Don't scold moms, or what these kids are capable of

2024 Author: Seth Attwood | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-16 15:55

The other day, while walking with the children in the park, I overheard a conversation between two young mothers. Discussed the third "mother", who, in their opinion, was a stupid sheep, a brake cow and many others, more impressive, which decent media are unlikely to publish. And it must be given "to be devoured" by juvenile justice.

I could not resist and moved closer, with all my might pretending that their conversation was not interesting to me and, in general, I was deaf in both ears, so you can safely speak louder.

It turned out that the "sheep" was to blame for the fact that the pregnant woman was sitting on the bench, while her two-year-old child climbed the hill. The woman did not run quickly enough, the boy fell and broke his arm. "And why give birth again, if you can't keep track of one?"

And the “pregnant sheep”, in addition to the belly, turned out to have two more children (the eldest son was at school) … And “these crazy large children, whose children are left to their own devices … and not … Well, etc …

I don’t know how I did it, but then I was silent. But she couldn't just leave and several times with a feeling of complete contempt on her face and warlike fluids flying towards the talkative mothers, she walked back and forth in front of their noses with her four daughters. But I still want to speak …

You know, I totally agree that children need to be watched. And not just follow, but VERY follow. And parents are responsible for everything that happens to their offspring. And neither having many children, nor having few children, nor pregnancy can be an excuse if something happens.

But you don't need to think that if some kind of misfortune happened, then the parents are a priori irresponsible, stupid and unable to keep track of anyone. And in general, they "should have been sterilized long ago," as I read on one of the forums on a similar occasion. No need to throw accusations. I’ll say banality, but it’s better to sympathize and help.

Children are such strange creatures with which something ALWAYS happens. Even if they just sit next to you, handcuffed, and do not move.

Personally, I'm a paranoid mom. Although in childhood she herself loved to "light". I remember my classmates and I played tag on the roof of a 16-storey building. And not just on the roof, but on its curb. That is, a step to the side - that's all. And now I am shaking over my children, like a little crochet. And even in a nightmare I cannot imagine that they will swing on the treetops, as I once did. Or, like me, they will mess with the boys - not for life, but for death.

I am afraid of losing sight of my daughters, even for a minute. For their every cry, I rush at the speed of a champion sprinter, confident that something irreparable has happened. Than indescribably I scare them themselves, who from surprise immediately stop screaming, and everyone around them.

I am afraid of drafts, colds, infections, dogs, maniacs and bad influences. I am afraid of slides, swings, carousels (although it is clear that my children ride them) and even when my girls just run with other children (not on the roof, but on a flat path). Because they can fall and hit their head. Or pick up your nose.

I am afraid that they will poison themselves or choke on something, "plant" their stomachs or get worms. Oh, these worms are faithful companions of my own childhood … In general, I am a valuable find for a psychiatrist, but it is impossible to call me an irresponsible mother, whose children are left to their own devices.

And, nevertheless, in the strictest way controlling everything that my children can taste, I once took from the mouth of Sonya's mouth-watering half a fly fluttering in death throes. The other half, apparently, was already fluttering in her stomach … A little later we took the same Sonya to the hospital, because she said that she had swallowed five rubles. But the doctors found nothing …

And when our eldest Varvara was a year old, only a few days later, her husband admitted that he had pulled a shard of a broken aquarium from her mouth. Didn't want to make me nervous. This is despite the fact that we collected glass and vacuumed for a very long time and meticulously. But it is known that the highest quality vacuum cleaners are children.

I hide sweets from younger children so far that later I myself cannot remember where they are. However, in each of them I found undigested candy wrappers in diapers with "waste".

Why are there candy wrappers … A friend of mine (very responsible, who, while her husband is at work, looks after his only son with his grandmother) found out nuts and screws in his pot. “I left it with my dad for a few minutes,” she lamented later. And another friend, to her unspeakable joy, found a missing diamond earring in her daughter's diaper. In general, it seems to me that children's poop contains everything - from cigarette bulls to gold and foreign currency …

I used to think that the desire to taste everything that comes into view arises only in unintelligent kids. Yeah …

My friend told a terrible story, how her sister licked a pole in the street during a severe frost. They called the Ministry of Emergency Situations to "rip it off". The girl then could not speak for a week …

I suppose that our Orthodox upbringing is bearing fruit, for not so long ago, Varya and Sonya (the elders) began a period of confessions. “The conscience torments and the soul hurts,” they explain this phenomenon.

“Mom, I want to confess to you,” they say from time to time. And blood-curdling stories begin about how: "I could not resist, I peeled off someone's gum from the desk and chewed" … Or: "We grunted that bitter grass over there, because we were playing cows" … Or: "Somehow in the fall I ate some raw mushrooms "… Or:" I could not resist and tried some berries in the forest. " This despite the fact that I systematically lecture them about poisoning. And on this occasion we are enthusiastically studying various biological books.

True, I do not tell them how I myself once feasted on an appetizing fly agaric, because: “Since stupid moose don’t die from it, what will happen to me, such a big and smart seven-year-old girl?” And at the age of six I lit my father’s pipe, which he rashly left it on the table.

I try to protect my daughters from any dangers and injuries. But they still fall and break everything they can.

Sonya once quietly played with a friend at Sunday school. Then she took a few steps back, fell, hit the back of her head on the floor and lost consciousness. Can you imagine what happened to me when I saw my daughter in this state?!? I screamed so that she came to her senses. And then we took her to all kinds of head examinations.

In general, Sonya has just relatively recently ended the "epilepsy", and before not a day without blood.

The older Varvara at school on the extended day played with her friend in "Sticky-sticky". And she "stuck" to her from behind with such commendable diligence that Varya fell and broke her arm. And all this in front of the teacher, who very responsibly followed everyone …

I am always terribly afraid that my infants will fly off the couch. And I take this issue very seriously. But I have almost come to terms with the fact that they can be surrounded by pillows from all sides and even crushed by the heaviest from above, but sooner or later they will still fall. Not all and not all, but many. Because, until the last, they insidiously hide that they already know how to roll over on their stomach and crawl over any obstacles.

Our children never splash in the bathroom alone. Only Varya is now bathing herself, but she is already 9 years old. And that does not swim, but takes a shower. Because I remember well how our first pediatrician told how a three-year-old baby died on her site. Mom left him alone in the bathroom for a couple of minutes and went out for something. And the boy choked and died.

Nevertheless, five-year-old at that time Varvara, bathing under the watchful supervision of her father, suddenly lowered her head into the water and inhaled. My husband calmly brought the blue and uttered inhuman (in my maternal opinion) sounds to his senses, and I ran around and howled like a beluga. When everything worked out, they brought me to their senses.

I myself, when there are no adults at home, wash at a cosmic speed so that the children do not have time to do something. And then, if the eldest watches the rest.

But one day, getting out of the shower, I saw that the kitchen and the corridor, which I left a maximum of six minutes ago, perfectly cleaned, all in raspberry jam and … blood. And Varya says: "Mom, don't look, we are making you a surprise!"

The surprise was that as soon as I went to the shower, Sonya decided to have a quick snack. And broke a jar of jam. And Varya began to clean everything, mop the floors (if smearing raspberries in the kitchen and corridor with a rag can be called washing) and cut her hands. But heroically she continued to put things in order so that after bathing I would be incredibly happy that nothing had happened to my cleanliness during those six minutes. Now, when the children say: "Mom, surprise!", My eyes begin to twitch nervously.

The bloody jam story didn't end there. When I bandaged Varya's hands and took everything away, Dunya came up to me. Then she was a year and a half. She held out to me, no less bloody than her older sister's, hands and said: "Mom, bo-bo." I had already started to crawl to the floor, but then I gathered my will into a fist and decided to examine the wounds. It turned out that there were actually no wounds. It's just that Dunyasha liked how I treated Varya, and she painted her hands with a red felt-tip pen. To be bandaged too.

That's how we live. I'm not talking about the curtains on which children decide to cut patterns with scissors. Or trimmed eyebrows, eyelashes, and bangs. And once again I draw your attention to the fact that I watch my children very closely. And I have girls, not thug boys. And the girls are calm and relatively obedient. Is that Dunya spoils the indicators a little. But about her a little later …

In fact, a child doesn't have to be a bully to get into a story. My husband, for example, was a very calm and positive child as a child. Parents' dream. He himself says that he loved to sit on a bench next to adults than to drive around the streets with other boys. The complete opposite of me.

Once he sat like that next to dad when he played dominoes. And then a tractor came to the yard - the tractor driver decided to spend his lunch break at home. After some time, my future husband became interested in what this grandiose car from below was. He climbed under the tractor and … fell asleep. it’s good that the father caught himself and found his son before the tractor driver had ate and went to work … The admonition was serious.

And the husband still remembers how he was electrocuted in the third grade. They were then on a business trip in Vietnam.

“We had a stove with an electric spiral,” says Vadim. “And I have always wondered, if it’s red on the outside, when it gets hot, then what kind is inside.”

The husband took a knife, turned on the tile and decided to dig deeper into it. And his father that day was mending a knife and removed the plastic handle from it, so that everything was metal. In general, Vadim woke up at the opposite wall, where he was thrown …

Now about Dun. Almost three-year-old Dunya - yes! Her love for all kinds of mischief knows no bounds. Although my husband thinks that I slander "his daughter". But this is not the point … But the fact is that because of her behavior, this girl is under special, totalitarian control. But even my control hasn't kept pace with her ingenuity and creativity in accepting the world.

Not so long ago, for example, there was an epic with a chair … I had to feed the youngest, three-month-old Antonina. And I sent Dunya to the kitchen, whether to sculpt, or to draw - I no longer remember. In general, I put her at a children's table on a high chair. Wooden one, painted with Khokhloma. I draw your attention to the fact that she has been sitting behind him for several years already.

I feed Tonya. Suddenly I hear some heartbreaking groans from the kitchen. She ran, it turned out, for some reason, Dunya stuck her head into the chair - into the hole between the back and the seat. And back - no way. Tears, snot, a complete tragedy … And I laugh, it's funny after all.

“Oh, don’t cry,” I tell my daughter, I’m so smart all of myself, “now I’ll get you quickly.” Here and there, but the head will not crawl. That doesn't fit - that's all! At least you crack. I can’t believe my eyes, but it’s true. And how Dunya managed to thrust herself into this chair is incomprehensible.

Even though I know that children are capable of a lot, but all these stories with the calls of the Ministry of Emergencies, because parents cannot get their child out of the battery or from somewhere else, I considered it the lot of suckers …

For an hour I tried to free Dunya myself. Then she called her godmother. For another half hour we "conjured" together. Useless. The chair has no screws, we didn't manage to break it with our hands, I found only an ax from the tools.

When Dunyasha saw me walking towards her with an ax in her hands, she began to assure her that she was “already quite well” and she “would live with a chair” … The only thing that kept me from calling the rescue service was the thought that “They’ll put us where- Something to be registered as careless parents, and sort it out later."

It was decided to wait for dad, who arrived three hours after the start of the action. And he broke the chair. And while we were waiting for him, Dunya watched the cartoon, and her godmother and I took turns holding the chair in the air so that it would not put too much pressure on my daughter's neck.

Thanks to Duna, my recent Mother's Day was not trivial. The festive morning began with an ambulance call.

Everything was the same the night before. My husband and I bathed our daughters before going to bed, dad gave the three elders milk and honey, told a story, baptized them at night, etc. At this time, I was rocking the youngest. In the morning we got up, we are going to the service (it was Sunday).

“Mom, the handle hurts,” Dunyasha suddenly says. Pajamas have long sleeves, you don't immediately notice what is hidden under them. I roll it up, and her whole arm is blue-burgundy and swollen, twice the size of the usual. It turned out that Dunya took off the elastic bands from her head in the evening and put them on her arm above the elbow. And nobody noticed. Before going to bed, they always unravel themselves, comb them, and put the hairpins in the closet in the bathroom. And this time she decided to dress up before going to bed. So she slept. And she squeezed herself an artery, a vein, or whatever is in her hand …

Doctors came, massaged, thank God, everything worked out … This is our Dunya …

… Why am I telling all this? I honestly don't even know. Someone might think that I am the lane dumb. Not only can I not keep track of it, but I also trumpet the whole world about it. And they will say that they have, for example, normal children and have never thrown anything like that. But, you know, for some reason I won’t believe them.

And others will smile condescendingly, remembering how their own offspring once distinguished themselves. And these stories of mine will seem childish to them.

In general, I don't really pretend for anything. I just want to ask … Don't scold Mom. And don't scold dad either. We love our children very much. And we try very hard to make everything good. And we watch our little ones, and we pray, and we worry, and we don't sleep at night.

But children are such dreamers, you know. And the flight of their fantasies sometimes frightens with its infinity. You know, I often think how good it is that they have a Guardian Angel. I couldn't have done it myself. Even with one.

Elena Kucherenko