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For awhile now, I’ve been thinking about how to raise kids in a culture where music, TV, movies, toys, books and…mommy are offered on demand. How do you help your children learn patience, portion control and restraint when they can request any show or movie whenever they want it? When they expect life to be available to them on their terms? Or rather, how do I temper their wants after giving them the option?
Tags: discipline, parenting, tantrums, whining
It’s been a rough couple weeks.
Son has started exhibiting the telltale signs of over stimulation, over tiredness, over commitment and over induction to Kindergarten. You know the drill - tears upon hearing the first of my many “No’s” for the day; angry looks and comments when I don’t jump-to-it at his first request; and a push, grab or punch to little Sister and to me when his pot boils over all too quickly these days.
Kindergarten “long days” started the week before last and he arrives home on the bus at 4 pm two days a week. All his robust energy and goodwill get used up in the myriad activities and social negotiations he manages in school all day. I get the leftovers. And they’re pretty slim pickins.
The weekends have been packed with soccer, birthday parties and play dates; leaving little time for rest and undirected play. By this Sunday night, Son and I were both slightly bruised from the harsh words, threats, and push/pull we’d traded all weekend long.
The Competition
And then began the Competition. Son requested a “Competition” for Daughter and him after dinner. Uncertain what this meant, I concocted an event that was part scavenger hunt, obstacle course and performance piece.
Since Daughter had recently made two “beds” on the family room floor, my first task was for the kids to lie still with their eyes closed for ten seconds (borrowed from a similar standing exercise in karate class). Next, they had to bring me a plastic animal from the playroom (extra points for helping each other out), then do ten jumping jacks.
I, the judge, rated them on each activity and made it a tie. Bolstered by the lack of tears or fighting, I put more creativity into the second round. This time, the entire Competition revolved around cooperation – finishing first wasn’t the key to winning – teamwork was!
They started out lying down again and sang the Alphabet Song – in unison. Then, they had to get a spoon out of the kitchen drawer, go up to their rooms and put a shirt on over their outfits and bring me something, anything, from their rooms. And don’t forget the spoon, too!
We proceeded like this for a good half an hour and the activities escalated to a costume contest (I interviewed each character), to writing their names on paper, to bringing their two favorite books and telling me about each one.
For the final event, I asked them to dress up, make me something to eat (in the play kitchen) and tell me a secret. I didn’t say anything about what the secret should be. I just said, “Tell me a secret.”
Son was first and leaned in close to my ear. He held his hand up to cover his mouth and whispered strong and clear:
“I want you to save the world – and all my friends – and love me.”
It was, innocently and brazenly, his secret wish. A wish of hope and expectation and embodying all that he expects of me every minute of every day.
No biggie, really. He just wants me to be a superhero, his own private SuperMom. And this silent, precious wish is why my slightest off kilter day rocks his little being. Why an impatient glance from Mommy when he’s overspent from the rest of the world, brings anger, tears, and tantrums.
Then Daughter leaned in close. She hadn’t heard a word of Son’s secret but covered her mouth and spoke clearly as well:
“I want Daddy to love me and kiss me and I want love and you and….”
And I don’t remember the rest. I was so moved by the release of these secret wishes from their childish souls that I simply sat and let the beauty of their words blow through me - cascade through a mommy soul that was saturated with too many demands and yells and punishments and secret pleas for peace.
They both insisted, of course, to do the final event one more time. They changed costumes, brought me plastic tomatoes and toast, and once again, their secret desires.
Son put his arms around my neck and pulled my ear close to his lips.
“I want you to save the world – and all my friends. And I want to be your partner and help.”
Tags: five year old, kids games, kindergarten, superhero, supermom
I signed Daughter (3) and Son (5) up for soccer this Spring. Many of Son’s friends have already played a Spring/Fall season or two so we’re late to the game. But I’ve also heard that some of these same four year olds were in tears or unwilling to play last year. So balancing my fear that I’ve held Son back too long is my instinct that I waited until the right time when he was ready to join an organized sport. (And my memory of our attempt at a week long summer soccer camp when he was two. He refused to play, I hustled around the field with infant Daughter in Baby Bjorn, and we stopped going by the third day.)
Now, I’m also fretting about what summer camps to put them in. This has become the discussion of the month as we mommies feel the impending open ended days looming a few months from now.
What will I do with them all day?
I don’t want them to be bored!
I’ll go crazy!
This morning we changed pediatric practices. I’ve changed pediatricians four times since my first child was born, but this time we changed practices. The truth is, I didn’t know what to look for when Son was born and as I sampled Dr’s in the large practice, I moved around a bit. Two men, two women.
Our first pediatrician, Dr. M, seemed nice, well educated and was referred by a couple friends, but she only worked part-time so we frequently saw other doctors when my kids were sick. And then there was the episode when she said no, she didn’t need to see my 6 week old for the noisy breathing I described over the phone (we’re talking flock of seagulls here). When we later learned he had laryngomalicia, which led to learning he had mild acid reflux and explained the trouble he’d had breastfeeding, I switched doctors.
When I picked up Son from preschool Lunch Bunch, he pulled me aside and excitedly said,
“Mom, guess what happened today?”
“What?” I asked.
“Well, we were eating lunch and Miss Jill was getting coffee and we heard bells. And Miss Sherry said, ‘Listen, what’s that?’ And she said, “It’s Santa watching us.”
He had a huge smile on his face and felt very, very special that Santa had paid a special preschool drive by of his school.
I was touched and moved by his joy and pure belief in the event. And it sealed for me the power of believing in Santa Claus for young children.
I have to admit it’s felt awkward for me to summon lies each Christmas in telling the tale of Santa Claus. It goes against my year long effort of gentle explanations and truth telling to my kids. My experience is just a trickle down of a larger trend in our society. Businesses strive for transparency and reality television has created a way “too much information” culture.
It’s a far cry from my parents’ generation when less was more when it came to filling in the kids on most things. “We’ll see” was the common response to many requests and you didn’t get an explanation.
So, hearing Son’s ready, sweet willingness to believe such an obvious Santa ruse sealed my belief as well. My belief in children’s ability and need for the story with a good hero. For a story of magic and mystery.
Kind of like that other Christmas story. You know - the one about the baby who comes to save the world. And while my kids seem pretty moved by the events that night in Bethlehem and three kings who brought gifts, they kinda like the guy who brings them gifts. And, I’m all for it.
As I try and try to understand my children - or me as a Mommy to my children, it dawns on me that kids are really just an exaggerated microcosm of our human nature. For example:
They always Want what they can’t have (me, toys, more time to fool around before going anywhere). Remember dating and the nice guy who called consistently. Things were going well and you took for granted that he was interested in you. Then one night he didn’t call. Or didn’t end the date with, “When will I see you again?” All of a sudden, he’s the greatest guy on the planet! You gotta have him!!! Kind of like what happens for my kids the minute I pick up the phone, start to prepare dinner, walk into the other room…
They are amazing Creatures of Habit. I wrote about this awhile ago, saying What you allow one night or two, quickly becomes habit and hard to undo. We all like our routines and kids can pounce on any chance behavior, turning it into their personal mission to repeat.
They’ll Stretch out any task to fill the time allotted. I was recently working on a book project and a colleague was worried about the deadline - eight months from now. We discussed adding another six months (and missing a publishing cycle) but knew we’d just stretch the same amount of work into a longer period. My kids will take as long as I give them to get dressed, brush their teeth, or do whatever’s necessary to get their butts out the door in time for school or any other place we need to get to by a certain time. Isn’t it amazing that it can take 2 or 20 minutes to put on a pair of shoes?
(My rule: Add 15 mystery minutes to every deadline for getting out the door on time. This allows for the coat trauma, the carseat drama, and my need to pee once everybody’s finally buckled in.)
And of course, they procrastinate. Ask them to do anything and they’ll put it off. Unless, the reward (or threat) entices them enough. Same for us. We all procrastinate - especially on the stuff we don’t want to do (which for our kids is anything we ask them to do).
In the end, all I can do is try to have some empathy when witnessing my worst or simply most human traits in my kids.
“Mommy, you didn’t stop!” screamed Son recently after a red light.
“Huh?” Yes, I did. He said this a few times . Well, screamed to be heard from third row of bright blue Minivan (hey, I thought it would be easy to find in a crowded parking lot except every third Mom drives this weird blue Odyssey).
“It was RED, you need to stop!” After a few outings with this claim, I realized he hadn’t been educated on Right on Red.
“It’s okay, honey. You’re allowed to turn Right on Red.
“Oh,” he murmured.
What hit me, was that he’d been watching. Closely tracking my every driving move - along with everything else.
The truth is, every single tiny, unconscious, I-just-can’t-pay-attention-to-everything thing we do is an example. Good or bad. Smart or dumb. Nice or mean.
They learn it all from us. Soon it will be from their peers at school. But for now, it’s mostly Mom… and Dad. Unlike the snarl Son gave me this morning at my request to PLEASE GO GET DRESSED - that closely matched my own a few moments earlier- I have a little bit of distance between what I do behind the wheel today and how he’ll drive in twelve years. Thank God.
Last week we braved Stew Leonard’s for groceries. If you don’t live in CT, Stew’s is the “largest dairy store in the world” and features singing farm animals, flipping monkeys, freshly packaged milk, the Chiquita banana lady, an insane progression with your cart down one winding aisle (turn against the tide at your peril), and, oh, a free ice cream cone if you spend $100 or more. We stopped in for fruit and checked out with an overloaded cart, one harried Mom and a final tallly of $167.
Since we’d already been to the beach prior to our Stew’s adventure, Mommy was pushing for quick ice cream cones so we didn’t totally screw with Daughter’s early afternoon nap. Oh, did I mention we ate hamburgers and hot dogs at the hoedown farm tables right outside the store?
“Sprinkles! I want sprinkles!” they cried in front of the ice cream counter.
“Okay, okay.” Just this time. Kids carrying soft serve on cones, Mom pushing grocery cart stuffed with my laughable assortment of green bags (two insulated bags from Trader Joes, one super large carryall from Bed Bath and Beyond, a standard green grocery bag from local Carluzzi’s grocery store and my new envirosax, which fits in my purse!), and twelve year old Niece tagging along for the ride.
We sat on the bench outside the real farm animals to eat our cones, tired kids begging the patience of Mom to hold out on heading home.
“Stay here with Madeleine (Niece) while I load the groceries in the car.”
As I stuff bags into the minivan trunk, I see a friend with twin four year olds zipping off, the two kids nicely sitting in their carseats licking away. Yes, her kids are older, but couldn’t we just get going too? Mmmmm, that’s risky, two year old Daughter can barely lick through a cone before it drenches clothes, hands, chin, neck and surroundings with sticky drippings.
What the heck! Throwing caution to the wind, I hustle Son (still licking), Daughter (holding, sometimes licking) and Niece (making real headway) into the car.
Now, the danger starts. Mom maneuvers multiple traffic lights while coaching Daughter and Son how to neatly finish ice cream cones in car. Losing battle. Coaching is generous, militant screaming more like it.
“Wait! Use your napkin! Don’t bite the bottom! It’s dripping! It’s dripping!”Pull over. Grab wipes, clean Son. Grab Daughter’s ice cream cone, top and bottom dripping mercilessly. Chuck it out the window.
Oh, no. The tragedy, the tears. What kind of mother am I to terrorize my daughter over an ice cream cone? I walk around the car, gently pick it up from the grass, wipe off any stray clippings and hand it back to her.
After all, soap and water can easily clean my car, little fingers and chins. But they can’t wash away hurt feelings. Those sometimes take patience and practicality to prevent. What was I thinking???
After two weeks with Son out of preschool, I got smart and asked my 15 year old niece to help out babysitting a couple days this week. What a difference! Happy kids, happier Mom. Why didn’t I get extra help sooner? The three intimidating factors for me were:
1. How would I find a decent babysitter I could trust and liked enough to have around my house?
2. Did I want to spend the extra money each week for some peace of mind and opportunity to get extra things done around the house or errands run without the hassle of accompanying preschoolers?
3. The big Mommy Guilt Factor: Shouldn’t I want to be with my children every waking hour - won’t it be fun to get up and go to the beach and have a fun summer day together? (Uh, not when we’re all screaming at each other by 5 pm.)
Admittedly, it was easy to get over my fear of finding a trustworthy babysitter the kids (and I) would enjoy after Niece announced that she was available for babysitting this summer. While I was worried about the need to pick her up and take her home to the next town over, I got over this by actually doing it and timing it at 13 minutes each way. That’s not such a big deal. And, her gracious mother offered to drop her off or pick her up one way each time. So, I take advantage of that during naptime or close to it (so Daughter doesn’t nod off in car and screw up the whole nap schedule for the day.)
In addition, Son loves his cousin and views her babysitting more like a playdate. This happens with great babysitters and also younger ones that act like mother’s helpers. That’s how I viewed Niece. I didn’t expect her to take over and simply enjoyed her addition to our group and our ability to go one on one when necessary (e.g. Daughter throwing tantrum while Son carries on about needing that train over there.) I now see the value of au pairs.
Second, since she’s fifteen, I’m paying her $9/hour and not the standard $15/hour or higher for an older babysitter in my area. This eases my financial guilt that I shouldn’t be paying just for my own peace of mind or to give myself a break.
Finally, after a harry weekend where Husband and I realized that Daughter is indeed in the throws of two year old tantrums over random miscellaneous needs and that while she and Son play so nicely together much of the time, their battles over said trains and most other toys they play with, has taken on new frequency and pitch; I just picked up the phone and called Niece to help - ALL DAY MONDAY.
No guilt, simply necessity. And since the day went well and at Friday, I can view this entire week as having been much easier on me (Niece is coming over again this afternoon), I’m finding my Mommy Guilt sweetly receding behind a certain Mommy Peace.
I just had my first experience of relenting to my child’s need for coolness, peer pressure, please-please-please-can-I-have-them? versus my goal of practicality. We entered the shoe store with me intent on buying a pair of Teva’s or similar sandal for the beach and hot summer day playing and a pair of Keens or something similar for avoiding wood chips on the playground and hiking in the woods. Since Son’s toes were hanging over his sandals from the February Florida trip, we were starting from scratch.
But, upon entering the store, he spotted the Crocs display and exclaimed, “Crocs! Oooooh, Crocs! Pleeeeeeaaaase, Mom, can I get some???” Where, oh where did this come from? I was naively shocked at how clued in he was on summer kids fashion. We have never discussed this type of shoe, I’ve never mentioned the brand, and he can’t read. How did he know what they were? (Silly, clueless Me.) There I was, begging, pestering him for details on who exposed him to this fashion while he ran around the display, pulling off any size and color he could dislodge from the hooks.
Mom: “We’ll see honey. We’re going to try on lots of shoes, practical shoes, and we’ll see what works. “
Son: “I LOVE Crocs! Please, can I get some?”
Mom: “Where did you hear about them? Who told you about Crocs? I just don’t understand where this came from?”
Son: Completely ignoring my need for more information. “Please….. Mom….”
And where did he learn that sweet pleading reaps more rewards than whining? Oh, right, I give in more.
Mom to Store Manager: “How do they stay on? I don’t see how he can run in those. Let me try on a pair. Ooohhhh, they’re very comfortable. Oh, I see how they stay on. Okay, let him try a pair.”
We leave with Bob the Builder Crocs in navy blue, my son tripping over his feet.
Mom: “But they don’t even look comfortable. Are you sure they fit okay? You’re tripping!”
Son: “They’re fine.” Huge smile. Happy face. Doesn’t want them to get wet or dirty (Crocs?!) and puts them in secret, special place of honor in his room.
I gave in because I loved satisfying his longing. But what will I do when Daughter turns 10, 11, 12, etc. and wants 4” heels?
What would you do in a similar situation? Be practical and avoid tripping or let him have his way?
Post your comment.
PS
At the cash register:
Store Manager: “Do you want some Jibbitz?”
Mom: “Don’t even go there.”
Store Manager: “Chicken.”