Day 85: Let's Share

Sometimes there are things that are so ingrained in me I don't even notice them. And a competitive view of the world is definitely one of these things. Lately I've been noticing that it's really colored the way I help Jackson approach ownership and sharing with his friends.

For all the effort I put into helping him find his voice and assert himself, I forgot to balance it with a hefty helping of encouragement toward cooperative play. So now when he's approached by another child who wants something he has, his first reaction is to stand his ground. And now as his playmates are coming out of the parallel play stage and getting ready for cooperative play, the gap is becoming obvious.

So I'm commencing project Play Together. Instead of helping him hold on to things and assert that he's going to finish before offering a turn to a friend, I'm going to focus on helping him find ways to play with the child who's wanting to take the toy for himself. We both need to recognize that we don't have to choose between "me" or "you" and start appreciating all the great things that come from "us."

I think the base of confidence he has to work with will make this a fairly smooth transition, and I'm excited to see all the ways he comes up with to talk about and practice cooperative play.

Day 69: Change of Heart, Change of Plans

Consistency is all you ever seem to hear parenting "experts" preaching. So much so that it's all you hear from other parents now too. In my default state, I thrive on this because it's so black and white. You make a statement, you follow through. You set a boundary, you enforce it every time. This kind of consistency should make life pretty simple.

But relationships aren't simple, and parenting is nothing of not a relationship.

This morning Jackson crumbled his favorite "sour bread" (soaked goat kefir bread) all over the counter. I was in no mood. So without asking him why (or caring) I just barked the order, "Clean it up, please."

Recently he's picked up on his own that offering an explanation, even when I don't take the time to ask, is really helpful for our communication, so he does this pretty regularly. He must have realized that when he explained, I was more receptive and appreciated his creativity rather than simply getting annoyed by the mess.

So he took the time to respectfully tell me that he was crumbling salt on the sidewalk so Pooh (aka Jackson) and Roo (aka Maxwell) didn't slip. Unfortunately for him, my response wasn't consistent with much of his past experience. Instead of offering him the same respectful communication in return, I patronized him with, "That's great, honey. But it needs to get cleaned up right now, please."

Now as any mother of a two-year-old knows, "right now" can have any number of definitions. In hindsight, I'm sure he was doing it "right now" at a much slower pace than I expected. In my heightened state of annoyance and reactivity, I threw out a threat (disguised, of course, as a natural consequence, but a threat nonetheless): "You can't have any smoothie until the bread is cleaned up."

And as threats always do, it blew up in my face.

He felt my resistance and anger even though I wasn't "yelling," and he decided he didn't want to participate. So in a sweet voice he said, "Okay. I don't want any smoothie." Then he hopped off his chair and headed for his playroom.

You can imagine how pissed off I was standing there by myslef staring down the bread crumbs all over the counter. Not that it would take more than a second to clean them up, but the principle...the principle!

And when I say the principle, what I really mean is that I had set up a competitive backdrop for this interaction and he had won, which of course meant I had lost. I don't like losing.

Obviously I wasn't in a good state of mind leading up to this, so for a while I clung to "consistency." But when I had a chance to cool down and gain some perspective (bread crumbs...really? And you're withholding a seaweed smoothie? C'mon...), I realized that I want my children to experience a different kind of consistency.

I want to be consistently loving and respectful and to consistently meet their needs, and this requires me to be consistently flexible. This doesn't mean becoming a doormat or caving each time I've set a boundary - somethings, like gentle touches and respectful words are non-negotiable. But it does mean being willing to honor a change of heart.

If the boundary I set wasn't respectful to both of us or if it becomes unnecessary or inappropriate, a midstream change of plans is absolutely called for.

After cleaning the crumbs myself, I eventually joined Jackson upstairs and apologized. I explained why I reacted the way I did and how it should have been different. And I acknowledged that the boundary I set was a mistake and no longer in place. A hug, a kiss and "I forgive you, Mommy" and we were on our way downstairs to share a smoothie. And when we got to the kitchen he noticed, "Mommy, you cleaned up the bread for me. Thank you."

What he learned with this change of plans was so much more valuable than anything cold, hard consistency would have shown him. I'm thankful for my son's willingness to accept a change of heart and move on.

Day 52: White-Knuckle Parenting

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

One of the things this project is helping me realize is that white-knuckle parenting works about as well as white-knuckle sobriety.

If you've ever loved an addict, you know first-hand what I mean. There's believable determination, a promise to do better, that this time will be different, only to be followed up by an inevitable relapse, another disappointment. Trust is shattered along with your dreams of a better life, and you find yourself right back where you started, maybe even farther down.

Sheer will power is no way to make a change in life. But it's where I've directed so much of my energy over the years. Coming out of a typical childhood where the operative word is simply "obey," I wasn't well-versed in other options. Will power was how I approached everything, as if life was one big pre-vacation diet. If only it were that simple.

When it comes down to it, will power is just another way of saying fight. In a competitive view of the world, will power makes sense - white-knuckle parenting and sobriety for that matter make sense. If everything is a competition with a winner and a loser, all you have to do is fight hard enough to be the winner.

But as my worldview has expanded, I've come to question this philosophy that pits me against everyone and everything in my life, this outlook that is outrageously self-centered. Who wants to go through life fighting? I've seen those people, and they don't look happy. They struggle through relationships (the ones that survive, that is), their guard never comes down, they never get to just rest and be at peace. I've been that person, and I wasn't happy.

Life isn't a competition. No one has to lose so I can win. When I fall back into this default view, I set myself up for all the things I desperately want to avoid, especially as a wife and a mother; power struggles, intimidation, coercion, disrespect, a search for the win at any cost - at anyone's cost. And when I try to use will power to change these things, I only feed that competitive nature. 

In a relationship-centered world, cooperation, not competition, is the name of the game. Instead of looking for win-lose, you look for win-win (forgive the cliche, but there are no simpler term to describe it). The goal isn't to come out on top, it's to find a way to reach the top together. It's a radical change that will power can't provide.

Will power will, in fact, sabotage the effort to change because it's inherently opposed to meeting needs. And this is exactly why white-knuckle parenting, like white-knuckle sobriety, is always doomed to failure. Will power requires you to ignore your needs in order to make a behavioral (read: surface) change. It's an effort to make a change from the outside in, when true change can only come from the inside out.

So I will just say no. But not to my behavior. To the competition I've set up with my defaults, to the internal power struggle.

As I accept that my children's behaviors are expressions of need, I'll extend the same understanding to myself. Getting to the root of undesirable behaviors in myself is a little scary, but not as scary as lifetime of fighting them.

Day 5: When You Win, I Win

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
Jackson is newly DVD obsessed. This was a tough one to log under the negative-into-a-positive category. I like to do things "right", and a two year old watching DVDs isn't right in a black and white world. Before Max came along, I could do almost everything right, and that meant Jackson had no screen time whatsoever before he turned two. Once I started trying to juggle two kids along with running a household and working from home, I ran out of options. I couldn't give him my undivided attention or fill his day with child-centered outings anymore, nor could I expect him to entertain himself for hours on end.

Cinderella's ball gown

It started innocently enough. We would only watch a DVD if Mommy had to work longer than 45 minutes. Then we hit a rough patch with naps and we added 'when his body needed to stay restful and Mommy couldn't sit and read books' to the parameters. Then it turned into a way to keep him occupied while I put Max down for a nap, and before you know it we're watching Cinderella almost daily. Only Cinderella, by the way. Don't try to suggest anything different, he's not interested. It's a hard pill to swallow, but it's where we're at. Having two children, especially this close together means that sometimes we do what we have to do to get through the day, not what's ideal.

The positive is he's not satisfied with plopping on the couch. He draws while he watches, he talks to Gus Gus and Jaq (I'm proud to say I know it's spelled that way because we also read the book, haha!), or he cooks while it's on. The other positive is that he's able to use it as a framework for imaginative play. He's constantly pretending we're the step sisters and Max is Cinderella, or that we're Jaq and Gus and Max is Lucifer the cat. Or that a homer hanky is "Cinderella's beauuuutiful ball gown." Just like with books, he can take elements of the story and create his own version.

The DVD is no substitute for independent play or interaction with me, which he still gets plenty of, but it's not ruining his life either. At least he isn't getting sucked into becoming a screen zombie, even if it is on more than I'd like.

I will choose acceptance over resistance.
With Max in the sling, I pushed the car seat on the stroller with one hand and held Jackson's hand in the other as we walked through Target. He had found a foam sword in the $1 section at the front of the store, and I decided it was a dollar worth spending to keep him occupied while we shopped sans cart.

We miraculously made it all the way across the store without incident when we came to the toilet paper aisle. There I saw a large section of empty, ground-level shelving next to the Charmin. There he saw a veritable wonderland with bears to talk to while they watched him...excuse me...while they watched "the King and the Grand Duke" play with a sword. (Why yes, that is another Cinderella reference.) I let him play while I agonized over a toilet paper, then a kleenex purchase before coming to him to explain it was time to go. This is where the struggle of wills usually begins.

I explained why we needed to keep moving, that Grandma DeGia was going to be waiting for us at our house, that we couldn't take our sword home until we paid for it, things I thought might internally motivate him to come instead of imposing it on him. No such luck today.

So do I drag him to the front by the hand crying? Maybe if I pick him up and carry him it won't be so bad. He's not so big, maybe he can still fit in the infant car seat...

When I stopped trying to devise a way to force him into what I wanted him to do, it dawned on me... Maybe he can tell me what he needs before he's ready to leave. So I asked. Turns out he needed to say goodbye to the bears before he ended their picnic, and he needed to be assured we would go see the leprechaun on our way out (he gets a kick out of walking down the cereal aisle to check out the Lucky Charms box). It was that simple this time.

So instead of resisting him and subjecting the store to a tantrum and him to the trauma of being deprived of power over his own body and life, I got to accept that he had needs that were as valid as my need to leave the store and meet them. Through the cooperative lenses I try to put on over my black and white eyes, this is an obvious example of how meeting everyone's needs is possible and doesn't require sacrificing the "win." Even through my competitive default lenses that say when one person gets what they want the other loses, I'd still call this one a win-win!

I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.

If we stayed home for all of Max's naps and Jackson's nap, we would never leave the house. Until recently, Max could sleep in a sling pretty much anywhere, but it seems this is slowly changing. At best he'll fall asleep after we're out for 30-60 minutes, which usually means he only gets to sleep a very short time before he's woken up to go back in his car seat and head home.

This is quite inconvenient since a tired baby isn't all that much fun. But I will instead focus on the fact that he is giving us a window into his developing personality. He's curious, engaged and loves to observe. He's learning as he watches and listens, and he wants to be an active participant in his world. At four months, these are very cool qualities.

I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.
I often have to stand face to face with my past mistakes because I'm the mother of a child who never forgets. Literally, never forgets. In the past I've let this be another catalyst for beating myself up and feeding the cycle. Today I celebrated. 


In the middle of a happy and peaceful breakfast, with no prompting at all Jackson suddenly blurted out, "Mommy, something happened when someone yelled at me." So I asked, "Who yelled at you?" and got the dreaded but expected answer: "Mommy." I followed up with the obvious, "What happened when Mommy yelled at you?" And was met with the even more horrific, but still expected, "I felt scared." 


Now I know he gets scared when I yell, even though he doesn't act like it in the moment (heck I get scared when I yell) and we've talked about it and I've apologized after every single time it has happened. But there was something about the spontaneity of this pronouncement that cut me to the core like never before. That those feelings stick for so long and are so pervasive that they effect him days and weeks later is sobering. 


The celebration came after the devastation passed. He trusted me enough to tell me. He trusted me to understand and honor the way I made him feel, not blow it off as something in the past or something that didn't matter. He trusted me to be able to handle hearing something honest about myself and respond with love and acceptance. And he followed up his observation with the declaration: "Mommy would never hurt me, and she loves me even when she's angry. I'm always safe with Mommy." I can only hope that he internalizes those words along with the fear that I've caused, and that I can internalize the lesson he taught me today. This will be a catalyst for change, not for wallowing in self-hatred.