Always Watching, Wazowski…

 

A few summers ago, my husband and I made the desperate necessary choice to send our daughter (age 7) to her first, week-long, away-from-home summer camp. (Disclaimer: we had NO idea at the time this was a bad idea for someone with her set of trauma background factors.)

 

The week she was gone, I was a counselor at my son’s church student camp. It was an amazing experience for me, except that we were completely out of wireless range. This meant my husband got the calls that came in from camp that week. And, there were several. (My daughter would later confess, “The first day I was at camp I got two Mello Yellos. After that, the camp director cut me off from the canteen.”) I don’t doubt it. She is the kid with absolutely no self-control when NOT infused with caffeine. I didn’t even know a diagnosis of “Impulse-Control Disorder” (ICD) was a thing until this precious nugget of ours.

The worst call came as Art was informed that she had spent her first night playing horrendous pranks on another girl in the cabin. These were not your run-of-the-mill, saran wrap on the toilet seat type of pranks; we’re talking toothpaste all over a child’s hair while she was sleeping and much more (that my brain has successfully now blocked out due to the PTSD the event incurred).

 

Art couldn’t figure out where she would even learn something like this. Even her older brother had not committed such pranks. “Where would she get this from?!” he rhetorically exclaimed…

 

Where, indeed? Well, it hit me like a wrecking ball. She got it from me!!! In a “mommy-daughter” bonding time a week before camp, I had showed her my all-time favorite “camp-y” movie, Parent Trap. Yep. The one where the separated-at-birth twins meet at camp and play horrendous pranks on each other, forcing them to share a cabin and come to the discovery of their birth. This is only the first 30 minutes of the entire movie, and it NEVER dawned on me that this would be her takeaway. As far as “parenting fails,” this goes down in history as a biggie.

 

There are so many times my kiddos do or say something that I DON’T have to think, “Where on earth did they get that from?!” Losing a temper, slamming a door, getting easily frustrated or worse, QUOTING ME. There are eight little eyeballs and ears watching and listening to most of what I say and do (partly because I am NEVER alone, but that’s a rant for another day).

 

When my son slams a door or throws something in anger, I can’t just haul off with a “that is absolutely unacceptable!” He knows that a year or so ago, I was so mad at another child I literally kicked a hole in their wall. (True story – ask the friend we meekly asked to help repair it.) And, there may or may not have been a kitchen cabinet that my hubs had to repair after I angrily slammed it into smithereens. So, instead of immediately rushing to the discipline, I really need to say, “Son, I understand how that anger feels, but you have to find a less disrespectful way to release that tension. Otherwise, there are consequences.” I should then REMIND him of my mistake. He doesn’t need to think I’m perfect; he needs to know I’m on a journey of sanctification, can readily admit my mistakes, and see the difference it’s making in my life as I’m leaning from them.

 

My daughter loves to remind me of my past mistakes. For example, the time I accidentally burned her when curling her hair (where I may or may not have been very patient with her response since I’d been styling her hair for 7 hours). She has told this story to hundreds of people and continues to do so. I finally had to get out my frustration one day by gently telling her, “Sweetheart, that’s in the past. You forgave mommy. You need to let that go.”

 

Fast-forward to any present time that I remind her what she’s struggling with and how often she repeats certain unwanted behaviors. You can guess her new favorite response: “Mom, that’s in the past.” (Why is it they hang on to the words I’d rather them forget but completely miss ones like “clean your room, brush your teeth, and stop biting your fingernails?”)

See, I can fake this “parenting gig” with just about any onlooker—any onlooker except my kids. They need me to be honest with myself AND them. They need Jesus to be my source of strength, love, honor, goodness, and self-control. They need to hear how God is answering prayers in my life. I pray they are truly seeing the difference the Holy Spirit can make in a life, not just from the church pulpit, but from their momma.

 

So, what are your kiddos “picking up” from you?