Sunday Scary Parent

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Jul 16, 2025

I had asked Caroline 100 times to stop hitting the light switch, to get her clothes off for a bath, to sit on her bed because she couldn’t listen.

My patience tank was gone.

I had just come off a 90 minute Sunday afternoon nap battle with Kate, who refused to sleep without touching my 33 week pregnant belly which is tight and tender. I was already tapped when when Caroline ignored every word I said that same evening.

“You’re going straight to bed with no dinner,” I yelled at her and grabbed her arm as she ran away from me and continued somersaulting on her bed.

Stepping back I noticed my hand left a red indent on her naked skin. She stopped jumping and plopped down on the bed. "But Mommy," she said, her face shifting from laughing to a serious state of concern. "I'm actually really hungry."

I told her she would have one more chance to start listening. “Caroline, I know you can listen,” I said, “you are good at it when you try!" I told her I wanted to have a good evening with her, that it could even be fun, that we could turn this around.

She looked at me, smirked, and flopped her body around on the bed.

“CLAYTON!” I screamed, insisting he come save me, solve this, be the one who could control our children. He came in and together we both made more statements, if this then that, if that then this. Side-eyeing each other, unsure if what we were saying was clear and direct and firm and reasonable.

It wasn’t.

Why has she been acting like this? Is it the new baby coming? Her friends at school, I bet it’s the new kid she’s been playing with more, I bet her family has no boundaries. Is she nutrient deficient? Should we get blood work done? Do I need to order the Hi-Ya brand vitamins Ryan Holiday just sponsored in his newsletter? Should I actually read the ‘No Bad Kids’ book Shannon dropped off last week?!

She finally sat still. “I can’t find a way to calm down,” she said in between trying to take calming breaths. “I don’t know why I can’t listen.” I asked if a hug would help.

She said yes. I held her.

We ate a full dinner. I let it slide that she ate all of her noodles but only two pieces of burger. After we ambled through the night routine. I laid next to her in bed. Her body was still and her blinks heavier and heavier. I stroked the space between her brow and replayed the evening in my mind. I told her what I needed her to know, “you are good, you can listen, you are helpful, you are so loved.”

She opened her eyes for a moment. I expected something profound as she took a breath and whispered, “Mommy, tell me again what you think is in the bottom of the lake.”