Living in Baltimore, I've turned into a news junkie recently, glued to new feeds about the riots going on nearby. Yesterday, though, I was struck by one viral video of a mother named Toya Graham, physically assaulting her son who was taking part in the riots, insisting that he leave and go home. Commentor after commenter lauded her iron-clad approach, saying that this was a mom who knew her responsibility and was willing to do anything to keep her child safe. She was praised as "Mom of the Year."
I was shocked.
I understand that it's difficult to comment on a culture that you are not a part of. I also understand that this was an extreme situation -- in Toya Graham's mind, a matter of life and death for her son. I would be the last person to pass judgement on a woman who was in a crazy situation and reacted more strongly than she would have on a regular basis. But to give this mother the "mom of the year" title? That made me angry.
Why? Because I've been that mom. No, I haven't cursed at my kids, nor have I walloped them on their heads. But I've been that mom who felt that there was no other way to get my kids to stop other than by using a violent or disrespectful technique (if you could call it that), and who tried to rationalize it to myself afterwards.
There is nothing wrong with picking up a child and moving her away from a situation. But if you find yourself holding her more tightly than necessary, purely because of your frustration, or saying hurtful words about her character or about your feelings towards her...that's over the top. And it's very normal to want to rationalize to yourself that it's the only way she'll listen, the only way you can get your point across. Unfortunately, the point that you're getting across when you overreact to a situation because of your own fear, anger, or stress, is not the one you hope to get across.
Kids get the message that if you're upset at someone else, you can let your anger out on them.
Kids get the message that if you're stronger than someone else, you can hurt them.
Kids get the message that you think they're a pain to be around.
Kids get the message that they're not safe.
Kids get the message that you're the enemy, since you're treating them like one.
Kids get the message that violence is a valid response to anger.
That doesn't mean that you should eat yourself up with guilt when you blow up at your kids. It means recognizing that there were other techniques that could have helped the situation, and promising yourself that you'll use those techniques next time instead of falling prey to a "fight or flight" response. It means acknowledging that you're flawed, apologizing to your child, and assuring them that you'll try your hardest to respond in a better way next time. It means showing your kids that there is strength in asking for forgiveness, and that even adults need to work on themselves.
But if you award yourself the title "Mom of the Year" because it was the only way to get the message across, know that you're lying to yourself and cheating your kids.
Be honest. Be respectful. And teach your child the messages that you want them to learn, instead of the ones you're teaching them by mistake.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
The Mommy-Kid Communication Breakthrough
"I hate talking. Don't make me talk about it."
That's what my first grader, Bub, says. Every time I mete out some sort of discipline, even if it's only a verbal rebuke, he responds by clamming up and refusing to talk. Which means that any discussion about what happened turns into a Mommy lecture, by default.
This was not working.
It was obviously a Mommy Mistake. But what was I supposed to do about it? I tried waiting a while and talking to him about it after he cooled down even several hours later, but he'd end up swapping his newly-found good mood for his previously-discarded bad mood again. I was out of ideas.
So when we had a blowup yesterday, I wasn't sure how to proceed. Bub had been bothering four-year-old Boo for a couple of minutes, despite my warnings. When I told Bub he needed to move away from Boo, Bub kicked him instead. Of course, this led to a howling protest from Boo, complete with plenty of tears. Bub, who has very little empathy for his brother, ignored these cries and started joking around with two-year-old Boash. Smiling. Laughing. Having a wonderful time while his hurt brother screamed in the background.
I was livid. I sent Bub out of the room because his joking was making Boo feel even more alone and upset. (I know from experience that helping Bub to show empathy at this point would have been futile.) We all calmed down a bit, and I went in and sat down next to Bub. He looked up at me, obviously dreading "the talk."
I took a deep breath. "Bub, I know that you don't want to talk about what happened. I also know that I think it's really important that we both understand what happened out there..."
"But I do know what happened out there, without you even telling me. So why do we have to talk about it?"
"The thing is, I'm not sure that we both think the same thing happened out there. Maybe we do. Can you write down what you think happened, and I'll tell you if I think the same thing happened?"
His eyes lit up. "Yeah!" He ran into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of scrap paper, and began to write furiously:
You were upset becaus I was doing a lot of stuff bad so you sent me into my room.
Okay, this was going to be harder than I thought. He obviously didn't understand exactly what happened, from my point of view. Would he let me tell him?
I sent you to your room because when I was upset and Boo was upset, you were laughing and smiling.
He looked at what I wrote, and it was as if a new app had just loaded into his brain. I saw in his eyes that he "got it" -- this is an issue I've been trying to emphasize to him recently, and I always feel that he's not getting it at all. But somehow, this mode of communication made things different. He scratched a huge check mark over the sentence. I tried again.
When you see that we are upset, can you try to see what is wrong and try to fix it? And not smile and joke?
Another big check, and a big smile. No grumbling, no clamming up. How did I not know this could be so easy?
"Can I write just one more thing?" I asked. I knew I was pushing my limits. His face tightened, but he let me take the pen.
I love you. Thank you. :)
He leaned toward me and snuggled into me. I kissed his head and held him tight. Then he jerked away and grabbed the pen.
I want to do this next time.
So do I, Bub. So do I.
That's what my first grader, Bub, says. Every time I mete out some sort of discipline, even if it's only a verbal rebuke, he responds by clamming up and refusing to talk. Which means that any discussion about what happened turns into a Mommy lecture, by default.
This was not working.
It was obviously a Mommy Mistake. But what was I supposed to do about it? I tried waiting a while and talking to him about it after he cooled down even several hours later, but he'd end up swapping his newly-found good mood for his previously-discarded bad mood again. I was out of ideas.
So when we had a blowup yesterday, I wasn't sure how to proceed. Bub had been bothering four-year-old Boo for a couple of minutes, despite my warnings. When I told Bub he needed to move away from Boo, Bub kicked him instead. Of course, this led to a howling protest from Boo, complete with plenty of tears. Bub, who has very little empathy for his brother, ignored these cries and started joking around with two-year-old Boash. Smiling. Laughing. Having a wonderful time while his hurt brother screamed in the background.
I was livid. I sent Bub out of the room because his joking was making Boo feel even more alone and upset. (I know from experience that helping Bub to show empathy at this point would have been futile.) We all calmed down a bit, and I went in and sat down next to Bub. He looked up at me, obviously dreading "the talk."
I took a deep breath. "Bub, I know that you don't want to talk about what happened. I also know that I think it's really important that we both understand what happened out there..."
"But I do know what happened out there, without you even telling me. So why do we have to talk about it?"
"The thing is, I'm not sure that we both think the same thing happened out there. Maybe we do. Can you write down what you think happened, and I'll tell you if I think the same thing happened?"
His eyes lit up. "Yeah!" He ran into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of scrap paper, and began to write furiously:
You were upset becaus I was doing a lot of stuff bad so you sent me into my room.
Okay, this was going to be harder than I thought. He obviously didn't understand exactly what happened, from my point of view. Would he let me tell him?
I sent you to your room because when I was upset and Boo was upset, you were laughing and smiling.
He looked at what I wrote, and it was as if a new app had just loaded into his brain. I saw in his eyes that he "got it" -- this is an issue I've been trying to emphasize to him recently, and I always feel that he's not getting it at all. But somehow, this mode of communication made things different. He scratched a huge check mark over the sentence. I tried again.
When you see that we are upset, can you try to see what is wrong and try to fix it? And not smile and joke?
Another big check, and a big smile. No grumbling, no clamming up. How did I not know this could be so easy?
"Can I write just one more thing?" I asked. I knew I was pushing my limits. His face tightened, but he let me take the pen.
I love you. Thank you. :)
He leaned toward me and snuggled into me. I kissed his head and held him tight. Then he jerked away and grabbed the pen.
I want to do this next time.
So do I, Bub. So do I.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
You Mean You Have One of THOSE Kids Too?
"I thought I was the only one in the world who was raising a difficult child."
That was one reader's response to my post last week. The one that I agonized over before finally clicking "Publish." After all, as a parenting writer and educator, aren't I supposed to be entirely on top of my kids? Aren't I supposed to be able to gently guide them, parent them, help them get along with each other without fail?
The truth is that some kids are just easier than others. And if you don't have a child like mine, you won't understand. But if you do have a child like mine...you're nodding your head and grimacing as you read about the reality you live through every day.
"He refuses to shower, he's gone to sleep in his clothes the past few nights, refuses to go with his carpool so I have to take him to school every day....Oh, its a lot of fun."
Please don't judge this reader, unless you have a child like this. A child who sends his siblings off to school covered in scratches and bruises -- all caused by a tantrum because Mommy tried to lay down the law. And before you get out the phone to call the cops on this out of control abusive kid...
He's five years old.
Yes, if you have a child "like that," rest assured that you're not the only one. I sometimes think that the most important part of the parenting groups that I lead isn't even the techniques that we discuss -- although parents find them extremely helpful -- but the feeling of relief when all the moms realize that they're not the only ones who are struggling. One mom talks about her toddler who climbs on the dining room table and spins the chandelier like a top, and another mom gasps, "Yours too??" One mom complains that her five year old daughter has started intentionally ignoring everything she says, to the point that they visited the ENT just in case she was having hearing problems, and three more say, "Wow, you're kidding! I thought only my daughter did that!"
But these problems are relatively normal, mostly age appropriate. Kids who have issues with social skills...with impulsivity...with obeying authority...These kids are the ones whose moms are constantly stared at by the other moms at the playground. They watch that mom fail to set a limit and think, "If that were my child, I would never let him behave like that." The ones who seem to act so normally for a little while and then suddenly -- BAM! -- explode.
I guess, to some degree, it's a gift that I struggle so much with Bub, a gift that I struggle to teach him about communicating with others, about keeping his hands to himself, about obeying even when you think you know better. After a parenting group session recently, one mom came over to me and bared her soul to me. She told me about her daughter, age 4, who she's pretty sure has ADHD but is too young to get an official diagnosis. Her daughter, unsurprisingly, sounded almost exactly like my eldest. She was shocked to hear that I "have one of those too," and that it was he, primarily, who pushed me to become an addict to parenting research and advice.
So yes, we exist out there in the world. We are the moms whose little ones don't seem to conform to the norms. We are the moms who have kids that look normal, who don't have an official diagnosis (yet?) for us to apologetically fall back on, but who force us to dig down inside ourselves and wrench out every last ounce of patience that we have. We are the moms who often feel so alone, so downtrodden, so sure that everyone else in the world would parent our kids better than we do.
But we're not alone. There are so many of us out there who are struggling -- some less, and some much much more. And yes, others might not understand, others might judge, but there is a firm core of us who are working harder than anyone out there to give our difficult-to-raise kids the best childhood that we can, to help them focus their fiery personalities onto the fuse that will rocket them to success.
Don't let anyone -- including your own insecurities -- tell you otherwise.
That was one reader's response to my post last week. The one that I agonized over before finally clicking "Publish." After all, as a parenting writer and educator, aren't I supposed to be entirely on top of my kids? Aren't I supposed to be able to gently guide them, parent them, help them get along with each other without fail?
The truth is that some kids are just easier than others. And if you don't have a child like mine, you won't understand. But if you do have a child like mine...you're nodding your head and grimacing as you read about the reality you live through every day.
"He refuses to shower, he's gone to sleep in his clothes the past few nights, refuses to go with his carpool so I have to take him to school every day....Oh, its a lot of fun."
Please don't judge this reader, unless you have a child like this. A child who sends his siblings off to school covered in scratches and bruises -- all caused by a tantrum because Mommy tried to lay down the law. And before you get out the phone to call the cops on this out of control abusive kid...
He's five years old.
Yes, if you have a child "like that," rest assured that you're not the only one. I sometimes think that the most important part of the parenting groups that I lead isn't even the techniques that we discuss -- although parents find them extremely helpful -- but the feeling of relief when all the moms realize that they're not the only ones who are struggling. One mom talks about her toddler who climbs on the dining room table and spins the chandelier like a top, and another mom gasps, "Yours too??" One mom complains that her five year old daughter has started intentionally ignoring everything she says, to the point that they visited the ENT just in case she was having hearing problems, and three more say, "Wow, you're kidding! I thought only my daughter did that!"
But these problems are relatively normal, mostly age appropriate. Kids who have issues with social skills...with impulsivity...with obeying authority...These kids are the ones whose moms are constantly stared at by the other moms at the playground. They watch that mom fail to set a limit and think, "If that were my child, I would never let him behave like that." The ones who seem to act so normally for a little while and then suddenly -- BAM! -- explode.
I guess, to some degree, it's a gift that I struggle so much with Bub, a gift that I struggle to teach him about communicating with others, about keeping his hands to himself, about obeying even when you think you know better. After a parenting group session recently, one mom came over to me and bared her soul to me. She told me about her daughter, age 4, who she's pretty sure has ADHD but is too young to get an official diagnosis. Her daughter, unsurprisingly, sounded almost exactly like my eldest. She was shocked to hear that I "have one of those too," and that it was he, primarily, who pushed me to become an addict to parenting research and advice.
So yes, we exist out there in the world. We are the moms whose little ones don't seem to conform to the norms. We are the moms who have kids that look normal, who don't have an official diagnosis (yet?) for us to apologetically fall back on, but who force us to dig down inside ourselves and wrench out every last ounce of patience that we have. We are the moms who often feel so alone, so downtrodden, so sure that everyone else in the world would parent our kids better than we do.
But we're not alone. There are so many of us out there who are struggling -- some less, and some much much more. And yes, others might not understand, others might judge, but there is a firm core of us who are working harder than anyone out there to give our difficult-to-raise kids the best childhood that we can, to help them focus their fiery personalities onto the fuse that will rocket them to success.
Don't let anyone -- including your own insecurities -- tell you otherwise.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Mommy Fail?
This afternoon, Bub once again threw several tantrums -- one about doing homework, one because I asked him to stop teasing Boash by grabbing away his new toy, and one because I asked him to take some time to relax and calm down before he re-entered the playroom.
Rumbling like an subsiding volcano, he finally threw himself on the couch, pulled a blanket over himself, and proceeded to ignore the world. From underneath his lair, I occasionally heard a harumphing sound that meant he hated me and was mad at the world.
What a mommy fail, I thought.
Finally, he emerged and started down the stairs to the playroom. My four year old, who had come home from school in an equally grumpy mood, was down there playing by himself. I listened carefully, bracing myself for the eruption that I knew would ensue. Bub's first remark caught me off guard.
Bub: "Hey Boo, you wanna do cartwheels and handstands with me?" [A rare invitation to play]
Boo: "NOO!" [grumbling]
Bub: "Boo...I know you're feeling kind of, you know, ugggggh. You remember I was in a bad mood before? I was all, like, mfnshtnaaaargh! And then I lay down on the couch near Mommy with the blanket over me all the way, and I just had some time alone under there and rested, and then when I came out I was like this. See how happy I am now? If you need to rest, or be by yourself, go do that now and then you'll feel better like me. And then we could play together!"
[Pause]
Boo: "Wanna jump on the trampoline with me?"
Bub: "Yeah! Let's go!"
Um...Mommy fail?
I'm reminded of a horrible (free) parenting class that I took several years ago when Bub was a toddler. The lecturer did make one good point, though. She talked about how we had to rethink the meaning of the word "worked" when it came to parenting techniques. That just because giving into a tantrum calms the child down, doesn't mean that it "worked" at all. And that just because a technique doesn't stop a tantrum in its tracks or morph our child into an angel, doesn't mean that it didn't "work."
I thought that none of the empathy and guidance I had given him today had worked. If I hadn't overheard his advice to his younger brother, I would have considered myself a failure.
Something to remember, next time you think you've committed the dreaded #mommyfail.
Rumbling like an subsiding volcano, he finally threw himself on the couch, pulled a blanket over himself, and proceeded to ignore the world. From underneath his lair, I occasionally heard a harumphing sound that meant he hated me and was mad at the world.
What a mommy fail, I thought.
Finally, he emerged and started down the stairs to the playroom. My four year old, who had come home from school in an equally grumpy mood, was down there playing by himself. I listened carefully, bracing myself for the eruption that I knew would ensue. Bub's first remark caught me off guard.
Bub: "Hey Boo, you wanna do cartwheels and handstands with me?" [A rare invitation to play]
Boo: "NOO!" [grumbling]
Bub: "Boo...I know you're feeling kind of, you know, ugggggh. You remember I was in a bad mood before? I was all, like, mfnshtnaaaargh! And then I lay down on the couch near Mommy with the blanket over me all the way, and I just had some time alone under there and rested, and then when I came out I was like this. See how happy I am now? If you need to rest, or be by yourself, go do that now and then you'll feel better like me. And then we could play together!"
[Pause]
Boo: "Wanna jump on the trampoline with me?"
Bub: "Yeah! Let's go!"
Um...Mommy fail?
I'm reminded of a horrible (free) parenting class that I took several years ago when Bub was a toddler. The lecturer did make one good point, though. She talked about how we had to rethink the meaning of the word "worked" when it came to parenting techniques. That just because giving into a tantrum calms the child down, doesn't mean that it "worked" at all. And that just because a technique doesn't stop a tantrum in its tracks or morph our child into an angel, doesn't mean that it didn't "work."
I thought that none of the empathy and guidance I had given him today had worked. If I hadn't overheard his advice to his younger brother, I would have considered myself a failure.
Something to remember, next time you think you've committed the dreaded #mommyfail.
Monday, February 2, 2015
My Son, the Villain
Recently, my son has been acting as the villain in our family. And I've been subconsciously viewing myself as SuperMom, saving the innocent victims from his clutches.
I can just imagine how I've been sounding:
"Bub, stop playing with the windowshades. I've told you -- they're going to break. I said stop. NOW. Why on earth didn't you stop? You just broke them!"
"I know, you don't want to do your homework. [There, I empathized.] Now get your notebook out and do it as quickly so we'll have time to ride bikes before dinner....Bub, you've wasted so much time that we won't have time to ride bikes this afternoon anymore."
"Bub, get away from your brother. You need to stay on the other side of the room now. We don't use our hands to hurt people. Yes, I understand you were really upset at him because you wanted his toy. You still need to use your words."
"Bub, he said STOP. He doesn't like what you're doing. He said stop! NOW. Fine, you didn't stop, go to your room. You HURT him. Why on earth do you HURT him? Poor kid, he wasn't doing anything to you."
"Bub, it's time to take a shower. Bub, please go NOW. I don't appreciate being ignored. You know the rule. If you go right away, you get books before bedtime. If not, no books. Fine, that's your choice? If you say so...No, you already made a choice. We'll try again tomorrow night."
"Bub, why can't I go to the bathroom for two minutes without you hurting someone? STOP it. Next time I go to the bathroom you'll need to go in a different room from your brothers. No, I can't trust you, even if you tell me that you won't hurt them. You've shown me that I can't trust you with them when I'm out of the room. Prove to me that you can treat them nicely, and I'll be able to trust you with them again."
"BUB GET OFF YOUR BROTHER! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO HIM? LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!"
Notice a pattern here? Lots of sibling rivalry, lots of Mommy trying to stay calm and use the techniques that she knows she should (empathy, choices), and lots of Mommy starting to leak frustration out of her pores. And then, finally, the embarrassing climax, usually in response to out-of-control violence against one of his brothers.
I know that Bub is a difficult child to raise. I also know that he has a hard time with social cues (such as "STOP! I don't like that!") and with staying focused (can you say "ADHD"?). He also has a quick temper and plenty of impulsivity. Combine that with a younger brother who is quick to whine and complain, and a healthy (?) dose of sibling rivalry, and it's like a pile of TNT near a slowly burning match.
We've had our ups and downs. The past couple of weeks have been a Grand Canyon kind of down. This morning we hit rock bottom. In my mind, he was once again the evil villain in our family's story, picking on his younger brothers so that they were miserable and scared of him all the time. Luckily, this afternoon I also had an interview scheduled with one of the most inspirational and powerful parenting experts of all time: Dr. Laura Markham.
She talked about how our kids' feelings are true FOR THEM even if we don't understand them. Even if objectively they're wrong...from their perspective, their feelings are valid. And we can empathize with them anyway.
She talked about reframing. Swapping the attitude of "The nerve! How could he say that!" with "Obviously, if he's saying that, he's very upset. How can I help him deal with this?"
She talked about how if a child is misbehaving even after you've had a heart-to-heart with him, multiple times, there are two possibilities:
1) You're not giving your child enough support.
2) There isn't enough support in the world that could help your child behave in this situation.
She talked about so much more. About empathy. About staying calm. About setting limits respectfully.
I hung up the phone, excited to share this inspiration with the world. A few hours later, Bub came home. He flopped down on the floor of our foyer, looked up at my brazenly, and said, "I don't WANT to do homework today. Homework is stupid. I want to go play."
My first thought was...I'm toast. If this is how he walks through the door, I can just imagine what the rest of the afternoon will be like. Usually, homework is the one thing he doesn't give me a hard time about.
But instead of getting frustrated or antsy, even with two other boys vying for my attention, I followed the script Dr. Markham had essentially laid out for me this morning:
Me: Wow, you're really not in the mood to do homework today.
Bub: Yeah, I hate doing homework. I don't want to do it.
Me: You'd rather be able to just run downstairs and play, huh?
Bub: Yeah. Homework is so boring. I know all the stuff anyway.
Me: You feel like it's all just review, and you know it all, so why should you have to do it all over again?
Bub: It's like last year all over again. Why do they make us learn this stuff over and over again?
Me: Wow, it's really stuff you learned last year?
Bub: Yeah. I don't want to do it.
Me: I hear you. You really don't want to do it. Hm. So now what?
Bub: Huh? Aw, you're going to make me do it anyway. I am NOT going to.
Me: I know, you wish that there was NO such thing as homework. Who needs homework anyway, right?
Bub: Yeah. It just doesn't make any sense. They make us review our spelling words over and over again.
Me: So spelling is especially boring to you.
Bub: Yeah. Eyewitness News is neat. But that's because it's new this year. We'll have it again next year, and it won't be neat anymore. It'll be old.
Me: You're scared it will be boring. Wait, but next year there will be new news, right?
Bub: Oh, right. And like, chumash is okay. That's new. And sometimes we learn new things in Mrs. B's class...
I won't bore you with the rest of the conversation. It was LONG. The other kids needed my attention too. I told them I would come down to them in a few minutes to check on them and they could ask me for anything they needed then. But for about FIFTEEN MINUTES I focused on Bub.
And a miracle happened.
My inflexible, stubborn villain, the one who had been driving me nuts all weekend, gathered up his books and headed to the table to do his homework. On his own, without a threat from me, without a lecture about how it's important to review his material for school (he knows that) or about how his teachers will be disappointed if he doesn't do his homework (ditto). He sat down at the table and flew through his homework in about three minutes.
And then my son, the villain, offered to share his special pad of drawing paper with his brothers. And to help his younger brother get a snack. And to get my groceries out of the car. And to make a card for our neighbor who isn't feeling well.
I gave my son, the villain, fifteen minutes that I didn't have time for. With three kids clamoring for attention, I often feel like fifteen minutes is fifteen hours...time that I just don't have.
It was fifteen minutes that changed the next three hours into a miracle.
My son, the villain, has been vanquished -- at least for today. Today, my son, the superhero, reigned supreme.
I can just imagine how I've been sounding:
"Bub, stop playing with the windowshades. I've told you -- they're going to break. I said stop. NOW. Why on earth didn't you stop? You just broke them!"
"I know, you don't want to do your homework. [There, I empathized.] Now get your notebook out and do it as quickly so we'll have time to ride bikes before dinner....Bub, you've wasted so much time that we won't have time to ride bikes this afternoon anymore."
"Bub, get away from your brother. You need to stay on the other side of the room now. We don't use our hands to hurt people. Yes, I understand you were really upset at him because you wanted his toy. You still need to use your words."
"Bub, he said STOP. He doesn't like what you're doing. He said stop! NOW. Fine, you didn't stop, go to your room. You HURT him. Why on earth do you HURT him? Poor kid, he wasn't doing anything to you."
"Bub, it's time to take a shower. Bub, please go NOW. I don't appreciate being ignored. You know the rule. If you go right away, you get books before bedtime. If not, no books. Fine, that's your choice? If you say so...No, you already made a choice. We'll try again tomorrow night."
"Bub, why can't I go to the bathroom for two minutes without you hurting someone? STOP it. Next time I go to the bathroom you'll need to go in a different room from your brothers. No, I can't trust you, even if you tell me that you won't hurt them. You've shown me that I can't trust you with them when I'm out of the room. Prove to me that you can treat them nicely, and I'll be able to trust you with them again."
"BUB GET OFF YOUR BROTHER! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO HIM? LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!"
Notice a pattern here? Lots of sibling rivalry, lots of Mommy trying to stay calm and use the techniques that she knows she should (empathy, choices), and lots of Mommy starting to leak frustration out of her pores. And then, finally, the embarrassing climax, usually in response to out-of-control violence against one of his brothers.
I know that Bub is a difficult child to raise. I also know that he has a hard time with social cues (such as "STOP! I don't like that!") and with staying focused (can you say "ADHD"?). He also has a quick temper and plenty of impulsivity. Combine that with a younger brother who is quick to whine and complain, and a healthy (?) dose of sibling rivalry, and it's like a pile of TNT near a slowly burning match.
We've had our ups and downs. The past couple of weeks have been a Grand Canyon kind of down. This morning we hit rock bottom. In my mind, he was once again the evil villain in our family's story, picking on his younger brothers so that they were miserable and scared of him all the time. Luckily, this afternoon I also had an interview scheduled with one of the most inspirational and powerful parenting experts of all time: Dr. Laura Markham.
She talked about how our kids' feelings are true FOR THEM even if we don't understand them. Even if objectively they're wrong...from their perspective, their feelings are valid. And we can empathize with them anyway.
She talked about reframing. Swapping the attitude of "The nerve! How could he say that!" with "Obviously, if he's saying that, he's very upset. How can I help him deal with this?"
She talked about how if a child is misbehaving even after you've had a heart-to-heart with him, multiple times, there are two possibilities:
1) You're not giving your child enough support.
2) There isn't enough support in the world that could help your child behave in this situation.
She talked about so much more. About empathy. About staying calm. About setting limits respectfully.
I hung up the phone, excited to share this inspiration with the world. A few hours later, Bub came home. He flopped down on the floor of our foyer, looked up at my brazenly, and said, "I don't WANT to do homework today. Homework is stupid. I want to go play."
My first thought was...I'm toast. If this is how he walks through the door, I can just imagine what the rest of the afternoon will be like. Usually, homework is the one thing he doesn't give me a hard time about.
But instead of getting frustrated or antsy, even with two other boys vying for my attention, I followed the script Dr. Markham had essentially laid out for me this morning:
Me: Wow, you're really not in the mood to do homework today.
Bub: Yeah, I hate doing homework. I don't want to do it.
Me: You'd rather be able to just run downstairs and play, huh?
Bub: Yeah. Homework is so boring. I know all the stuff anyway.
Me: You feel like it's all just review, and you know it all, so why should you have to do it all over again?
Bub: It's like last year all over again. Why do they make us learn this stuff over and over again?
Me: Wow, it's really stuff you learned last year?
Bub: Yeah. I don't want to do it.
Me: I hear you. You really don't want to do it. Hm. So now what?
Bub: Huh? Aw, you're going to make me do it anyway. I am NOT going to.
Me: I know, you wish that there was NO such thing as homework. Who needs homework anyway, right?
Bub: Yeah. It just doesn't make any sense. They make us review our spelling words over and over again.
Me: So spelling is especially boring to you.
Bub: Yeah. Eyewitness News is neat. But that's because it's new this year. We'll have it again next year, and it won't be neat anymore. It'll be old.
Me: You're scared it will be boring. Wait, but next year there will be new news, right?
Bub: Oh, right. And like, chumash is okay. That's new. And sometimes we learn new things in Mrs. B's class...
I won't bore you with the rest of the conversation. It was LONG. The other kids needed my attention too. I told them I would come down to them in a few minutes to check on them and they could ask me for anything they needed then. But for about FIFTEEN MINUTES I focused on Bub.
And a miracle happened.
My inflexible, stubborn villain, the one who had been driving me nuts all weekend, gathered up his books and headed to the table to do his homework. On his own, without a threat from me, without a lecture about how it's important to review his material for school (he knows that) or about how his teachers will be disappointed if he doesn't do his homework (ditto). He sat down at the table and flew through his homework in about three minutes.
And then my son, the villain, offered to share his special pad of drawing paper with his brothers. And to help his younger brother get a snack. And to get my groceries out of the car. And to make a card for our neighbor who isn't feeling well.
I gave my son, the villain, fifteen minutes that I didn't have time for. With three kids clamoring for attention, I often feel like fifteen minutes is fifteen hours...time that I just don't have.
It was fifteen minutes that changed the next three hours into a miracle.
My son, the villain, has been vanquished -- at least for today. Today, my son, the superhero, reigned supreme.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Coping With Terror
I wasn't planning on putting this on my blog, but my life as a mommy has been hijacked since yesterday morning, and I can't seem to get it back.
There was a terror attack in Jerusalem yesterday. Two men walked into a synagogue during prayers wielding a meat cleaver, knives, and guns. Four men were slaughtered. Twenty four orphans left on one street.
A young boy ran from the carnage. His father followed after him and became an easy target.
The crimson-stained prayer shawls and the blood splashed across the floor.
I can't.
One of the first fears that flashed through my mind was "How will I explain this to my kids?" I imagined Boo having nightmares, Bub refusing to let my husband leave his sight. How would my kids be able to cope?
Then a second image flashed into my mind. What about that child who ran away from his father, leaving him to the hatchet of a terrorist?
My mind blinks, and is blank.
I went through the motions yesterday. Gave my kids a snack. (Don't think about those other kids, half a world away.) Threw a load of laundry in the washing machine. (Those bloody prayer shawls!)
My kids wanted to play a game with me. Apparently I was the evil lion and they were the king, queen, and pet bear who were trying to defend the castle. I was roaring, defying their majesties. And then Bub cocked his fingers and made a shooting noise.
My heart shatters from the blow. My mind blinks furiously, trying to rid itself from the images.
I must do something. My husband walks through the door and my heart seizes once again. Why do I deserve this? What of those women whose husbands will never saunter in through the door again?
My husband went to synagogue this morning. I was juggling diapers, lunchbags, cereal boxes. An ordinary morning.
Wasn't yesterday?
There was a terror attack in Jerusalem yesterday. Two men walked into a synagogue during prayers wielding a meat cleaver, knives, and guns. Four men were slaughtered. Twenty four orphans left on one street.
A young boy ran from the carnage. His father followed after him and became an easy target.
The crimson-stained prayer shawls and the blood splashed across the floor.
I can't.
One of the first fears that flashed through my mind was "How will I explain this to my kids?" I imagined Boo having nightmares, Bub refusing to let my husband leave his sight. How would my kids be able to cope?
Then a second image flashed into my mind. What about that child who ran away from his father, leaving him to the hatchet of a terrorist?
My mind blinks, and is blank.
I went through the motions yesterday. Gave my kids a snack. (Don't think about those other kids, half a world away.) Threw a load of laundry in the washing machine. (Those bloody prayer shawls!)
My kids wanted to play a game with me. Apparently I was the evil lion and they were the king, queen, and pet bear who were trying to defend the castle. I was roaring, defying their majesties. And then Bub cocked his fingers and made a shooting noise.
My heart shatters from the blow. My mind blinks furiously, trying to rid itself from the images.
I must do something. My husband walks through the door and my heart seizes once again. Why do I deserve this? What of those women whose husbands will never saunter in through the door again?
My husband went to synagogue this morning. I was juggling diapers, lunchbags, cereal boxes. An ordinary morning.
Wasn't yesterday?
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Why I Read "Little House on the Prairie" to My Sons
When my older sister Lara was eight years old, she loved the "Little House" books. In fact, she loved them so much, that she named her younger sister (me) after Laura's little sister, Carrie. Isn't it great to be named after the only character in the book that barely ever talks and has virtually no personality at all?
Thanks, Lar.
Anyway...Fast forward a couple dozen years until I was expecting my first child. Okay, I'll admit that part of my dream of raising children was snuggling up with them underneath a chenille blanket on the couch, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace, and reading them some of my childhood favorites. Pollyanna. Caddie Woodlawn. Ramona. And of course...the Little House books.
And then I had a boy.
Followed by another.
And another.
That's right -- three boys in a row. My dreams were dashed. I started tearing apart the library in search of any of my old favorites that were gender-neutral. The Redwall books? Too gory for my little guys. My Side of the Mountain? Too high-level, abstract. Still, I continued to take out some of my old faves, even checking out one of the Little House books on occasion. (After all, Mommies can't take out books from the grown-up sections very easily with three little ones in tow, can they?)
I don't remember why I first bit the bullet and started reading Little House in the Big Woods to my boys. I seem to remember I was at my wit's end that morning and needed something to entertain them with. After just a chapter, my boys were hooked. And so was I -- hooked on reading the whole series, chapter by chapter, to my kids. Here's why:
Thanks, Lar.
Anyway...Fast forward a couple dozen years until I was expecting my first child. Okay, I'll admit that part of my dream of raising children was snuggling up with them underneath a chenille blanket on the couch, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace, and reading them some of my childhood favorites. Pollyanna. Caddie Woodlawn. Ramona. And of course...the Little House books.
And then I had a boy.
Followed by another.
And another.
That's right -- three boys in a row. My dreams were dashed. I started tearing apart the library in search of any of my old favorites that were gender-neutral. The Redwall books? Too gory for my little guys. My Side of the Mountain? Too high-level, abstract. Still, I continued to take out some of my old faves, even checking out one of the Little House books on occasion. (After all, Mommies can't take out books from the grown-up sections very easily with three little ones in tow, can they?)
I don't remember why I first bit the bullet and started reading Little House in the Big Woods to my boys. I seem to remember I was at my wit's end that morning and needed something to entertain them with. After just a chapter, my boys were hooked. And so was I -- hooked on reading the whole series, chapter by chapter, to my kids. Here's why:
- The books are perfect for boys. All the parts that disgusted me as a kid -- the part where the used a pig's bladder as a ball to play catch with, the part where they disemboweled a bear and roasted the meat -- were prime "COOL!" moments for my boys.
- My then-five year old was shocked when we read about Laura's doll: a corncob wrapped in a piece of cloth. "That's her only toy," he kept on saying. "But Mommy, look at her face in the picture. She looks so happy!" And as we looked around our jam-packed playroom, we experienced a rare moment of appreciation for all that we have. And for the idea that "things" don't create happiness.
- Laura is mischievous, but not in the way that many main characters in today's books are. She's curious, she feels she's "bad" sometimes, but at the end of the day, she loves and respects her parents and wants to make them happy. Rare in today's children's books.
- The books paints a very real picture of siblings. Laura feels like Mary is always the good one, and she's both resentful and competitive because of it. For those of you who have read about my boys before, it's a feeling that they can both identify with.
- We've already read through Little House in the Big Woods, Farmer Boy, Little House on the Prairie, and half of On the Banks of Plum Creek. Laura and Mary are finally going to school. The boys are excited for them. Yes, actually excited for them.
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