The Good, The Bad, and The Bubby

Boys are completely different organisms than girls. I know, I know, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but I never really understood how different they are until I raised one. And my son Joe is all boy, and then some.

Boys start out differently from girls from the very beginning. For example, you can not use the same potty training devices for boys that you use for girls. You can not let potty training boys run around the house without underwear, because they will go firehosing down the hall. It is fun and Mommy’s screaming makes it funnier.

Our Joe, who we endearingly call Bubby, was always a rough-and-tumble type of boy. Plus he has always had an incredibly large share of Kimbrough stubbornness in his DNA. As he was growing up, we tried all sorts of methods of discipline, and he could sure make life difficult. We tried putting him in timeout when he was having a tantrum. But you know those dogs that just keep barking and barking so long that you wonder how they have a voice left to bark? Joe could scream at the top of his lungs and cry for more than 45 minutes. And the only reason it never went longer was that he would start throwing up because he had been screaming for so long. And when he was done throwing up, he was still mad. One time he threw his head back so hard during a tantrum, that he hit a door hinge and had to go to the hospital to get two staples in the back of his head. Such a boy.

We tried putting his favorite things in timeout on top of the television cabinet. He blew that scheme out of the water when he was 3. He said, “That’s OK Mommy, I didn’t want to play with that thing anyway.” And this was his favorite stuff. Arg.

Eventually we figured out that if we wanted him to do something, we would tell him to do the opposite of what we wanted him to do. If he started to ride his tricycle down the street, way too far, we would say, “Oh Joe, you’re so fast. Keep riding that fast all the way down the street as far as you can go.” Sure enough, he would turn around and come back, just because it was the opposite of what we told him to do.

And Joe was a goer. He had three gears: stop, go and faster. He did not stand in one place. At his first Christmas program he fell asleep in his chair at the front of the church. His Sunday school teacher had to catch him before he physically fell out of the chair and then had to carry him out at the end of the service. The reason? He had never had to stay in one place that long without falling asleep. My grandpa said that you would have to nail that boy’s shoes to the ground if you wanted him to stay in one place. My grandpa used to get such a kick out of Joe when we would visit him in the nursing home. Joe was 2 and all the residents would come to their doors to smile and watch this rambunctious boy jump around and run up and down the halls. But we never could stay more than 20 minutes. Not because I didn’t want to. It was because I would always end up carrying Joe out of the nursing home kicking and screaming before that time -- he wanted to run and jump on everything. The residents loved that too. ARG.

This propensity for running and jumping and pulling levers and pushing buttons has gotten us into all kinds of trouble. In fact, I think there was a period of about 3 to 5 years I would not take that boy to Wal-Mart. It happened when he was 2 (Joe put the “ter” in terrible twos). My husband Rick generally bribed Joe that he could ride the coin-operated rocking horse by the doors if he was good at the store. Of course, as all mothers know, we only send our husbands to the store for one or two items. So this was not a big deal. When moms go to the store, we have to get everything, and our carts are overflowing and I do not always have quarters. So there I am, with an overflowing cart, so full my two-year-old can’t ride and is running along side. In front of the sliding doors, he has a tantrum because he can’t ride the rides. And there he goes, running, out into the street in front of Wal-Mart, directly in front of several screeching cars, then out into the parking lot. I immediately abandon my cart and my purse and chase him down. When I finally bring him back, kicking and screaming under one arm, a Wal-Mart manager takes pity on me and asks if he can help me get my cart to the car. I vowed never again.

I should also add that the boy occasionally would bite. It was a short stage, but it just added to our joy. And he seemed to only bite girls that would stand up to him. Even more joy. (Some day he is going to have a crush on Jayden Groff and she is going to punch him in the face.)

Eventually I had a mantra I would tell myself when I was starting to lose it: “If we don’t go to the hospital, if the police and fire aren’t called, it’s been a good day.” The source of this mantra happened so quickly, well I still can’t believe it happened. It was at a nice hotel close to Des Moines with a nice pool area and nice reception hall. (Definitely not the Super 8.) We were staying in the hotel for my cousin’s wedding reception at that hall. It was about 9 o’clock and Joe told me he was tired. As I take a few seconds to pick up my purse and jacket, he runs out into the hall ahead of me. I think it took 3 seconds. All of the sudden the fire alarms start blaring and lights are flashing. Out in the hall, I see my three-year-old frantically trying to push the handle of a fire alarm back up into place. It wasn’t a regular fire alarm. It was a handicapped-enabled one that is lower than regular wall-mounted alarms and looks like a big white handle on the wall. And so he pulled it. Yes, the whole reception hall and the entire hotel had to be emptied out until they could verify there was no fire. Yes, the bride got her picture taken on the fire truck. Yes, the hotel and hall emptied a second time when the alarms went off a second time while the firemen were resetting them. Yes, someone asked “whose kid was that?” the next morning at the hotel. Yes, the entire incident still makes me blush.

I think I remember reading in one of Dr. James Dobson’s books something about bringing up difficult children and how eventually these kids are ones you cherish. They have a special place in your heart. I’m sure it’s because they’ve put you through so much and you never carried out your threats to kill them. Actually, I now know exactly what Dobson was talking about.

First I have to say that both of my children have special spaces in which I cherish them up in my heart. Mandy, my daughter, is the biggest sweetheart, she works hard to get all A’s on her report card, and loves all little children. Joe is my little man. If I am upset, he always tries to comfort me and tell me a better way of looking at things. He is a huge comedian and spouts some of the funniest, intelligent insight into life, which is pretty incredible for an 11-year-old. He also says he has inherited my curves, which is something he probably shouldn’t brag about.

So I guess what I’m saying is that there is hope for any young moms reading this. If your kid is throwing a major tantrum in the checkout line and you think everyone is watching, take heart. We’ve been there. In fact, your kid is probably yelling less than our kid did. And if your kid is screaming “mommy, don’t beat me” as you carry them out of church, just stop and take a deep breath. Then tell yourself: “If we don’t go to the hospital, if the police and fire aren’t called, it’s been a good day.”