I realized for the first time the other day that I might have a little problem with control. I always knew I was rather particular- I haven’t let my husband make a bed in eight years because he can’t get the bottom sheet flat enough. Some might even say I’m a little bossy: a nag perhaps, or marginally anal-retentive. I’ve often joked that I’m only a couple hand-washings away from full-blown OCD, but a control freak? Me?
I came to this mind-blowing epiphany yesterday morning as I pulled into my son’s preschool parking lot behind my husband’s car, which actually contained the preschooler. Why, you might ask, was I caravanning to school at 8:20am with a cranky toddler in the backseat when I didn’t have to? Because apparently I have trouble delegating.
Just in case you are tempted to comfort me or enable my control addiction, let me assure you that I am clearly not acting rationally when it comes to school drop-off duty assignments. To be clear, let me walk you through a typical morning routine. Please note that there are no medieval torture devices, electric shock chairs, packs of rabid dogs, or even an excess of cooties anywhere on school grounds. I’ve checked.
We arrive at school around 8:30am after a mercifully short eight minute drive listening to the four-year-old insist adamantly and incessantly that he is too tired to go to school that day. Why do you think he now rides with Daddy? Once out of the car, my extremely active and athletic child walks drunkenly on noodle-legs at a snail’s pace toward the door that I know will lock automatically in exactly ten minutes. Given that it is approximately 100 yards away, we usually make it just under the wire.
The toddler skips happily through the door as I half drag, half carry his older brother toward his classroom. Upon arrival, the children are expected to change into their “indoor shoes”, use the bathroom, wash their hands, answer the “question of the day”, and then select an activity to play until class starts at 9:00am.
We rarely make it through the doorway on our first attempt. It’s like the threshold is guarded by an invisible sleep-ray that only affects my child. As soon as he steps into the room, he falls to the floor insisting that he’s too tired and needs to sleep. Right there.
Once the children start bottlenecking behind us I pull him to his feet and direct him to his shoes. After several failed attempts to convince me that his hands have suddenly gone numb, knocking baskets off shelves, and putting his shoes on the wrong feet, he finally slips on his Crocs and resumes sleeping on the floor. I ask him if he needs to use the toilet, but he pretends to be deep asleep at my feet while the other children step over him awkwardly with their short legs.
By now my blood pressure is starting to rise. He’s in the way, I’m in the way, and why the Hell is it a thousand degrees in this classroom?
So I start threatening: “Get up right now and at least wash your hands or else (insert desperate attempt to regain the upper hand here). This usually gets him to stand up slowly and uncoordinatedly, like a zombie rising unwillingly from the dead, and stumble toward the sink. Unfortunately, he does so with his eyes closed and by the time he reaches the sink he’s tripped twice, knocked over a puzzle, and bumped into several classmates.
At this point I lose my grip completely and trade jobs with my husband who is attempting to pull the toddler off the bookshelf he’s currently scaling.
Somehow my husband coerces our stubborn sleepwalker to wash his hands and move in an almost orderly fashion toward the poster board containing the question he is supposed to answer for the day. I find myself gritting my teeth unintentionally as I watch him pretend to start writing his name and then at the last minute scribble all over the paper. In the five seconds it takes for me to regain my composure the toddler has climbed up the back of a chair, tipped it over, and smacked his head on a bookshelf. Of course, this the teacher sees and offers me an icepack.
Beaten and discouraged, I carry my screaming one-year-old to the hallway to wait for my husband to emerge a few minutes later.
“How was he?” I ask, expecting the answer to be laying on the floor sleeping, obviously.
I’m not sure whether I’m annoyed or impressed when he responds “He’s good. I left him at a table happily drawing the solar system.”
How did he do that?
Are we talking about the same child who, not five minutes ago, had the hands of a stroke victim?
Is he some kind of wizard?
The point at which the toddler gleefully dives from his tear-stained perch on my shoulder to Daddy’s arms, I swear to myself that I’m not having another morning like this one. Ever. There must be a better way.
Of course, there is: let Daddy do drop off from now on. Seems obvious, doesn’t it? I mean, it couldn’t be worse than the day before.
What am I so afraid will happen if I don’t go? Yeah, I don’t know either. That’s the problem.
Despite the fact that I’ve agreed in principle to let my husband handle drop-off, I’ve invented an excuse to tag along every morning for two weeks.
Why? Because apparently I am a control freak.
But don’t worry: I’ve totally got it under control, and I’ll take care of it myself.
He probably does it because it gets more of a rise out of you than your husband. It seems like his way of getting control from you. My daughter does the same thing to me. Ignoring him helps. Imagining all the ways you can torture him or embarrass him in high school also helps.
Good luck! Or are you one of the control-issue people I met in college who don’t believe in luck because they can’t control it? 😉
Perhaps I will drop him off for his first school dance and then pretend to sleep in the doorway when he wants me to leave 😛
Damn. You wrote something before me. I’d better get on it then.
And yes – looks like you have it all under control. Carry on. 😉
Ha ha ha. I’m inspiring you.
lol. my dropoff got much better as clara got closer to 3. but the baby still screams when i leave him with the sitter. 🙁
He’s four. No excuses 😛
I am a control freak about some things, but I love delegating to my husband if it means free or free-er time for me :o) But I do delight a little when it blows up in his face a little :o) My daughter’s preschool has a drop off outside and you are supposed to hand them to the teacher and go, which is great because there is no drama. I’m sure she would be up to her drama antics if there was a classroom drop off.
That’s actually kinda nice. Our school requires you to drop them off in the classroom.
Be careful. Pretty soon you’ll be as crazy as I am. 😉
BTW I let my husband take Lucas to preschool, wait, no, I FORCED him to take Lucas to preschool… so I wouldn’t have to drive those extra 30 minutes every day. (The preschool was across the street from my husband’s work, and my work was right near where we lived.) I had no desire to participate whatsoever. That makes me feel guilty. WE CAN’T WIN!
That’s the thing, the school is literally two minutes from his work so we decided ages ago that it would make sense for him to do drop off. I just can’t let go!
Oh how well I can relate! I am happy to let my husband do things if he will agree to do them EXACTLY as I tell him to do them without any deviation whatsoever!
Exactly! Is that so hard?
I’m definitely a control freak- the reason I do most of the cooking and cleaning is not because no one will help, but because I like it done a certain way. I will rearrange the dishwasher, remake a bed, etc. Not that anyone makes beds in this house except me 😉 But one good thing about getting overwhelmed with my four children was that I learned to let go a little. My youngest was very bonded to his daddy when he was little. Now things have eased up though so I’m back to my control freak ways 😉
Ah, the ebb and flow of control freakism 😉
It always makes me nuts when I delegate something and then ask, “How did x go?” and the response is, “It was fine–no problem at all.” Whereas I know if I’d been in charge of WHATEVER IT WAS (it wouldn’t matter), whatever kid was involved would have been acting like a feral hell beast, and it would have been a blood pressure raising experience for me. I think my kids intentionally behave better with my husband to make me question my sanity. (It’s working!)
I have never heard of anyone else who nags her husband about getting the bottom sheet flat enough, so thank you for not making me feel like a crazy person (or at least, not the only crazy person).
I’m a control freak, too, with things like how the house is cleaned, bedtimes, what the kids eat and wear, etc. But I have found myself quite good at letting go on things that allow me some time without the kids! : )