Who's your Mommy?

This January has brought on a new page in the book of Grace. The page of sassiness, of unwillingness, of fold-your-arms-in-front-of-you-and-glare-at-your-mommy-ness. A bit of history: for Grace’s first year, we responded to Grace’s cries, gave her a lot of freedom, and tried to meet her physical and emotional needs so that she would develop a strong sense of being cared for. Then she became a toddler and needed more boundaries than that. Every so often (sometimes too late) we tightened the reigns and helped build boundaries to guide her. Eventually (probably with the advent of Natalie when Grace was almost two years old) we added some direct discipline techniques that have been our lifesavers ever since: the timeout and the “do it before I count to three or I will make you/do it for you.”

But now Grace is three and a half, and I am realizing that there is an expiration date on both of these methods. It hit me like a Mack truck the day I struggled teaching a difficult boy in Sunday School that there is an age when I won’t physically be able to make my kids do something, or force them to sit in a timeout. I knew I needed more ammunition.

I read How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish and it seemed the natural extension of the kind of parenting Scott and I have always been drawn to. It is communication-based, with real life consequences, using language that builds kids up instead of tearing them down. And, according to the authors, it is more effective than continuing down the road of timeouts and authoritarian punishment. So I began to use my new skills around the holidays. Instead of saying, “Put your shoes in the cubby or I will make you,” I would say, “Your shoes are on the floor.” (Say what you see.) “They belong in the cubby.” (State the expectation.) “Do you think you can help solve this problem?” (Give the child a chance to decide for herself what to do.)

What a great way to open-endedly invite a child to problem solve! What an empowering way to phrase a request! What a load of horse shit! Instead of responding as the kids in the book did with a “Well, I could put them away, Mommy,” she took my conversational approach as a sign that the Great Debate had begun.

Grace: “How about you put them away, Mommy?”
Mommy: “We all take care of our own things, Grace. I will put my shoes away and you will put yours away.”
Grace: “We can help each other. You put mine away and I will do yours later.” See? She's crafty.
Mommy: “No, you do yours now.”

Grace: “Mommy do it.” (Trotting off to color with her markers)
Mommy, in a fit, “GRACE! PUT THE SHOES IN THE CUBBY OR I WILL MAKE YOU!!!!”
Grace: “I don’t like it when you YELL AT ME!”
Mommy: “I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN YOU DON’T PICK UP YOUR STUFF LIKE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO! I WOULDN’T BE YELLING IF YOU WOULD JUST BLAH BLAH BLAH”

This was just the beginning. She couldn’t clean up the toys one day with Grammy and Grandpa Chuck because her arms were cold. After retrieving her blanket and wrapping it around herself, she couldn’t clean up because--get this--her arms were stuck under the blanket. And on and on. One day she actually asked me, “What will you do if I don’t do it?” That was not a good day.

I couldn’t place my finger on the reason these methods weren’t working with Grace, but I began to compile a list of possibilities:

1. She is too young. (Although her ability to out-maneuver me in conversation seems to go against that theory. She is clearly old enough to have a conversation about what needs to be done.)
2. She is too smart for me. (Well, we have known this for a long time. This is one of the unfortunate side effects of mating with someone more intelligent than you.)
3. She senses that I am less willing to move to a timeout and is testing the boundary, wondering where it will be, not realizing that I am using an entirely different approach that isn’t based on an immediate consequence.
4. I am not good at this approach yet and need to practice (blame Mommy).
5. I am not cut out for this approach (i.e. I have too many control issues to allow her this much freedom at this age).
6. Scott has not read the book and isn’t using the new methods and so it is confusing her (yes, let’s blame Daddy).

It finally hit me that here is exactly where I was going wrong: I was turning the new method into a debate with a sassy three year old. The point isn’t to debate her or to convince her to follow a household custom (that’s my nice word for “rule”). The point is to give her the chance to come up with the solution. But if that doesn’t happen imminently, and especially if the solution is really an agreed upon “household custom,” there must be a quick, passionless consequence. Instead of letting the discussion escalate until she is telling me to do it and I want to fly into a rage, I need to more quickly execute a calm, natural consequence.

If the shoes aren’t put in their cubby, that shows she can’t take care of so many shoes, and I will take them and leave only one pair out for several days. If the clothes aren’t put in the drawers after she throws them all over her room, I will take whatever’s out and put it up for a week. Same with books. Art supplies. You name it; it’s been “put up” at some point in the last three weeks. Instead of putting her in a timeout, we put the items she isn't caring for in a timeout. We usually keep the items up for a couple of days, and definitely at least through an episode of her asking for them and being upset that they are unavailable. Now that she knows we are serious about her comlying, things are better.

I also realized that I was always stressed trying to get us out of the house on time. I would be running around, making snacks, gathering jackets, filling sippy cups, etc., and Grace would be humming quietly, drawing at the kitchen counter. Every time I’d pass by, I’d say, tensely, “Grace, get your shoes and put the markers away ‘cause we’re leaving in five minutes!” And each time I would be more panicked and she would just continue drawing blithely. It hit me that she needn’t panic. Mom was bearing the responsibility for getting out the door. Well, no more, sister. She has her responsibilities and I have mine and if she is not ready when the dinger dings, we aren’t going.

And then, all of the sudden, the sassiness disappeared. I still only sometimes was successful at executing the appropriate consequence, and I still only sometimes kept my cool, but regardless, she just kind of bounced back to her old self. And this was the most recent realization: kids just push and pull from time to time and it might have nothing at all to do with your parenting style or the amount of timeouts you’ve given in the last week. They are supposed to feel their way around as they become more and more independent. This means challenging us and yes, being sassy at times.

Today we had to break the Compact and buy new storage bins at Target since she dumped out every piece of clothing in the dresser and refused to put them back. She so clearly wanted to see what I would do. You wouldn’t believe the panic on her face as I folded her favorite dresses and put them in the bin. I put everything in the bin save three outfits and a few jammies. Let me tell you, she was panicked. This made me happy. And instead of feeling stressed, angry, and forced to constantly fold these clothes ONE MORE TIME, I felt giddy that I would never have to walk into that room to a flood of clothes again.

At least not until she’s over a decade old. Then all bets are off. Luckily there’s a How to Talk So Teens Will Listen book, too. As long as she learns how to fold clothes between now and then, I think we’ll survive.

Who's your Daddy?

Who, or what, is your authority? In a month when everyday brings a new struggle with getting Grace to comply with the needs of the household, authority has been on my mind a lot. More on Grace, Natalie, and discipline later. For now, an exploration of authority through the lens of teaching Sunday School.

It was my second time volunteering in this Sunday School classroom. I knew a lot of the kids’ faces but few names. I barely knew the other teacher. But I had seen this particular boy give some trouble to her last time and reminded myself to tread lightly and allow him to control his destiny, which would be to comply with our wishes, on his own terms. I can do this. I can outsmart him. I know he just wants an inch of control and if I recognize that, he will comply. He was refusing to gather around the teacher for the lesson after individual work time.

“Hey, P., do you want to help with the chairs or the mats?” I asked nonchalantly but with constant eye contact. I’m no rookie. Years of middle school teaching, not to mention raising two toddlers, had prepared me for this moment. With this type, the less of a battle, the better. But recognizing my attempt at offering choices for what it really was, he balked and continued coloring. He raised his face enough to smile at me, a handsome, round-faced smile that said, I’m no rookie, either. My mind began to turn. It’s true—he is being rushed and doesn’t like it. He didn’t get to finish his activity and psychologically can’t join a new one until he finishes. Then, Rubbish! We gave them plenty of time and several warnings. He is old enough to prepare for a transition.

“P., it looks like you’re not done, and I bet you want to finish your drawing. Why don’t you leave your stuff out so you can finish after Ms. K does the presentation?” I paused to watch his face. Unreadable. Hmm. I continued, “She is ready to begin and we need you to come over.” I pulled a chair over for him and walked towards him, my body language and tone of voice indicating that he has missed the window of lenience and now I will force the issue. I am, after all, an authority here.

He stood up and walked over to the stack of chairs, refusing my offer and pulling one down for himself. Interesting. He sat with his work on his lap, still drawing. I decided that this was his offer of a compromise. The other kids were all seated and Ms. K was informally talking with them so as not to draw too much attention to P. I was thankful for the low voices that pretended to mask the struggle P. and I were having. Then he scooted his chair back three or four feet, away from the group, and scribbled on the paper. This is ridiculous. This isn’t even about him not being done. This is an ego thing. I imagined sitting next to him and asking him to put the work down. I imagined trying to take the paper away. He was nine years old and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it from him. I thought about just allowing him to draw back there, and then remembered the rest of the kids, some of whom also had to abandon their work to join the group. They had an ear on Ms. K and an ear on P. and me. What’s the new teacher going to do with P.? I think we all wondered that together.

I got down so that my head was lower than his. I tilted it to the side, my body language almost acknowledging his dominance. “You’re having a hard time letting go of that work.” My voice was soft. He smiled, probably wondering why, if I was letting him off, I was still pursuing it. Then I went in for the kill. “You can put your work down and sit in your chair with the group, or you can sit next to me in the front.” He shook his head and clutched the paper. I immediately realized my error. All was surmountable until I misjudged him for a dominant stubborn type. A dominant child will actually recognize an authority when confronted and often comply when forced. His refusal showed me he was more of a trapped animal, not knowing how to get out, than a savvy competitor, acquiescing for now.

Ms. K stepped in. “P., you need to sit with the other kids. It isn’t fair to them if you draw back there by yourself.” He still refused and she insisted again, kindly. If attention was what he wanted, here it was. He blushed and scooted back to the group. I was shocked he hadn’t milked the attention when he had it. Again, I had misjudged him for somewhat of a showboat. He passed me a glance that seemed triumphant, though. I couldn’t make him comply, but Ms. K could.

That’s when it hit me. I can analyze his defiance all day long. But no psychoanalysis or discipline tricks will work with certain people unless they have a relationship with that authority. It’s the typical mentality of school kids misbehaving with a substitute teacher: “We don’t have to listen to you! You aren't our teacher!”

Then my mind shifted—something about the term “authority” made me think of scripture and God and the way people are supposed to bow under the authority of scripture or something and I almost laughed. We are all like P., frightened but unwilling to submit to God, to trust Him. We are all shaking our heads, clutching our work, inching backwards, wanting what's best for ourselves but afraid to let someone else show us the way. How can humans ever submit to an authority we don’t have a relationship with? If I don’t feel in my gut that God knows me or loves me, I can’t fully submit to Him. All interpretation about whether scripture itself is an authority aside (for now), we are not going to follow any sort of a divine presence if it is foreign to us.

Perhaps this is why Jesus is so successful at bringing people to God. He is God as one of us, a brother, already in a relationship with us because he feels our joy and sorrow. We don’t gaze at him with mistrusting eyes; we can intuit his connection to us. So let our foundational message about God be that He already knows us and loves us. That He is not foreign, but right here with us. Let’s allow people (including our children and ourselves) to spend time building an awareness of that relationship before expecting people to respond with obedience.