Co-Parenting

Occasionally another parent with one or two children will ask me what it’s like to have three.  I could make many observations on this topic, and perhaps I will in future posts.  Last night I was reminded that with three children, my hold on authority has become much more tenuous.  Not just because chaos reigns at all times, but because the older children frequently attempt to assume the role of parent for their younger sibling.

Last night I came in from the laundry room, and immediately heard “Mom!  Mom, come here!”   I followed the sounds to the back room, and as soon as I came into view I heard both of the big kids saying “Mom!  Andrew hit a cat!  Andrew hit a cat, and he needs to go to time out!”  Benjamin added “Yeah, I told him to stay right there until Mommy or Daddy could deal with him.”

Sure enough, there was Andrew standing perfectly still with his back against the wall, as though in a holding center awaiting processing.  “Andrew,” I said, “Did you hit the cat?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you need to go to time out.”
 “Yeah.”  (Guilty grin.)

So I carted him off to the time out chair.  It just so happened that he had a half-eaten dinner roll in his hand at the time, and as we left the room I heard Sophie instruct “Make sure you take the roll from him before you put him in the time out chair!”

Sure, Sophie was bossing Benjamin around long before Andrew entered the scene.  She has always had parenting advice for me.  But somehow now that there are two “big kids” and one toddler, the older ones often slide into the roles of surrogate parents.

At times I appreciate the help.  Comments like “Mom, come quick!  Andrew’s on top of the piano!” or “Mom, come quick!  Andrew has your scissors!” are always welcome.

At other times it can be frustrating.  Such as “Mom, come quick, Andrew has a cord!” to which I respond “Just a minute!” because the cord in question is from a long-discarded baby monitor and is nowhere near an active outlet, and therefore the raw chicken on my hands seems like a far greater threat.   Since they have internalized that electricity is dangerous (Yay!  Parenting success!), in this situation they will continue to scream at me in increasingly panicked voices despite my assurances that I am aware of the situation, and my promises that Andrew will be okay.  They will be near hyper-ventilation by the time I get to them, at which point they have been known to chastise me for my lax parenting.  The phrase “I kept you alive all this time, didn’t I?” has been uttered on more than one occasion.  But the fact is that they simply don’t trust my parenting.  Needless to say, this is rather demoralizing.

Since they are so capable, I am sometimes tempted to turn over my parenting duties to the big kids.  It would be so nice to let them keep Andrew in check while I lay on the couch munching on bon-bons.  But I don’t.  Because deep down I know that if I were to validate their view of themselves as co-parents, my authority over them would be lost forever.  And let’s face it…there’s only room for one mom on this island.