The Mother Ship Has Landed

Let's just say that sometimes slightly unorthodox parenting tactics work best for me.

This morning Ryker did not want to get dressed. This is not unusual. I deal with the dressing fight an average of four times a week. This morning however was special. Not the good kind of special either. This morning I had an errand to run and an appointment to keep. Dressing this morning was non-negotiable. My little boy number three did not apparently get the memo.

The typical battle ensued. The kicking, the screaming, the running away and hiding. I'm no fool. I know all about picking your battles. Some days the exhausted, overstressed, mommy in me will let it slide. I'll coddle and coo and coax, and after a long, long, long, long time, victory is achieved- usually. But this morning I was cold and tired and frustrated, and still in pain from these bloody infections.

And so, in a particularly stellar parenting moment, I pulled out of the mommy arsenal one of my most outlandish mommyisms ever. I told my my child, my impressionable four year old son, that if he did not comply with my demand to put on his pants at that very moment, aliens were going to come and take mommy back to their planet to live with them. I even went so far as to explain that this is how the term "mother-ship" was coined. Yes, coined as a result of all of the mommy's abducted and hauled off to parts unknown by aliens. Hauled off all because they had wild and defiant preschoolers who refused to get dressed in the morning! I could hardly believe it myself. Aliens? Aliens? Has it really come to this? Apparently it has.

We don't have to recount all of the ways in which that was wrong. I already realize the potential for disaster that I unleashed. The proverbial Pandora's Box that I had opened. For one thing, I could have shot myself in the foot by instilling a life long fear in him that my well being was a direct result of his actions. Not to mention I could have really screwed things up by giving him a year's worth of nightmares about aliens landing on our rooftop and toting mommy away while he stands by helplessly, pants in hand, pleading for one more chance.

I know. I'm horrible. But before you fret too much, before you do what you always do when you read something I've written about my awesome parenting techniques (speed dial social services), let me tell you this; the boy did not scream, he did not cry, he did not shake in fear. He simply said "mommy there's no such thing as aliens".

I didn't even dare get into that one. At that point I did not care. I did not care because he spoke those words, looked up at me with his sweet little smile and he put on his pants. And out the door we went.

Feel free to call on me for more helpful pointers.