Fractured Thoughts

THE GREAT OATMEAL WAR

Yesterday I got phone calls from two of my daughters asking for some motherly child rearing advice.  They wanted to know what I did when one of them refused to do something that I wanted them to do and how did I handle a temper tantrum throwing child.  I’ve waited for years to hear these questions coming from my own children…there is a god. How many times did I yell “just wait till you have children of your own!”  With six children, three boys and three girls, all one and half years apart I was pregnant or nursing a baby for over ten years. What did I do when confronted with problems? Let’s see, I believe I argued back, bribed, begged, cried, threatened punishment and when all else failed stood in the middle of the living room and screamed None of those seemed to work, but the screaming part relieved some of my tension. To be honest I don’t know how I survived with my sanity in tact. I believe I must have been a little bit crazy most of their younger years (teenage years are a whole other blog.)  I was not the perfect mom, far from it. I was fortunate to be a stay at home mom, but believe me I would have had a less stressful life if I had been a working mom.  My days were full of cooking, cleaning, laundry, running errands, swimming lessons, tee ball games, tumbling lessons, volunteering at school, church meetings, homework and bedtime stories. My only outlet was the couple of evening college classes I managed to take each year. It was my link to the outside world, the one I knew existed, but rarely got to take part in.

With six children breakfast was the most stressful meal of the day.  Everyone had a favorite food so I fixed something different each day with the agreement that all would eat and not complain if it wasn’t their favorite on the menu.  This worked fine unless it was oatmeal day.  Five loved oatmeal, my oldest son hated it. When that happened there was always peanut butter toast.  This usually worked, but one morning my oldest son, the oatmeal hater, decided he hated peanut butter too and was not going to eat anything. Now ordinarily I would have told him take your vitamins, drink your milk and go without. Not so on this day. I decided this third grader was not going to get his way…he would eat his oatmeal!

“Eat your oatmeal,” I demanded.

Folding his arms across his chest, sticking out his lower lip he looked me square in the eyes and said “No.”

When my usual “children are starving in Africa” speech didn’t work I attempted to make a deal.

“How about you only eat half of it?”

” I hate oatmeal and I’m never going to eat it again.” This caused the younger four to giggle and the baby picked that moment to slap her hand in her bowl sending oatmeal across the table and floor. This of course created more giggles and a rise in my temperature.

“Yes, you are going to eat your oatmeal.” I demanded then told the others to finish up so they wouldn’t be late for school. Several minutes later they started to leave the table including the oatmeal hater.

“Oh no you don’t,” I said pointing to his bowl. “You are going to sit there until you at least eat some of your oatmeal.” Glaring at me he sat back down and stared at his bowl.

Ushering the others off to school I cleaned up the baby and got the two and three-year-olds occupied with toys. While my son sat at the table I cleaned the  kitchen.  An hour later he was still sitting and staring at his bowl. “I’m late for school,” he said.

“I know.  Eat your oatmeal.”

“No.”

This went on with each of us glaring at each other until 10:00 am. I was wearing down so I asked if he wanted peanut butter toast. He was not quite so rebellious when he finally answered saying “Maybe.”

With a sigh of relief I fixed his toast, watched him eat it and sent him off to school.

I was a failure. An 8-year-old had bested me. I waited a while and called the school to make sure he was there. The mother in me had visions of him hiking to the highway and hitching a ride with some oatmeal hating mother that he would bond with for life.

Later when the kids were napping I made his favorite cookies.  My oldest daughter was the first one home and she could hardly contain the excitement in her voice when she told me everyone at school knew about my sons oatmeal war and the reason he was late. ” Even the teachers thought it was funny,” she said grabbing for a cookie.

When my son walked in looking like he had lost his best friend I caved. He was hurt and embarrassed. What a lousy mother I was!  It took a few hours and a lot of cookies, but we eventually came to an agreement. No more oatmeal for him, but he would eat the peanut butter toast.

Did I learn anything from that? I think I did. There are just some things not worth fighting over. Did he really hate oatmeal or was he just trying to let me know he was growing up and wanted to make a few of his own decisions. A little of both I think. But there’s one thing I do know for sure. He really does hate oatmeal and at thirty-nine-years-old he has never eaten it since that day.