The Wrong Side of the Bed
by Nelson
God. I sighed from my toes when I heard his tone yet again. Snappish and moody. And it had been going on all morning from the minute his feet had hit the floor, and I knew where this road would take us if I didn’t get control of the situation and fast.
“Eggs or Cereal?” I repeated tersely, hoping I put enough bite into it that he would read me as well as I had read him.
“I told you, neither. Out,” he said in that stubborn tone of his.
“And I told you we are not going out when we have food in the refrigerator. There’s no need.”
“Doesn’t stop us on Fridays or when you want to go out with Nelson and Zach,” he said, venom dripping from his tongue. His forked tongue.
“Benjamin.”
“What?”
I purposely towered over him resting one palm on the table and placing the other on the back of his chair. I spoke slowly, choosing my words carefully and employing the I’m-at-the-end-of-my-patience tone. He looked at me indifferently.
“I don’t know whether you didn’t sleep well, didn’t sleep enough or if this has absolutely nothing to do with sleep, but whatever it is, it’s going to stop.”
There. The foot had come down. Now I waited, watching his facial expression closely for a response.
“Just because I disagree with you doesn’t mean *I’m* in a bad mood,” he said mildly, his arms folded with a defiant body language, telling me without saying it that it must be me with the problem.
“Then stop acting like you are.”
He snapped, “I’m not. You are.”
Oh, hell no. There was no way I was going to stand for him projecting his own nasty mood on me. Nor was I going to put up with his sullen, snappish attitude all day.
So, I stood at a crossroads. Continue to argue with him, hoping he'd see my side, or take action. Continuing to argue was just going to piss us both off and lead somewhere neither of us wanted to go. That was out. Taking action was the appropriate choice, but I had to be sure I took the appropriate action.
If I didn’t choose carefully, it would do no good and just make him worse. It was like taking a swing at a bee. If you don’t knock it to the ground where you can mash him into oblivion, he’s going to be thoroughly agitated and come back after you. It’s the same with discipline. My intention was to stop the problem before it got out of control, not make Ben worse. I had to tread carefully and make the right choice.
He didn’t need to be spanked. Not yet. I was trying to avoid that by getting control early. The corner or lines didn’t feel right either. It wasn’t like he had *done* anything, he was just heading there. Really fast.
I knew what I needed to do to slow things down, to give him perspective.
I said, “It seems to me that you’ve gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I want you to go back there and stay until I call you for breakfast. We’ll see if you can do better when you get up the next time.”
“What?!” he screeched indignantly. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You’re working on it and I’m stopping you before you do. Go.”
He frowned using every muscle in his face, his green eyes flashing. “That’s not fair!”
“You’re snapping and in a rotten mood. I’m not putting up with it. Go on.”
He shoved away from the table and roughly kicked his chair to push it underneath the edge of the table. I warned, “Keep it up, and I guarantee things will get worse.”
His mouth fell open and he huffed sharply. “I was *only* -“
“Stop right there,” I interrupted, my palm held up to him. “Don’t say another word. Go back to bed like I said – quietly – and I’ll call you to start the day over again.”
He fumed, his face turning tomato-red, and glared at me. I raised my eyebrows inquiringly, daring him to push further, and pointed at the door behind him.
Despite my instruction to say no more, he opened his mouth to say something else, something I’m sure I didn’t want to hear. Since a verbal warning hadn’t done the trick, I wheeled him around by the arm and plastered my hand across his cotton shorts with a solid thwack. He inhaled a roomful of air and squeaked in protest. It was only one swat but I put my shoulder into it, hoping for the reaction I got: it kept him from spouting anything else that might get him in deeper.
“Mouth closed. Start walking,” I said.
With a final glare of reproach cast over his shoulder, he walked quickly from the kitchen and to our room as I’d told him. I listened for the house-jarring slam of the bedroom door, ready to go deal with that if needed, but it didn’t come. Thank God. There was hope for the day yet.
I needed to give him time alone, to think about the way the morning had started and how it could get uglier if things didn’t change. I knew if he was alone where he couldn’t spar with me, he’d have only his thoughts to keep him company. Maggie was in the backyard so she wouldn’t be any help to him. I looked at the clock and decided twenty minutes ought to do it. He needed long enough to vent to himself for a little while, tell himself how horrible I was for a while longer, then after he ran out of steam, he’d start thinking logically rather than emotionally.
Ben was hot-tempered, much like me, but I knew him well enough to know that given the right amount of time, there was a chance he’d come around. He had been rude and snappy, looking to pick a fight with me for some reason. He could be moody, and it smelled like a mood to me. Nothing more complex than that. No grand underlying issue driving his attitude, simply a bad mood.
I heard Maggie scratching at the back door and I went outside to sit on the stoop with her rather than let her in. Even though she thought she wanted to come in just seconds before, she was more than willing to participate in a game of fetch once I presented the idea to her. Her little tongue waggled out of her mouth as she worked up a doggie sweat while she waited for me to throw the Frisbee again. It was actually more of a ring than a Frisbee but we called it a Frisbee anyway. A Frisbee with a gaping hole in the center.
She ran for the Frisbee catching it deftly in the air before it had a hope of a chance of hitting the ground. Sticking her head through the hole in the ring, she tossed the Frisbee over her head and around her neck so she could run with it. She made me laugh even though I had seen her do that at least a hundred times. It was her own solution for being shorter than the Frisbee was wide, something she learned to do from the first time we threw this particular Frisbee to her. She was such a smart little thing.
Smart enough to know when she was tired. She plopped down halfway across the yard to get her breath, knowing I would likely throw the Frisbee again once she brought it back to me. She had been chasing it a good 10 minutes nonstop, so I wasn’t surprised to see her take a rest.
While I waited for her, I couldn’t help glancing up at our bedroom window as my thoughts turned to Ben. Time would tell if my plan worked. He was either up there calming down, or winding up to a full-blown tantrum. I sincerely hoped it was the former, because a tantrum wouldn’t end well for Ben. If I ended up having to punish him, spank him even, he would feel better afterward but it wasn’t what I wanted to do. Sometimes, there was no stopping him. Sometimes, he needed to be spanked for some sort of release. I really hoped it wasn’t going to be one of those times. Despite what he might think, I hated to have to spank him. Just because I don’t hesitate to do it when I need to, doesn’t mean I ever want to.
I looked at my watch and saw about fifteen minutes had passed. I opted to make eggs, which would give him the 20 minutes I was going for and then some.
“Ok, girl. Let’s go in.” At that comment, Maggie was on her feet, ditching the Frisbee to trail me into the house.
I pulled out the carton of eggs and asked Maggie for advice. “Scrambled or omelets?”
She tilted her little head, still panting, and looked at me as though she were trying to decide. “I think scrambled,” I said to her.
It was Ben’s favorite way to eat eggs and I knew to add cheese to make him most happy with the selection. I sliced some tomatoes and toasted the bread while the bacon cooked in the microwave, then heated the pan, timing everything to be sure nothing got cold.
I stood back from the table, mentally checking that everything needed was there, then went to summon Ben for a second shot at the morning.
I called to him from the foot of the stairs, “Benjamin! Breakfast!”
I listened intently for his footsteps as I got no response verbally. I wasn’t sure I had heard him walking, but Maggie was as she trotted up the stairs. That was all the convincing I needed to prove to me he was up so I went to the kitchen to wait for him.
I poured our coffee and had just sat down at my place when he came into the kitchen. Again, I studied his body language and I began to claim early victory, but only tentatively. He was shuffling more than walking, and he glanced at me with lids at half-mast, his bottom lip prominently displayed.
I picked up his plate as he fixed his coffee and I served him some eggs. “I decided on scrambled with cheese,” I informed him, hoping he’d pick up on the message I was sending by my choice.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, taking his plate and adding bacon and a piece of toast.
Good so far, at least from what I could tell. It seemed like he was feeling chastened rather than ticked, but I couldn’t be positive. He was either embarrassed or giving me the silent treatment.
“How are they?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Good,” he said. He buried himself in his coffee, filling his mouth rather than saying more.
It’s funny how small talk becomes monumental when you’re trying to act like nothing’s wrong. It was like that. The more I tried to act normal, the harder it became, but I wasn’t about to give in and act like I was still miffed over the morning. I wasn’t, and Ben needed to feel like it was ok. I was ready to let it go if he was.
“I was thinking maybe we could go to a matinee today if you want,” I tried.
He looked up at me suddenly, his eyes glistening. “Really?” he asked.
“Sure. We don’t have any other plans today. Or we could spend the day at the park. The weather’s beautiful.”
He looked at the table contemplating the choices then said, “Movies. If that’s ok with you.”
“Sure it is. Anything in particular you want to see?”
“Um…I don’t know what’s playing,” he said almost bashfully.
“We can look and if you don’t see something you like, we can do the park. Unless there’s something else you’d rather do?”
“No, that’s fine,” he said, returning to his eggs. He was picking as much as eating.
I went back to my meal and tried to come up with more small talk when Ben spoke again.
“Vic?”
I looked up at him questioningly and he swallowed nervously and laid his fork down. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
Relief washed over me as he spoke the best four words I had heard all morning. The time alone had done the trick.
“I appreciate the apology,” I said. “It’s ok.”
“I don’t know why I was arguing with you. Maybe I didn't sleep well or maybe I was grouchy. I don't know,” he said.
“You don’t have to explain why. You recognized it, you apologized. It’s over as far as I’m concerned.”
He gave me a watery smile, and I knew from his expression that he was truly sorry. Sometimes, I get the “Fine! I’m sorry!” stopping just shy of the “So there!” that I know he’s thinking. Sorry in words only, not at all from the heart. This one was from the heart.
“Thanks, Vic,” he said.
“Why don’t we take our coffee to the back porch after we’re done eating? It’s a beautiful day and Maggie would probably enjoy another run at the Frisbee.” At the sound of her name, Maggie made an appearance, sitting patiently between my chair and Ben’s. “Does that sound like a plan, girl?”
She cocked her head at me and almost looked like she was smiling.
Ben actually was smiling when he said, “It sounds like a plan to me.”
End
