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Too Clever By Half

By Goddess in Progress · Comments (7)· November 2nd, 2011

I have long suspected that Becca’s teenage years will be the death of me. OK, who am I kidding, it’s going to start so much younger than that.

Like, you know, now.

Someone told me that Four is the age of attitude. (Well, Four through Seventeen, but whatever.) Rebecca seems to have gotten the memo. For all of the times that Daniel has been the one to push me straight over the edge, these days he is downright compliant. Persistent and stubborn, sure. But reasonably compliant.

Rebecca… oh, she has mastered that sulking, pouty glare when she doesn’t get her way. She’s not foolish enough to actually talk back and get in trouble, but she will give you the stinkeye, big time. She calculates, she manipulates. She knows exactly how to poke Daniel and rile him up and piss him off, all while technically not misbehaving.

The daily occurrence is with regard to the carseats. While the seats are identical, they each have a “side” that is their own. Occasionally they like to switch seats, and the long-established rule is that both kids need to agree on the switch, or you can’t do it.

At least once a day, I watch her block him out and say “no,” just to assert her power to do it, and to piss him off. Daniel being Daniel, this tends to send him into dramatic wailing, which only satisfies Rebecca even more.

I can see that she’s manipulating him over something completely trivial. I can see that she’s doing it on purpose. And yet, technically, she is doing something that is well within her rights.

I am trying to tell her that I’m onto her, that I see what she’s doing and she needs to stop being mean to her brother. I am trying to get Daniel not to react so strongly, adding fuel to her quietly smoldering fire. But this stuff is so subtle, it’s a tricky line to walk.

Since she was a baby, I knew Rebecca was clever. Always watching, always figuring people out. Sometimes a little quieter than her brother, but more because she is observing, and lying in wait. She is figuring out the game and exactly what she needs to do to play it.

Middle school? High school?

I feel faint.

Comments (7)

Categories : Behavior, Discipline, Preschoolers

Tags : attitude, NaBloPoMo, sibling rivalry

Good Mom, Bad Mom

By Goddess in Progress · Comments (5)· October 29th, 2010

Yesterday, I felt like maybe I was doing something right as a parent. Like maybe all of this insanity is actually going to pay off at some point. That, or I’m some kind of evil genius, either way. There were three totally unprompted events that made me feel this way:

1. At lunch, the kids asked for a treat when they were done with their sandwiches. I offered a chocolate chip cookie. Both of them said, no, they wanted a gummi vitamin instead.

2. Mid-afternoon, Rebecca took a look at the laundry basket full of clean (unfolded, of course) clothes. She said, “Mama, will you fold this so we can put our clothes away?” I folded it, and both kids RAN up and down the stairs to put their clothes away in their dressers.

3. While I was making dinner, M was doing some dishes (you know, to make room for all of the new dirty dishes). Not only did Rebecca insist on helping load the dishwasher, but both kids nearly fought over the opportunity to help scrub pots in the sink. I swear to God.

Seriously, I am not the queen of healthful eating. I am an almost pitiful housekeeper. Maybe my kids are compensating for me? Either way, it’s awesome.

—-

Change scene to this morning:

Daniel: (wailing) “I’m feewing saaaaaaaddd!”

Mom: (exasperated) “Why are you feeling sad?”

Daniel: (still wailing) “Because you made me feel sad!”

For the record, I “made” him feel sad because, when he asked for a peanut butter, jelly, and banana sandwich for breakfast, I put too many slices of banana on it. That’s right. I made him a damn PB&J for breakfast upon request, but I didn’t do it “right.” I may also have somehow used the wrong banana, it’s unclear.

Oh, and when he started wailing about the sandwich? I set the kitchen timer for 10 minutes and told him he could choose to eat his breakfast or not, but if he didn’t eat before the timer went off, it would go in the trash. So he wailed for another 9 minutes.

Way to take me down a notch, kid.

And, even though I know he was being completely insane this morning? Who’s the one who now feels like total shit? This lady, right here.

Parenting. Not for the faint of heart.

Comments (5)

Categories : Behavior, Discipline, Preschoolers

Messages to our children

By Goddess in Progress · Comments (14)· October 6th, 2010

I’m doing this month-long photo workshop through Big Picture Classes called “Picture Fall.” Every morning, we get an email with a prompt for that day’s photo assignment. Our Day 5 prompt was “little reminders.” It was about self-talk, reminding ourselves of what’s important, what we hope to do, how we hope to act, that sort of thing. Most especially, people were taking pictures of words. And if we didn’t have something hanging around, we were certainly welcome to write out our own reminders. I spent the morning trying to think of what my reminder was, or what I wanted it to be. And, ultimately, I wrote a note and took this picture.

I was thinking about what kinds of feedback I give my kids, and how that feedback is creating their self-image. Most especially, I was thinking of Daniel. He’s my more challenging kid, I can’t pretend otherwise. No matter how many times I tell him not to, he still wants to put things into the floor grates, or climb where it’s not safe, or any number of other things he’s not supposed to do. He dawdles, he gets distracted, he is randomly defiant, he gets disproportionately upset if something is not done precisely to his specific (and unspoken) desires. And so I get tired and cranky and I correct and I yell and I send him to time out. And then I stop and think: how many negative things did I say to my son today? How many positive? Are those two numbers anywhere near what I want them to be?

I’m not trying to flog myself for being a horrible parent. This job is really, really hard, and we all have times that we don’t do as well as we want. But I have to try to do better. While I don’t want to over-praise for non-accomplishments (yes, I read Nurtureshock), I don’t want my children to think of themselves as incapable, bad, wrong, or anything else, and I certainly don’t want to ever be the one who sends that message. The challenges get a lot of airtime here, maybe because it’s somehow more compelling to write about the really hard parts. And honestly, do you have any interest in reading post after post about how my children are geniuses and kind and did I mention darn cute? Please, that gets old.

But they are. My children are amazing people. They are funny and wonderful and kind and polite and smart. And yes, darn cute, too. Yes, I have high expectations for them, behavior-wise and otherwise. But I don’t ever want them to think that I don’t adore them, to infinity and back again. I don’t want them to wonder if I’m proud of them for exactly who they are, not who I wish they were. I wish for my kids to be exactly the wonderful people I already know (with, maybe, a little more self-control on the floor grate thing).

I’ve been reading about the “It Gets Better” project, and my heart breaks with every single video I watch. (If you haven’t seen Tim Gunn’s, I defy you to watch and not tear up.) I’m not sure I even have the words. These kids, these teenagers. Every day is a struggle, of trying to figure out who you are, what you’re about. A struggle against being called names, beat up, and tormented in ways I didn’t even imagine when I was in high school. And for some, it gets so bad that they withdraw, they retreat into destructive behaviors, drugs, or worse. They find it so awful, they decide life isn’t worth living anymore.

Please. Please let my kids get the message that they are always safe with me. Please let them always know that I will go to bat for them. That I will give every fiber of my being to keep them safe. That I will always love them. That, while I will be picky over their boyfriends and girlfriends, that is only because I expect them to treat and be treated with respect and honor and love and dignity, not because I give a crap about that person’s gender, race, religion, or anything else. That I always, always think that they are deserving of respect, and that I expect them to show the same respect to others.

Am I getting ahead of myself, worrying about the struggles of LGBT teens when what I’ve got at home is a pair of mischievous three-year-olds? Maybe. But maybe not. It all starts now, doesn’t it? It’s never too early to instill a sense of self-worth, that who you are is good and appreciated and unconditionally loved, even if we still have to enforce boring 3-year-old rules. It’s never too early to teach our children to be kind and respectful, and to do so in large part by demonstrating kindness and respect to them. It’s never too early to make my kids feel safe enough that they know they can always come to me.

Maybe I’m going off the rails a little bit. Maybe the pregnancy hormones are getting the best of me, and I should step away from the internet (and Glee last night, holy cow). But sometimes we have to stand up and say out loud what we believe.

I believe my kids are amazing, and I always want them to know how much I value them, and that I will always love them and stand up for them and their rights.

I believe my kids, and all people for that matter, should feel safe and cared for. At the forefront of my mind today, that means I want them to feel safe if they discover/acknowledge/feel/etc. that they are L/G/B/T.

I believe my kids, and all people for that matter, should be able to find love, regardless of gender or race or any other demographic checkbox. I want them to be able to do so without fear.

Is that really so much to ask?

Comments (14)

Categories : Behavior, Discipline, Preschoolers

Tags : accepting our children, it gets better project

Adjustment

By Goddess in Progress · Comments (7)· September 28th, 2010

There are a great many times in my everyday parenting life that I am grateful for my fellow mom friends, both in person and through the blogosphere. Especially those whose kids are the same age as mine or a little older, because even when the warnings feel like doom and gloom, at least I’m moderately prepared for the truck that is about to run me over.

This week, I’m glad that so many of you have related stories of a delayed adjustment period to big changes, like starting school. Plenty of friends told me something along the lines of, “the first couple of days will be alright, it’s the second week that will kick your ass.” Um, YES.

As always, my kids have faced this transition in different ways. Rebecca was excited for weeks and weeks ahead of time, did well in class, and then finished the first couple of days in tears. It was obvious at pickup that she had been just fine all morning, but fell apart when she saw me, or found something to get upset about as soon as we got in the car. Clearly, she was tired, all wrung out from a morning of newness. But, I have to say, it passed very quickly. By the third day, there was barely a whine. Just chattering and barely-comprehensible answers to the typical “what did you do in school today?” from me. And even during the initial weepy phase, she still got up the next morning and skipped her way into the school building.

Daniel, on the other hand, is my delayed reaction. He was Mr. Enthusiasm the first couple of days. But now, it seems, the fact that he is actually going to have to keep going to school is sinking in, and he’s not real sure how he feels about it.

In the morning, I usually get at least one “I don’t want to go to school today,” followed by a half-hearted “I don’t feel so good.” By the time we get to drop-off, he’s usually alright, requiring minimal-to-no convincing to get out of the car, and off he goes. When I pick him up? A smile and handshake for his teacher and a big, excited grin for me.

But somewhere between the lobby and his carseat, it all falls apart. Before I even finish fastening his seatbelt, he finds something to wail about. Doesn’t matter what. Dropped his (empty) school bag in the car? Sure. I took the juice box straw out of the wrapper without consulting him first? Why not? And then, well, he just doesn’t recover. That hour between pickup and naptime is a disaster. Whining, whimpering, wailing. Outright defiance over the most mundane of requests. Renewed wails if his grapes touch his pretzels. A complete inability to listen, and total fixation on whatever request I have denied. This was the story of our ENTIRE weekend. Needless to say, an attempt at going apple-picking was an absolute catastrophe.

I am grateful to know other moms, because I’m not sure I would have realized on my own how deeply related to school this is. I might have panicked that I was hitting another phase like this summer, or started to wonder if there is something fundamentally wrong with my child, or with the way I have parented him up to this point. But with the voices of friends in the back of my head, I can step back. He’s not a brat, he’s not a horrible kid, and I do not completely suck as a parent. He’s a sensitive, reactive kid who is trying to figure out what this new routine is all about. He’s mentally exhausted, so he’s unable to recover from minor emotional setbacks or disappointments. He misses me, so he’s extra clingy at home. But he’s also MAD AS HELL at me, and boy is he ever letting me know it.

Oh, the conflict. Pull me closer, push me away. “Don’t go upstairs without me!” versus “I don’t WANT your help!” He wants to push my buttons, he wants to provoke me, he wants to know if his safe space is still safe. And I’m trying. I’m trying to stay calm and not react when he’s trying to test his boundaries. I’m trying to calmly and consistently enforce the same expectations of behavior that were already there. I am trying to say “yes” when I can, and choose only the battles that are worth fighting.

BUT OH MY GOD.

Just because I know where it’s coming from doesn’t make it much easier to deal with every day. It’s exhausting. It’s draining. I don’t feel good sending him to bed without a story, but I can only offer him so many chances to get out of a bad situation. If he chooses to dig in his heels for the umpteenth time, there still needs to be a consequence, even if I feel a little bit bad for him. And, of course, it would be a big fat lie to pretend I manage to keep my cool the whole time. I have yelled, I have gotten irrational, I have taken things away in anger when I could have found another way to deal with the situation. But if anyone knows how to push your buttons, it’s your own children. Wowza.

And, so, I am riding it out. “It’s all temporary,” I keep repeating to myself. They’re all phases. They all pass. He’s a fundamentally good kid. I have every reason to believe his behavior at school is just fine. I know it’s “normal” to come home and take out all your frustrations and stress in your most safe place, and that he does so is almost a compliment on the fact that he knows he’s loved at home. That’s all well and good, but hard to remember when he’s pitching a fit over the color of his fork.

Comments (7)

Categories : Behavior, Discipline, Preschoolers, School

I need an old priest and a young priest

By Goddess in Progress · Comments (22)· July 7th, 2010

Seriously, forget about that whole “we’re Jewish” thing. I need to schedule an exorcism ASAP to deal with the demon that has inhabited my son.

I almost don’t know where to start. I feel like my blood pressure is through the roof, my heart is racing, and I’m liable to fall down in a heap at any moment. Such is parenting Daniel at age 2 years, 11 months.

When he is good, he is very very good. He is curious and inquisitive, always asking how something works, what we’re going to do next, and “what kind of thing” is his version of “why” in the realm of never-ending toddler questioning. He is incredibly charming. If he is so inclined, he can work a room like nobody’s business. We’ve been out for lunch and had several waitresses fawning over him and people coming over from other tables to compliment him. A barista at our local Starbucks is positively in love with him, and has started insisting I bring him in on their birthday next month. He has delightful manners, lots of spontaneous “Mama, may I pweese have X?” and casual “oh, sanks” when you give him something. He is funny and silly and bright and highly verbal and has a memory like a steel trap.

And sometimes I would like to clamp him in a steel trap.

Because the other side of Daniel is a complete psychopath. There are scarcely words to describe it. Defiant and contrary doesn’t even begin. When he’s in a mood, and I don’t think I’m exaggerating to say he spends about 50% of his day in this kind of mood, he is nothing short of a nightmare. Picking fights over everything, from what to have for breakfast to putting the toilet paper in the toilet. I’m not kidding. Sometimes it’s a pursed face, a pout, angry eyebrows. Silence. Daring me. I ask him to do something. He covers his eyes with his hands, face still angry. I count to 1. Staring me down. I count to 2. A shrieked “NO!” and a stomped foot. That’s three, into time out.

My kids have always handled time outs pretty well. Very often I could just send them and they’d walk there themselves. They almost never got out before I told them to. Sometimes there was crying, but not always.

Now? Now, with Daniel, it’s another way to test me. “NO! I DON’T WANT A TIME OUT!” He gets up. I put him back. He stays there, but lashes out. Hits anything in reach – the chair, the door, a book. Screams and yells at the top of his lungs. Sometimes just an angry “AAHH!” Sometimes a positively furious “NO!”

I ignore it. If he’s in his time out and not destroying anything or hurting anyone, I ignore it because I know he just wants to further engage me in another fight. The screaming continues well after the timer beeps and I (as quietly and calmly as I possibly can) tell him he may get down. He keeps right on screaming.

And then, as quickly as the nastiness begins, the psycho switch flips and he walks out. “Mommy, what are you making?”, he asks with wonder and curiosity and reverence. I tell him I’m making lunch. “Oohh. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Yep. “Ooohhh. Sank you, Mommy.”

Literally one sentence, one second to the next. He flips from having a complete temper tantrum to back to his normal self. I have emotional whiplash from the back and forth. Because it goes back in the other direction just as fast. Sometimes I know what is likely to set him off (naptime, OMFG), and sometimes it’s a complete shock.

We were in Starbucks this morning, I gave the kids a warning that it was almost time to go home. Daniel responds with, “oh, OK! I’m ready to go now.” Tosses his chocolate milk in the trash, gleefully shouts “see you later!” to the entire staff, and practically skips out the door. I ask him to hold my hand while we cross the parking lot, and BAM. “I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME! I DON’T WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND! WAAAAAHHHHH!” Bucks in the carseat so I can’t get the seat belt on. Shouts at his sister. Get home, and he refuses to take the seat belt OFF. More crying. Another disastrous time out. Another freaky switch back to normal behavior. Back and forth and back and forth, all day long.

There are people who meet him and think I must be crazy. What a delightful child you have! He’s so sweet! So funny! So smart! So charming! But I know. I know it can, and will, turn on a dime.

I am completely, emotionally, mentally, and physically drained. I try and try not to lose my temper. I try to stay calm, stay quiet, not engage with the fight-picking and power struggles. I try to be consistent and predictable. I try not to hold a grudge from the awful times and to encourage the good ones instead of launching into a tirade about how awful he was behaving and why it’s driving me over the edge. When he flips back to nice-Daniel, I try to act happy and pile on the good attention and compliment his nice manners.

It almost goes without saying that sometimes I do a whole lot better than others. Sometimes I don’t do very well at all. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I slam a door. More than I’d really care to admit. It’s not pretty. But I try.

I’m at a loss, to be honest. I’m not sure where to go next. I don’t know how to get rid of this insanely bipolar behavior. If there’s an effective punishment to be had, I’m not exactly sure what it is. (Did I mention he’s become a retaliatory urinator? Yes, intentional peeing when he’s extra pissed off and I send him to his room.) I’m not sure how to reward the good behavior enough for it to have an effect but without going overboard. But it’s awful. I re-read this post and know that I’m not even doing justice to the insanity. M and I sometimes just stare at each other with our mouths open, wondering what the hell just happened.

I know, from reading blogs of some of you moms with slightly older kids and talking to friends, that this is pretty well within the realm of “normal” behavior for this age. I know that the testing limits is developmentally appropriate. But, alas, that knowledge does not stop me from wanting to smack the taste out of his mouth, and we are NOT a physical-discipline family. I just want more time with my sweet, sweet boy who is so funny and so smart and so delightful. But even when that sweet boy appears, I’m still on edge. Waiting for the other shoe to drop (or for it to be picked up and thrown on the floor in a fit of rebellion).

SERENITY, NOW!

Comments (22)

Categories : Behavior, Discipline, Preschoolers, Toddlers

It’s worth a try

By Goddess in Progress · Comments (14)· August 24th, 2009

So, we have a bathtime issue in my house. Truth be told, we’ve had this issue for a little while now (3 weeks? 6 months? time is a blur…). Specifically, it involves water, shampoo, and a ridiculous amount of screaming.

Rebecca has never liked getting her head wet. No amount of trying to teach her to tip her head backwards or close her eyes has ever really helped. And she certainly has a flair for the dramatic, so recently the screaming about hair-washing has really escalated. At the first hint of bathtime, she immediately starts with the slightly-frantic “no shampoo! no shampoo!” Good times.

Daniel used to be no problem at all with hair washing. He listened reasonably well when I told him to look up and put his head back, and it generally just didn’t phase him. Now, oh lordy. He literally wails with the exact same tone in his cry as though he’s just gotten three shots at the pediatrician’s, or has somersaulted down the front stairs. Pain, horror, fear. It’s really quite something.

Naturally, we’ve cut down the frequency of shampoo in our house to once every 3 or 4 days. But even still, the screaming (which is very nearly as bad even if I just do a quick rinse with water and a washcloth) has got to stop. Entirely too much stress and drama at the end of the day. So I have decided to implement our very first sticker chart.

A few minutes in word processing, and this is what we’ve got. They’re taped up right outside our upstairs bathroom, and we did our best to really talk it up over the weekend. The deal is this: no crying in the bathtub, and you get a sticker (and a whole lot of fuss from mom & dad). That’s it. I’ll even let you slide if you require a reminder or two while in the bath, as long as any whining and pre-crying stops. I even ramped up slowly. The first night involved no water anywhere near the hair. The second night was just water, no shampoo. Tonight, if I’m feeling brave, I might go all the way.

The results after the first two nights are interesting, though probably not surprising if I stop to think about it. Rebecca, who has always hated water on her hair, is also generally less defiant and stubborn, as well as eager to please and into rules (and stickers). Stickers earned both nights, and throughout the remainder of bedtime, she kept talking about how she didn’t cry in the tub, and got a sticker. Sweet! Daniel, on the other hand… oh, Daniel. First night with no water was OK, but last night he most definitely did not earn his sticker. Wailing, complete with his trademark blue lips from not breathing enough while freaking out. Still, I’ll hold out hope for a few more nights, especially if he really starts to notice that his sister gets a sticker and lots of praise and he doesn’t.

So, what has been a good use of sticker charts in your house?

Comments (14)

Categories : Behavior, Discipline, Toddlers

Tags : bathtime, sticker chart, tantrums