Ponder: it's never too early, or too late

Today, I'm in the throes of a bad cold that feels like a flu. Yesterday I was really angry. The little one, who is turning seven in a few days, shouted, kicked, and yelled at me and became downright abusive.

It was a turning point, because I had actually been ignoring his increasing temper and lack of respect, if you will. After months and months like this, I noticed it markedly around the last week of Lent when I had taken a week off from work.

After I spoke to him and corrected him, I thought about it a lot while driving. I realized how differently Mr. Nest and I parent this boy (as we should, because each child is unique) but different from his two older brothers. At the age of 5 even, the older boys had already been sat down many times to correct, discuss or "process" the details of rudeness and good behavior.

It's due to a difference in our circumstances: our move to Australia meant a radical change in our family life. We had no immediate support system to help us run the house and mind the kids to allow us to take a bit of time off and see things in a new perspective after some sort of renewal and refreshment. One also can't discount the different culture of parenting and family, the consumerism and commercialism that is much more felt in family life.

This truth also hit me: because he is so gorgeous and cute (he is a bit small for his age, like a 5 year old Aussie in size), and being the youngest, we've always treated him like a baby. We've relegated many things about his "care" to his older brothers but never really taught him simple duties that teach responsibility at home. He never packs away his toys because we do (even his brothers do this for him), out of exhaustion and not wanting the bother. But what it has done is that we have two older boys who can look after their things, who are markedly different in  self-reliance and a sense of courtesy, whereas this little one has this sense of entitlement in almost everything.  And to be honest, he can be downright rude. All he needs to do is look at us like Puss in Boots from Shrek to tug at our heartstrings, and we simply wave any offense away.

I don't want to open up a discussion here of what's good parenting or not, or the pros and cons of a working parent, because ultimately we choose how we want to parent. And as I write, my head is aching, my throat and eyes are burning and my nose completely closed off.  So I'm not on my most coherent here. But I thought about this, despaired for a bit (only a wee bit, mind).

Last night, Mr. Nest sat him down and had a good talk with him, and it propelled us back to half a decade ago when we would do this with our older ones who were preschoolers at that time. Mr. Nest and I resolved to do better, to bother, to take the time and teach better.

These things take time I know, and I know it's not too late. We've got work to do.  He's got older brothers to look up to. Someday, the tantrums, hurled angry and resentful words, yelling, backtalk, hitting and kicking will disappear. One day he will surprise us with his already good heart. But for the meantime, I've got his teen years to worry about! Or then again, maybe, hopefully these are his teen years, and it will be gone by then, who knows.

(Photos are of a Harry Potter gift set he received in the mail the other day--a late addition to the Easter showbag he got several weeks ago when he was treated by relatives to the Sydney Easter show. It's a surprise early birthday present. Then, I also got an early Mother's Day card last night, too, from a contrite, loving little one.)