On Saturday, I took Gwen to see her first movie theatre movie. I was so excited about this, and so was she - we'd been planning it for a full week. We went to see The Adventures of TinTin, which promised to be a rollicking good time full of pirate ships, car chases, plane rides, good guys, bad guys, pratfalls, physical humour, and one cute white dog. (Moreover, it was a tiny rebellion - in my own mind - against the countless Facebook statuses I've read lately about moms taking their daughters out to see Beauty and the Beast 3D, 'cause, y'know.)
The movie more than delivered on its promise, and having read the books as a kid I thoroughly enjoyed this very faithful vision. It was action packed and a very, very fun movie. Gwen, on the other hand ... well. I guess she isn't ready for the movie theatre experience. Problem #1: she is not heavy enough to properly weight down the movie theatre seat, and ends up being a bit squished, which aside from tempting her to constantly bounce the seat up and down (fun for everyone around, am I right?!), can't possibly be comfortable. Be that as it may, she didn't want a booster seat or to sit in my lap. Problem #2: WOW THAT WAS LOUD. As soon as the pre-show was over and the actual movie came on, I could tell she was quite uncomfortable with how loud it was. She was also pretty alarmed when the lights suddenly went off, but that didn't last long. Problem #3: About an hour or so into the movie, she just decided she'd had ENOUGH of this sitting down business, and proceeded to explore all the surrounding seats, sitting in each for a maximum of three minutes before getting up and trying another one.
The saving grace here is that we were in the very back row with no one else around us, so she wasn't bugging anyone except me. Also, by virtue of the fact that she is not quite four years old yet, she got in for free - so I didn't have to lament the loss of $9.75 while watching her frib around like a baboon on meth. And hey, ~I~ was enjoying myself, so WHATEVER, kid.
On the whole, though, I find I am hitting a brick wall with Gwen's behaviour. She pulled the same kind of stunts the next day at church, when it was WAY less cute. She refused to sit in one seat, wouldn't stay with either me or the other children, kept running up and down the aisles ... it was madness. I've put in a concerted effort in the past few weeks and have really truly learned and internalized the concept that yelling at Gwen does not yield the desired results. However ... I have nothing in my toolbox to use instead. In the case of church, I actually considered leaving, thinking that might get my message across; but as I mentioned in yesterday's photo post, I was part of a presentation that morning and so I couldn't just take off. The only privilege I've got to hold over her head is her bedtime story, and honestly - it's a pretty empty threat. I love our bedtime reading as much as she does, I'm just as loathe to call it off.
I'm planning to (re-)read this in the next week or so to come up with some better tools and strategies, because otherwise I'm just never going to leave the house with her again.
Showing posts with label parenting is hard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting is hard. Show all posts
Monday, February 6, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Woozy Snoozing
I enjoyed a lovely coffee date (well, hot chocolate date, actually) with a friend earlier this week and we shared stories of our Christmases. She told me about her young niece asking for - and receiving - a training bra, which caused us both to reflect on how eager children are to grow up, and how if they really understood what was waiting for them in the grown-up world, they might feel differently. I've said to dozens of people in the past weeks that Gwen's responses on Christmas were everything you would want a child to experience and say: "Oh, WOW! Just what I wanted! THANK YOU!" over and over again. So enthusiastic, so guileless. So effortlessly able to believe in magic.
Meanwhile, in the grown up world, we struggle with difficult decisions, we spend hours every day doing things that not only fail to feed our souls, but may actually grind them down, we worry about commutes and paycheques and time management and relationships and priorities and investments and the price of gas, not to mention the new depression, global warming, media saturation, discipline methods, and the public education system. To name a few.
But you, sweet child, keep sleeping. Keep dreaming of rocketships and fairies and robots and cupcakes and a world full of adventure. Don't hurry too fast towards that grown up world. Let's just stay here and snooze a little longer.
Meanwhile, in the grown up world, we struggle with difficult decisions, we spend hours every day doing things that not only fail to feed our souls, but may actually grind them down, we worry about commutes and paycheques and time management and relationships and priorities and investments and the price of gas, not to mention the new depression, global warming, media saturation, discipline methods, and the public education system. To name a few.
But you, sweet child, keep sleeping. Keep dreaming of rocketships and fairies and robots and cupcakes and a world full of adventure. Don't hurry too fast towards that grown up world. Let's just stay here and snooze a little longer.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Mama's Girl
Another week, another complete lack of posts. Bah. I'm working on it. The thing is, I am burning through my schoolwork faster than I thought, which is exciting and motivating, and I don't want to lose the momentum. So that's where my "free" (as in, not at work and not actively parenting) time is going.
I've been thinking about parental favouritism lately. I remember reading Linda's heart-wrenching posts about her son Riley, who would show his preference for his father in definitive and sometimes violent ways. Linda, naturally, was an emotional wreck in these instances. She also talked about how it wasn't any easier on her husband, who sometimes wanted a damn break, or was busy doing other things when Riley demanded his attention/interaction, shunning his entirely available mother. I remember feeling so sad for Linda, and being sure that the phase would pass - which, of course, it did.
When Gwen was an infant, a stage I remember with all the angst and blurriness of a trauma survivor, she was all about Mama. I was often the only one who could calm her screaming, and I remember how exhausting that was. I remember how hard it was on Chris to feel rejected all the time, and I remember telling him that it wasn't personal, that the bond would improve with time and that for now, we just had to do whatever we had to do to get some silence, some sleep.
We're going through the same thing again, now. Gwen often wants nothing to do with Chris, and will harshly tell him, "No, Dada, you GO AWAY!" When I am cooking dinner and ask her to go get her bib, she brings it back to me - walking right past her dad - and wants me to help her put it on. I tell her that Dada can help her, and she wails as if I've just taken away a toy: "No, MAMA help me!" Meanwhile I'm trying to stir dinner and slice veggies and pour her milk and whatever else, and Chris is sitting RIGHT THERE waiting to help her.
There are other incidents, too, not nearly so unpleasant (from my perspective). Gwen has just learned the phrase, "Want to play with me?" and she asks it every day. If I can possibly say yes, I do, and I let her set the activity and the pace of the play. Lots of times, "play with me," just means sitting down at her level, watching what she is doing and commenting on it. Or she will hand me one of what she is playing with - a block, for example, or a puzzle piece - and announce that it's "Mama's turn". These are very pleasant interludes, as you can imagine. It's fascinating to watch her imagination work and to feel included, even welcomed, in her world.
But then I started to notice that she doesn't extend that invitation to Chris nearly as often. When I gently encouraged her to do so, there was a bit of resistance - she did capitulate, but I don't think it was her first choice. And it started me wondering - how much responsibility do I, as the currently favoured parent, have to try and alter the dynamic?
I know part of this is habit, too. I think it's a phase at this age (though, given my own OCD tendencies, there may be more long-term effects as well) to thrive on pattern and routine. Gwen is definitely showing signs of struggle around transitions, and can be incredibly emotional and volatile at those times, breaking into tears and tantrums quite easily. Last week over dinner, the three of us discussed Gwen's post-dinner bathing, and we agreed that Gwen and Mama would have a shower together. When Gwen was in the bathroom getting ready for her shower and Chris came in, Gwen responded very emotionally: "NO, Dada, YOU GO AWAY! Only MAMA!" While I'm sure Chris was very hurt by this, I attribute this outburst to the fact that Gwen interpreted his presence there as a change in the plan: we agreed one thing, and now we were (seemingly) doing another. Given her narrow understanding of the world and her limited communication, I can understand her outburst.
So if I've helped her with her bib the past three nights, and now I suggest that Dada helps her, I am altering her routine and she is thrown off by that. If I'm the one who usually greets her in the mornings and one day Chris goes in, he's not likely to get a warm welcome. If she views something as a pattern or routine, she does not easily adjust to changes within that. As I said - part of that is a developmental stage, part of it may be her personality. And again, I come back to: how much responsibility do we as parents have to alter that, to help her cope better with changes?
I've been thinking about parental favouritism lately. I remember reading Linda's heart-wrenching posts about her son Riley, who would show his preference for his father in definitive and sometimes violent ways. Linda, naturally, was an emotional wreck in these instances. She also talked about how it wasn't any easier on her husband, who sometimes wanted a damn break, or was busy doing other things when Riley demanded his attention/interaction, shunning his entirely available mother. I remember feeling so sad for Linda, and being sure that the phase would pass - which, of course, it did.
When Gwen was an infant, a stage I remember with all the angst and blurriness of a trauma survivor, she was all about Mama. I was often the only one who could calm her screaming, and I remember how exhausting that was. I remember how hard it was on Chris to feel rejected all the time, and I remember telling him that it wasn't personal, that the bond would improve with time and that for now, we just had to do whatever we had to do to get some silence, some sleep.
We're going through the same thing again, now. Gwen often wants nothing to do with Chris, and will harshly tell him, "No, Dada, you GO AWAY!" When I am cooking dinner and ask her to go get her bib, she brings it back to me - walking right past her dad - and wants me to help her put it on. I tell her that Dada can help her, and she wails as if I've just taken away a toy: "No, MAMA help me!" Meanwhile I'm trying to stir dinner and slice veggies and pour her milk and whatever else, and Chris is sitting RIGHT THERE waiting to help her.
There are other incidents, too, not nearly so unpleasant (from my perspective). Gwen has just learned the phrase, "Want to play with me?" and she asks it every day. If I can possibly say yes, I do, and I let her set the activity and the pace of the play. Lots of times, "play with me," just means sitting down at her level, watching what she is doing and commenting on it. Or she will hand me one of what she is playing with - a block, for example, or a puzzle piece - and announce that it's "Mama's turn". These are very pleasant interludes, as you can imagine. It's fascinating to watch her imagination work and to feel included, even welcomed, in her world.
But then I started to notice that she doesn't extend that invitation to Chris nearly as often. When I gently encouraged her to do so, there was a bit of resistance - she did capitulate, but I don't think it was her first choice. And it started me wondering - how much responsibility do I, as the currently favoured parent, have to try and alter the dynamic?
I know part of this is habit, too. I think it's a phase at this age (though, given my own OCD tendencies, there may be more long-term effects as well) to thrive on pattern and routine. Gwen is definitely showing signs of struggle around transitions, and can be incredibly emotional and volatile at those times, breaking into tears and tantrums quite easily. Last week over dinner, the three of us discussed Gwen's post-dinner bathing, and we agreed that Gwen and Mama would have a shower together. When Gwen was in the bathroom getting ready for her shower and Chris came in, Gwen responded very emotionally: "NO, Dada, YOU GO AWAY! Only MAMA!" While I'm sure Chris was very hurt by this, I attribute this outburst to the fact that Gwen interpreted his presence there as a change in the plan: we agreed one thing, and now we were (seemingly) doing another. Given her narrow understanding of the world and her limited communication, I can understand her outburst.
So if I've helped her with her bib the past three nights, and now I suggest that Dada helps her, I am altering her routine and she is thrown off by that. If I'm the one who usually greets her in the mornings and one day Chris goes in, he's not likely to get a warm welcome. If she views something as a pattern or routine, she does not easily adjust to changes within that. As I said - part of that is a developmental stage, part of it may be her personality. And again, I come back to: how much responsibility do we as parents have to alter that, to help her cope better with changes?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Little Miss Ill-Mannered
Chris and I are working really hard to teach Gwen manners. To be honest, we've been working on that for a long, long time. And there is no end in sight. I had no idea it would be this much work: she is a smart kid, she picks things up in a hurry. But apparently learning to recognize the appropriate use of "please" is very different from learning to recognize a dog and identify the noise it makes.
And let me just say right now: Thank you, Mom and Dad. Thank you, Chris's Mom and Dad. Thank you so much for spending what I can only conclude added up to years of your lives, reminding us over and over and over to say Please and Thank You. We are better people because of you. If you think you might get some joy out of watching us go through the same struggle ... well, please read on.
So. Gwen has known the words Please and Thank You for quite some time now. She learned the sign for Please before she was even verbal, so that was well over a year ago. I suppose it's stupid of me to expect that once she knew the word and what it meant, she would just use it every time. This is an actual conversation that takes place in our house about ten frajillion times a day:
Mama: Gwen, do you want a snack?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Would you like an apple, or a banana?
Gwen: Apple.
Mama: Apple, please.
Gwen: Apple, please.
Mama: Would you like some crackers, too?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Repeat, repeat, repeat. Gwen's Uncle Mikey was barely able to contain his giggles when he was treated to the following piece of performance art a few weeks ago on our Circle Tour:
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
It probably went on for about 20 more rounds before I just said, "Gwen, do you want this cookie? Yes, please," in response to which she said, "Yes, please," and I got to give her the damn cookie and get on with my life. To make matters worse, that "Yuh" which is her default response is so maddeningly rude and ignorant-sounding. It's kind of drawn-out and has a bit of an upward inflection at the end, so it sounds kind of like a sarcastic teenager responding to a question s/he can't BELIEVE you were stupid enough to ask, like DUH, of COURSE there were lobsters at the birth of our Lord. I get to listen to that intonation hundreds of times a day. It does not put me in a happy mood.
Similarly, if you offer her something she does not want, the response is "NO," said with the same "How could you be so ignorant as to offer me that?" inflection. You can almost see her eyes rolling. Sometimes she actually gets a bit enraged that we have been so inconsiderate, and we find ourselves backpedalling madly. "Okay, Gwen, it's okay, you don't HAVE to have a banana, we were just asking. Hey, wait a second - all you have to say is No, Thank You. It's actually YOU who have no manners, not us!"
(We don't actually say that last part, but it is OH SO TRUE.)
The weekend before last, Chris was away at a martial arts seminar and so I spent the entire time with Gwen and no backup. This was actually quite different from the time we spent together on our trip because there were no other friends or family to distract us: just Mama and Gwen, hanging out for two and a half days. And after two and a half days of her imperious demands and complete disregard for manners, I was completely drained. She's impulsive, controlling, has no regard for others and absolutely no patience for Her Will Not Being Done. PLUS she's emotionally unstable. I felt like I'd spent sixty hours with an abusive person - one who doesn't even have the good graces to manipulate you with subtlety and charm. She's just balls-out RUDE. And I know she doesn't mean to be, but it just wears you down, you know? Living with this tiny person and her huge demands. Reminding her eleventy-katrillion times a day to say Please and Thank You and feeling like you're talking to a void because two seconds later she will need to be reminded again.
Only, once in a while all the wheels in her head turn at the right time and she suddenly says, "I'd like some milk please, Mama," and it is honestly like the heavens open up and the sun beams down and the angels sing and there is nothing I would rather do than go get her a glass of milk. And I tell her a dozen times how nice it was to hear those beautiful manners, and thank her, and kiss her and pat her on the back, and praise the everlovin' snot out of her (oh, if only) and give her the milk and ask her if she'd like some crackers and she says, "Yuh," and I want to put my head through a wall.
Just one more example of her advanced language skills biting her (well, me) in the ass as I expect her manners to be at the same level as the rest of her speech. But I guess manners are a pretty challenging thing to learn. They're so vague and intangible. Why else would a child be able to put together a sentence like "The mommy is pushing the baby in the stroller," and then say, "Want a SNACK!" Both are observations, why does one need these extra niceties like Please? No wonder it's confusing.
We plug away at it. Other people seem to think her manners are pretty good: they see the puppet, not the strings (or the exhausted, exasperated puppeteer parents who can cajole "Say PLEASE," even while fast asleep or involved in a separate conversation twelve feet away or both). So I guess we're on the right track and it'll all fall into place eventually ...
...please?
And let me just say right now: Thank you, Mom and Dad. Thank you, Chris's Mom and Dad. Thank you so much for spending what I can only conclude added up to years of your lives, reminding us over and over and over to say Please and Thank You. We are better people because of you. If you think you might get some joy out of watching us go through the same struggle ... well, please read on.
So. Gwen has known the words Please and Thank You for quite some time now. She learned the sign for Please before she was even verbal, so that was well over a year ago. I suppose it's stupid of me to expect that once she knew the word and what it meant, she would just use it every time. This is an actual conversation that takes place in our house about ten frajillion times a day:
Mama: Gwen, do you want a snack?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Would you like an apple, or a banana?
Gwen: Apple.
Mama: Apple, please.
Gwen: Apple, please.
Mama: Would you like some crackers, too?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Repeat, repeat, repeat. Gwen's Uncle Mikey was barely able to contain his giggles when he was treated to the following piece of performance art a few weeks ago on our Circle Tour:
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
Mama: Gwen, do you want this cookie?
Gwen: Yuh.
Mama: Yes, please.
Gwen: Yes, please.
It probably went on for about 20 more rounds before I just said, "Gwen, do you want this cookie? Yes, please," in response to which she said, "Yes, please," and I got to give her the damn cookie and get on with my life. To make matters worse, that "Yuh" which is her default response is so maddeningly rude and ignorant-sounding. It's kind of drawn-out and has a bit of an upward inflection at the end, so it sounds kind of like a sarcastic teenager responding to a question s/he can't BELIEVE you were stupid enough to ask, like DUH, of COURSE there were lobsters at the birth of our Lord. I get to listen to that intonation hundreds of times a day. It does not put me in a happy mood.
Similarly, if you offer her something she does not want, the response is "NO," said with the same "How could you be so ignorant as to offer me that?" inflection. You can almost see her eyes rolling. Sometimes she actually gets a bit enraged that we have been so inconsiderate, and we find ourselves backpedalling madly. "Okay, Gwen, it's okay, you don't HAVE to have a banana, we were just asking. Hey, wait a second - all you have to say is No, Thank You. It's actually YOU who have no manners, not us!"
(We don't actually say that last part, but it is OH SO TRUE.)
The weekend before last, Chris was away at a martial arts seminar and so I spent the entire time with Gwen and no backup. This was actually quite different from the time we spent together on our trip because there were no other friends or family to distract us: just Mama and Gwen, hanging out for two and a half days. And after two and a half days of her imperious demands and complete disregard for manners, I was completely drained. She's impulsive, controlling, has no regard for others and absolutely no patience for Her Will Not Being Done. PLUS she's emotionally unstable. I felt like I'd spent sixty hours with an abusive person - one who doesn't even have the good graces to manipulate you with subtlety and charm. She's just balls-out RUDE. And I know she doesn't mean to be, but it just wears you down, you know? Living with this tiny person and her huge demands. Reminding her eleventy-katrillion times a day to say Please and Thank You and feeling like you're talking to a void because two seconds later she will need to be reminded again.
Only, once in a while all the wheels in her head turn at the right time and she suddenly says, "I'd like some milk please, Mama," and it is honestly like the heavens open up and the sun beams down and the angels sing and there is nothing I would rather do than go get her a glass of milk. And I tell her a dozen times how nice it was to hear those beautiful manners, and thank her, and kiss her and pat her on the back, and praise the everlovin' snot out of her (oh, if only) and give her the milk and ask her if she'd like some crackers and she says, "Yuh," and I want to put my head through a wall.
Just one more example of her advanced language skills biting her (well, me) in the ass as I expect her manners to be at the same level as the rest of her speech. But I guess manners are a pretty challenging thing to learn. They're so vague and intangible. Why else would a child be able to put together a sentence like "The mommy is pushing the baby in the stroller," and then say, "Want a SNACK!" Both are observations, why does one need these extra niceties like Please? No wonder it's confusing.
We plug away at it. Other people seem to think her manners are pretty good: they see the puppet, not the strings (or the exhausted, exasperated puppeteer parents who can cajole "Say PLEASE," even while fast asleep or involved in a separate conversation twelve feet away or both). So I guess we're on the right track and it'll all fall into place eventually ...
...please?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
T-minus three days until TWO
And last night we had our first really truly oh-THAT'S-what-they're-talking-about temper tantrum. I thought I knew what tantrums were, but I was wrong. And I do have the feeling that this is just a sneak peek of what's to come.
Yesterday Gwen spent the day at Gramma's. The unfortunate truth is that she does not nap when she's at Gramma's (or when she's at home in Gramma's care). I have made my peace with this and I will tell you right upfront that Gramma is doing everything right. Gwen only naps about 50-75% of the time when she's under our care, as well. If it wasn't for the fact that naps still happen 100% of the time at Denise's, I'd think she was weaning off the nap altogether, but it's just not random enough to be a true change in sleep habits.
When Gwen doesn't nap at home, it doesn't actually cause too big a wrench in the plans. We might put her to bed half an hour early, but life largely goes on as before. However, Gramma lives half an hour away, which is juuuuust enough time for an overtired toddler to be lulled to sleep on the drive home. And then, of course, she wakes up at the end of the drive - about 5pm, two hours before bedtime proper - and is disoriented, exhausted, out of sorts and either listless or hyper. Perfect conditions for a temper tantrum.
It was 6:40pm and Gwen and I were in her room, trying to wind down before bedtime. The usual routine is a couple of stories, but if she'd rather play with her toys I am fine with that too. Last night, she was all about the toys. I kept asking "would you like a story before bed?" and she would cheerfully say "nope!" and continue playing. Then I said, "Alright, it's time to turn off the light," and she lost her mind and wailed "STOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYY!" So, I calmed her down and encouraged her to ask nicely (because that's our rule, she has to ask nicely for something, not get it directly after a whine or fit or whatever) so she sniffily asked "Story please," and I said, "Alright, which story would you like?" but now she's been distracted by some other toy so she didn't pick a story and then I said, "do you want a story?" and we started all over again.
After doing this four times she actually got so upset that she flung herself backwards on the floor, not realizing that she was close to the wall and she whanged her head on the baseboard heater. I felt so bad for her, not only for the physical pain but also for that feeling of being so overwhelmed by your emotions that you just can't physically control yourself. Sometimes the true depth of how alike she and I are just slams into me, and the empathy I feel when she is hurt or upset or frustrated is so keen, so beyond what I feel on behalf of any other person, that it cuts through me like a laser. Sometimes I am able to use that empathy as a very powerful tool, and last night was one of those times.
I picked her up and rocked her, humming a weird little tune that Chris made up when she was a colicky infant, which always seems to calm her down. I cooed soothing little encouragements into her ear as she cried and shook with rage and pain. "Oh, I know, it hurts. I know. Take deep breaths, settle down, that's it." At some point during this I did turn off the light, having abandoned the idea of a story. As she started to settle down, I told her some important things. I told her that I understood how frustrated and angry she'd gotten, and that she'd probably also gotten scared by the power of those emotions. I told her that it was absolutely okay for her to feel all those things, and that she would always be safe here with Mama and Dada - that we would always love her no matter what emotions she felt. I told her that everybody feels that way sometimes but that it will always go away and we will feel better eventually.
We cuddled for a while and then continued with our bedtime routine: prayers, songs, being tucked into bed. Chris was in awe: 30 minutes earlier he'd watched a crazy hyper child enter the bedroom; 10 minutes after that he heard repeated shrieks and arguing, followed climactically by a crash and a howl of pain; and now the child was in bed, calm and content and ready to sleep. I felt like Miracle Mom.
If there is one trap I fall into in parenting, it's the temptation to fix all Gwen's problems for her. This manifests not only in giving in to her whining or shrieking, but also in not allowing her to see something she might want if she's not allowed to have it. For example, if I go out to the car to get something while Gwen is playing inside, she will want to go outside - and then stay and play outside for half an hour. If that's not convenient, because dinner is about to be served or whatever other reason, I would just tend to not go out to the car - I would try to delay my trip to a time when Gwen won't be watching, so that I won't have to tell her she can't go outside.
Sometimes that's appropriate, sometimes it makes me feel like I'm a prisoner to some insane dictator. I'm starting to realize that it's okay to say no, that I don't have to rearrange my whole life around avoiding saying it. Last night was another example.
I don't think I have all the answers figured out, but I want to record what happened and how it felt and what I learned, so I can think on it for next time. I am proud that I stayed calm and let her emotions (ie, need to be comforted) be more important than my own (ie, impatience to get her to bed). I think the naming of her emotions is a powerful tool for both of us. And the most important thing, I think, was that I showed her that she was still very loved even though I did not give her what she wanted (a story). I will be continuing to reflect that my job is to teach her how to deal with her emotions, not to just resolve her emotions for her.
I really felt like a good mom last night. Hopefully nights like that will build up some good karma for the times when I get it wrong.
Yesterday Gwen spent the day at Gramma's. The unfortunate truth is that she does not nap when she's at Gramma's (or when she's at home in Gramma's care). I have made my peace with this and I will tell you right upfront that Gramma is doing everything right. Gwen only naps about 50-75% of the time when she's under our care, as well. If it wasn't for the fact that naps still happen 100% of the time at Denise's, I'd think she was weaning off the nap altogether, but it's just not random enough to be a true change in sleep habits.
When Gwen doesn't nap at home, it doesn't actually cause too big a wrench in the plans. We might put her to bed half an hour early, but life largely goes on as before. However, Gramma lives half an hour away, which is juuuuust enough time for an overtired toddler to be lulled to sleep on the drive home. And then, of course, she wakes up at the end of the drive - about 5pm, two hours before bedtime proper - and is disoriented, exhausted, out of sorts and either listless or hyper. Perfect conditions for a temper tantrum.
It was 6:40pm and Gwen and I were in her room, trying to wind down before bedtime. The usual routine is a couple of stories, but if she'd rather play with her toys I am fine with that too. Last night, she was all about the toys. I kept asking "would you like a story before bed?" and she would cheerfully say "nope!" and continue playing. Then I said, "Alright, it's time to turn off the light," and she lost her mind and wailed "STOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYY!" So, I calmed her down and encouraged her to ask nicely (because that's our rule, she has to ask nicely for something, not get it directly after a whine or fit or whatever) so she sniffily asked "Story please," and I said, "Alright, which story would you like?" but now she's been distracted by some other toy so she didn't pick a story and then I said, "do you want a story?" and we started all over again.
After doing this four times she actually got so upset that she flung herself backwards on the floor, not realizing that she was close to the wall and she whanged her head on the baseboard heater. I felt so bad for her, not only for the physical pain but also for that feeling of being so overwhelmed by your emotions that you just can't physically control yourself. Sometimes the true depth of how alike she and I are just slams into me, and the empathy I feel when she is hurt or upset or frustrated is so keen, so beyond what I feel on behalf of any other person, that it cuts through me like a laser. Sometimes I am able to use that empathy as a very powerful tool, and last night was one of those times.
I picked her up and rocked her, humming a weird little tune that Chris made up when she was a colicky infant, which always seems to calm her down. I cooed soothing little encouragements into her ear as she cried and shook with rage and pain. "Oh, I know, it hurts. I know. Take deep breaths, settle down, that's it." At some point during this I did turn off the light, having abandoned the idea of a story. As she started to settle down, I told her some important things. I told her that I understood how frustrated and angry she'd gotten, and that she'd probably also gotten scared by the power of those emotions. I told her that it was absolutely okay for her to feel all those things, and that she would always be safe here with Mama and Dada - that we would always love her no matter what emotions she felt. I told her that everybody feels that way sometimes but that it will always go away and we will feel better eventually.
We cuddled for a while and then continued with our bedtime routine: prayers, songs, being tucked into bed. Chris was in awe: 30 minutes earlier he'd watched a crazy hyper child enter the bedroom; 10 minutes after that he heard repeated shrieks and arguing, followed climactically by a crash and a howl of pain; and now the child was in bed, calm and content and ready to sleep. I felt like Miracle Mom.
If there is one trap I fall into in parenting, it's the temptation to fix all Gwen's problems for her. This manifests not only in giving in to her whining or shrieking, but also in not allowing her to see something she might want if she's not allowed to have it. For example, if I go out to the car to get something while Gwen is playing inside, she will want to go outside - and then stay and play outside for half an hour. If that's not convenient, because dinner is about to be served or whatever other reason, I would just tend to not go out to the car - I would try to delay my trip to a time when Gwen won't be watching, so that I won't have to tell her she can't go outside.
Sometimes that's appropriate, sometimes it makes me feel like I'm a prisoner to some insane dictator. I'm starting to realize that it's okay to say no, that I don't have to rearrange my whole life around avoiding saying it. Last night was another example.
I don't think I have all the answers figured out, but I want to record what happened and how it felt and what I learned, so I can think on it for next time. I am proud that I stayed calm and let her emotions (ie, need to be comforted) be more important than my own (ie, impatience to get her to bed). I think the naming of her emotions is a powerful tool for both of us. And the most important thing, I think, was that I showed her that she was still very loved even though I did not give her what she wanted (a story). I will be continuing to reflect that my job is to teach her how to deal with her emotions, not to just resolve her emotions for her.
I really felt like a good mom last night. Hopefully nights like that will build up some good karma for the times when I get it wrong.
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