The first time your child says , “I hate you!” is a traumatic moment for some parents. Millie Brown listened to her red faced and angry eight-year-old blurt them out. With an inner flinch she told him to take a time out on the couch. This was not the first time he had said them. She set the timer on her phone for eight minutes and sat at her kitchen table with a cooling cup of coffee.
Taking a deep breath, she went over in her mind the circumstances that brought about those hurtful words. It was nearing supper time and the Pirates Booty she had confiscated was off limits. He had been whining about being hungry and she told him supper would be coming right up. Since she became a single parent, Jeremy’s temper tantrums had become more frequent and harder to handle. He missed his father and she missed Dave, too. In the six months since he died, coping with the aftermath of his death had been overwhelming. Yet understanding Jere’s pain did not make the hateful words any easier to hear.
She was getting plenty of support and advice as family and friends noticed Jere’s behavior. He had been a sweet and loving boy. Her mother reminded her that “she was the adult in the room” and she should , “never discipline in anger.” Her pediatrician advised consistency , patience and referred her to a grief counselor. Her older sister, who had raised three boys after a very nasty divorce, merely said, “be patient and keep a good wine on hand.”
“Time out or think time” on the couch with no television or other diversions was a better alternative than sending him to his room where there were plenty of things to do and his hamster, Homer, offered unconditional approval. The parenting books said the number of minutes should be adjusted to age. She looked at the timer and five minutes had passed. No sound was coming from the living room. A quick peek showed some tears on his cheeks.
The timer buzzed. She walked into the living room and sat down beside her son. He heaved a shaky sigh and said, “Sorry mommy.” The tears were still there.
“Can we talk about what happened?”
“You always say no to everything.”
“Not aways. Did you forget our talk about healthy choices?”
“Grandma said Pirates Booty was a good snack. She always lets me have it.”
Millie put her arm around her son and pulled him close. Using the grandma card was usually a good excuse.
“Did you forget about our no snacks before supper rule?”
“I was hungry. It takes so long for you to make supper now. Daddy always helped you.”
There it was. The pain still there. She gave him a hug. It was a small comfort, but it was full of love.
“I love you mommy.” And then he added. “I am really hungry.”
“Maybe if you help me get dinner it will get here faster.”
“Help you like daddy did? Can we make mac and cheese? I think I know how.”
“We are having spaghetti and meatballs. I just need to cook the spaghetti. That just takes a few minutes. Maybe you could help set the table. And Jere, you know I love you and those words you said hurt.”
Jere’s lower lip pushed out and tears threatened again. “ I am sorry. I love you. “ His hug as warm and they held each other for a long, grateful minute.
“Come on let’s get the supper on the table. Maybe there can be story time before bed.” They headed to the kitchen and Millie cooked the spaghetti. Jeremy laid out knives forks and spoons and napkins. Busy at the stove, she turned to see Jeremy climbing on the counter to get plates and glasses from the upper cupboard.
“Jeremy,” she squeaked, running to catch the plates before the boy and the dinner ware hit the floor. She helped him down from the countertop and put the dishes on the table. “ You need to be a little taller to do that. Get the salad in the bowl and the dressing you like from the refrigerator.”
Seated at the table she asked, “Can you say our family blessing?’
“The one that Daddy liked? I remember.” He spoke in solemn dignity. “Our Father, we thank you for this food. May it be nourishing to our bodies. Bless the hands that prepared it. Amen.”
The blessing brought peace to their supper. Jeremy talked about the new tricks he was teaching Homer and what one of his friends had said about a movie he would like to see. The red in Jeremy’s eyes faded and the spaghetti sauce on his chin and shirt showed he had enjoyed the meal. Without being asked, he took his plate to the sink and rinsed it off. A small act to make further amends for his behavior. Her loving little boy was back. Lap time in the big easy chair and Winnie the Pooh were coming once the dishwasher was loaded and the kitchen cleaned up. Then came bath, bed, and tuck-in kiss after bedtime blessings.
This little storm was over. As she sat at the kitchen table looking over the first of the month bills to be paid, Millie said a prayer of her own. Faith and hope were her best protections for future storms to sure follow.
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