Losing my marbles

Lately I've grown concerned over my darling 6-year-old Gorbachev's horrific behavior. Big Shot Husband will tell you that this has been going on for roughly 4-5 years, but I have held on to the, "he'll get better when he gets older" approach which, either by dint of me growing less patient or him growing more annoying, has not seemed to hold true. And though he is adorable and has a charming impish smile and winning laugh, he still drives us completely nuts.

Whenever I tell people how annoying he is and how he is constantly tormenting his siblings and crying and screaming and disobeying, they say, "Oh, that's just his job as the little brother."  If this is indeed the case, he is the biggest overachiever in the history of family dynamics.

So yesterday, when my kids had a late opening due to some ice on the road (??!!) and I didn't get to take them until 10 o'clock (??!!!) on the first day back from a ten day break (??!!!!), things reached a boiling point. That's right, folks, I had to rethink my "this is my fourth child he's just going to have to raise himself" philosophy. I had to come up with a parenting tactic that would give us some chance of training this child into becoming a productive citizen. I used a scheme I read about in some parenting article which I scoffed at at the time. It's called "The Marble Jar."  I'm sure you all know how it works--one marble in for good behavior, one marble out for bad behavior, lots of marbles=big treat.

Right then and there, I grabbed a clear plastic container and the big jar of those decorative glass stones I am in possession of in ridiculous quantities due to the GIANT Bar Mitzvah-sized party I threw for Gorby's upsherin (third b-day haircutting event) wherein I created elaborate Noah's Ark themed centerpieces (the glass stones were the water) and completely went nuts over a THREE YEAR OLD'S BIRTHDAY. But I digress.

Anyway, I explained the program to him and the other children, who were all too happy to become whistle-blowers (I mean, positive role models for proper behavior), and off we trotted to school (two hours late, grrr).  Meanwhile, halfway to school I realized that the Gabor sisters had somehow forgotten to put Eva's backpack in the car and I had to turn around halfway to school (not close by) and go back for it.

And guess who hopped out of the car like his pants were on fire to retrieve it as soon as I pulled into the garage? You guessed it, duh duh duh duhhhhh Mr. Gorbachev Cake! And in the afternoon, he played with Perfect Eldest Son without hitting him, tackling him, screaming or crying to me when he didn't get his way! And he didn't scream at our housekeeper when she helped him in the bath (like he normally does). Yay marbles!! I do recognize that, as with all parenting gimmicks I have employed over the years, that the excitement of this ploy will probably dwindle pretty fast. This is not my first rodeo. However, it goes to show that Gorby is trainable! It's not a lost cause! And maybe, just maybe, I won't entirely lose my marbles. Yet.