Battles of Wills and Words of Love

"When I'm brushing my teeth, you've got to be nice to me, mommy."

"When I ask you to brush your teeth, I need you to be nice to me, Abbey. And listen."

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My 3 1/2 year old and I had this conversation tonight after a huge melt down, knock down, drag out yelling match over her normal night time routine. I had my infant son in my arms, crying and rubbing his eyes, I was fighting waves of exhaustion, and hating myself for the loud, sonic booming coming out of my mouth as my daughter and I had it out over her refusal to follow the simplest and calmest of directions.

  Brush your teeth, play quietly in your room, and I will be with you in a few minutes, sweetheart.


But instead of just going with the flow, Abbey decided to vehemently refuse to follow my directions, shout in her room, stomp in the hallway, and yell for my help with her toothbrush. I warned her that if she couldn't stay quiet, Joseph wouldn't be able to fall asleep, and it would take me longer to get to her. I encouraged her - that she can brush her teeth - that she's excellent at putting on her pajamas - that she's such a big girl with such a beautiful inside voice. . . but nothing helped. She stood her ground.

I will not. I cannot. I don't care.

Photo Credit: Sharon Drummond

And so I yelled. I'm surprised the neighbors weren't compelled by fear to brush their teeth and go to bed, because I had a pretty mean face and stern voice going. I matched her intensity and then some, but Abbey didn't budge. She stood her ground even more firmly than before, and cried in opposition. I knew I shouldn't be yelling - that it wouldn't do any good - but still I yelled. I was so frustrated. So angry. So disappointed.

I am ashamed that she gets me into these battles of wills - they seem to go on forever with no stand down in sight. I should be able to take the high road and take a deep breath and be the adult, but she knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly the things do to irritate me to the point of no return - when I become just as awful as a screeching three-year-old, and lose all sense of how I'm supposed to be handling the situation.
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Eventually, I yelled at her that I'd had enough of her attitude, and that she needed to go to her bed and stay there - that she's lost the privilege of having mommy put her to bed, and if she was big enough to refuse to respect my directions and my encouragement, then she was big enough to go to bed on her own - - - and I eventually, with lots of rocking, singing, shushing, nursing, and back-patting, got Joseph to sleep and returned to Abbey's room.

She was sleeping in her bed, but she was close to the edge of the mattress, and she wasn't sleeping peacefully. She had a frown etched across her forehead. I could have left her that way, but I couldn't.

I cradled her lanky legs and heavy torso and lifted her to a more comfortable position, shushing her gently as she started to wake. "I love you Abbey" I whispered. "I'm so sorry I yelled."

"I love you too, mommy."

Se started to close her eyes again, but then as if she had forgotten, she croaked out:

"When I brush my teeth, you've got to be nice to me!"

I smiled and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"When I ask you to brush your teeth, Abbey, I need you to be nice to me - and listen."

I could tell I still had her attention, so I continued:

"I don't like yelling at you, Abbey. I don't want to yell. But the way you act toward me hurts my heart. When you refuse to follow directions that mommy gives you, it makes me so sad that I start to yell, and I get so, so tired and cranky. I'm so tired, sweetheart. I need you to go to sleep, and we'll try again tomorrow to use our words to love each other."

"Ok mommy. I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, too, baby. I'm so sorry"

We exchanged I love you's and kisses, and she turned over, clutching her pup-pup and went to sleep.
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As I left her room, I prayed that this would be the last day of attitude and button-pushing.

I prayed that God would give me the true patience to wait till the water is clear in my mind and my words are all in love.

I prayed that Abbey and I would never yell and scream and fight like that ever again.

But I know it will happen.

Again. And again.

And it won't ever get easier to see my sweetheart's face contorted in anger, or hear the bellows of my angry voice echoing in the hallway while I hold a sniffling baby and yell at my other one.

But one thing I DO know is that words of love will always heal the pain of a battle of wills. I can hope and pray that we'll never fight again. But the only thing that's definite is the biggest blessing of all. Once the battle is done, and the smoke of the battle has cleared, words of love will help me pick up the pieces.