with his own solutions. I make him aware of people in need and how he can help. I make him do things for himself. I make him work through disappointments and hurts. I make him go to church. I make him say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ I make him treat us with respect. No, I am not a “good” mom, I am a “loving” mom.
He came back later and apologized. We talked a long time about words and the power they hold. He said he was just angry. He kissed and hugged me. All is well with him now.