We’d had a bad hour. Ryan woke up from his nap, and I cheerfully called up to him to turn off his bedroom light and come downstairs to play. He refused to turn the light off, so I sighed and ran up the stairs to turn it off myself.
Which, of course, totally ruined his life and resulted in a Big Huge Tantrum, followed by a time out, followed by him hitting me, followed by an even longer time out in his room. And then I lectured him about all of the above before allowing him to follow me into my bedroom, where I was putting away some laundry.
At which point he yanked the basket of folded laundry off the bed. Three times. Despite all my best efforts at politely asking him to “please stop doing that!”
He broke me down.
He left me no choice.
I had to call Santa.
I’ve been trying so hard not to pull the Santa card. I’m not convinced that “be good or you don’t get presents” is the right message to send a kid. There are a whole host of reasons Ryan should listen to his mother. “Otherwise you won’t get even more toys you don’t need” is somewhere near the bottom.
But hey, I got desperate.
I made a very angry call to Santa in which I loudly proclaimed, “Santa, Ryan is NOT being a very good boy!!! I’m sorry to say, you might have to skip right past our house!!”
The look of fear and devastation on Ryan’s face made me feel simultaneously awful and victorious.
Santa is kinder than I, so he instructed me to give Ryan one more chance to be good. Since that phone call, dude has been on his best behavior. I will make another “phone call” tonight to Santa to tell him so.
As is often the case at the end of a long day, I’m not sure whether I was a good mom or a terrible one today.