What we have here is a failure to communicate

Thanks to the ongoing situation with Madelena my tolerance — once wide and deep and seemingly endless — has dried up to the merest trickle of flexibility and patience, wending it's way through rocks and stones of wrath and lability and inexplicably big reactions to small things. Those most affected by this near-drought are the men in my life, Gregg and Shawn Joaquin.

Last night I put Shawn Joaquin down at 7:30, and he tried every trick to extend the bedtime...bathroom, water, touch-the-monkey (his Mr. Monk-like, OCD-driven need for me to touch the Curious George on Wheels before leaving his room), covering up the CD player, moving the blanket so that it was clearly at right angles to the pillows, ensuring that the otter and white dog were completely hidden under the covers and that all was good and right with the world. I tamped down my growing frustration with visions of bad TV and a bath once the door to his room finally closed. Finally, I was out.

MAMA, I WANT TO TALK TO YOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! came the wail from downstairs, minutes after my departure. For the next 55 minutes, he demanded my presence over and over and with great force, never ceasing to yell at the top of his lungs for me, even after I entered the room. I was driven to the edge, all tolerance finally gone gone gone.

Shawn Joaquin, if I have to come back one more time, you're going to get a swat on your bottom.

This stopped him in his wailing tracks.

Oh. What's that?
It's something that doesn't feel good.
Oh. Is it an owie? I don't want an owie.

My heart broke at his earnest question, and I felt like a terrible, abusive, raving mother who should call CPS on herself and willingly give her child over to someone who would not threaten them with a Swat on the Bottom. He demanded a hug and said goodnight for the 57th time and I left the room.

Ten minutes later, he began to yell again.

I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING RIGHT NOW. COME HERE NOW. I NEED TO SEE YOU.

All heart break forgotten and my need to follow through and show no fear or weakness propelled into his room. I pulled back the covers and swatted his bottom for the first time in his short life. The swat was greater in my mind than in his mind or behind, so soft was it. Completely unfazed by his swat, he yelled in my face: I WANNA HUG YOU NOW. COME HERE AND LET ME HUG YOU. With that he grabbed my neck, hugged me and kissed me and said goodnight. For the last time that night.

Once again, with that kill-them-with-kindness move, he proved that he is Master of the Game and I am but a pawn, easily head-faked and left to doubt my parenting skills for the rest of the night.