The Raven Foundation

 

 

The Wife left.  She left and I was all alone … with our two Boys …

 

NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

 

Okay.  They might look like angels in their Christmas shirt and tie, but you know there’s gonna be trouble whenever a Dad (especially this Dad) is left with his two Boys.

 

The Wife had to leave early this morning for a business trip.  She was out the door by 7:15 with hugs, kisses, and goodbyes.  Then the door shut.  I walked to the kitchen and peered through the window as She slowly backed the Odyssey out of our driveway.  Our eyes met and we waved.  She then drove off.  I took a sip of coffee and a deep breath to prepare myself for my morning’s fate.

 

The Wife is my model for good parenting.  She gets how it all works.  I can be pretty dense, but usually after three or four, okay, usually ten times of observing her amazing parenting skills, they begin to sink in.  For example, I’ve learned from observing her that transitions are often easier if the Boys know what to expect.  They’re not so good with surprises.  (Frankly, neither am I.  I get frustrated whenever someone obstructs my plans with something unexpected.  Like that time when my car got in that accident and obstructed my evening plans.  But that’s another story.)  “Okay, Boys,” she’ll say as we’re driving in the car.  “We’re going to the store, then to the children’s museum, then home for lunch, and then we’re going to take naps.”

 

I love naps.

 

So I decided to give it a try.  The Boys were watching “Mickey Mouse Funhouse” in our basement. (Btw, did you know that Pete, the big giant cat, is no longer a bad guy?  Yeah.  They’re all friends.  They work together to solve problems.  Since Boy 1 arrived five years ago, I’ve discovered that they don’t make cartoons like they used to.) We walked down to the basement and I gave Boy 1 and Boy 2 our morning game plan: “Okay Fellas.  Here’s what’s going to happen.  I’m going to shower.  Then I’m going to get dressed.  Then I’ll help you get dressed.  Then I’m going to brush my teeth.  Then we’ll put on shoes and jackets, and then we’re going to school.  Got it?”

 

Okay.  This strategy works really well, unless you completely FAIL, which I did.   There is such a thing as was too much detail for children age 5 and 3.  Boy 1 looked me in the eyes and nodded.  Boy 2 gazed off into distant space, but he nodded too.  He usually lives in his own little Boy 2 world, so I decided his nod was good enough.  I went upstairs, leaving them with their temporary babysitters, Mickey and Pete.

 

I did everything in order, careful not to make any surprises.  Quick shower, got dressed, got them dressed, brushed my teeth, and then told them it was time to go to the living room to put on our shoes and jackets.  Boy 1 went without a hitch.  Boy 2 apparently wanted to stay in Boy 2 world with Mickey and Pete.

 

“NO!” he yelled.

 

I thought to myself, “Ahh, man.  Where’s the Wife?”  But I stayed calm and remembered another one of the Wife’s tricks.  She acknowledges their emotions.   It works.  When children (and adults) are able to name their negative emotions, it gives them a sense of empowerment with them.  You can’t deal with emotions that you can’t name.  And another point about emotions: most of us like to have our emotions acknowledged by others.  It gives us a sense self-worth and builds a sense of connection.   Having someone compassionately acknowledge our frustrations usually helps calm us down.

 

“Okay, Boy 2.  I see you are sad.  Are you sad?”

 

“NO!” he yelled

 

Wait!  Why wasn’t this working?  It always works when the Wife does it.  So, I tried again.  “Oh.  Are you mad?”

 

“NO!”

 

“Well, Boy 2,” I replied.  “It’s time to go to school and I’m going to be late for work if we don’t start leaving.  I see that you don’t want to go.  I acknowledge that.  But we need to go.”

 

He continued to refuse, so I decided to give him options.  (Another trick I learned from the Wife.  Options make children feel like they have some power in a situation.  Giving options to children [and to adults] can diffuse a power struggle.  Unless you’re already knee-deep in one.  Then you’re pretty much screwed, as I was here.)  “Boy 2.  We need to go.  Are you going to walk upstairs and put your shoes and jacket on, or do I need to carry you?”

 

“NO!”

 

He screamed and kicked as I carried him up the stairs, through our kitchen, and into our living room.  I put him down to help Boy 1 with his shoes.  As I sat there tying the laces, Boy 2 decided he wanted to play tag, so he ran behind the coffee table.

 

“You can’t catch me.  You can’t catch me.”  He was mocking me.

 

And I was getting pretty frustrated!  “Boy 2,” I said as calmly as I could.  “I need to put your shoes on you.”  Remembering that options are good, I said, “Would you like your ‘fast shoes’ or your ‘slow shoes’?”

 

^{Fast shoes and slow shoes.}

 

“NO!”  (Didn’t see that one coming, did you?)

 

“Okay,” I responded.  “If you don’t pick, I’ll pick for you.”

 

“NO!”

 

I picked the slow shoes, because they don’t have laces, but he continued to run around the table.  After a bit of chasing, I caught him.  There was no use putting his shoes on him, he would just kick them off.  I was getting late for work, so I picked him up and carried him to the car.  As he kicked and screamed, I opened the door, put him in his car seat, and buckled him in.

 

I backed out of our driveway and Boy 2 screamed, “I WANT MY FAST SHOES!!!!!”

 

I stopped the car, looked back at Boy 2, and replied, “Boy 2.  Are you sad that you don’t have your fast shoes?”

 

“YES!!!!”

 

“Okay.  I gave you the options of wearing your fast shoes or your slow shoes.  I told you that if you didn’t pick, I’d pick for you.  You didn’t pick, so I picked your slow shoes.”

 

Whimper.  It was a whimper.  Not a yell.  A whimper isn’t good, but it’s better than an ear piercing “NO!”

 

“Boy 2,” I said.  “I see that you’re sad.  But next time you can pick your fast shoes.  Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“NICE!!!!”  I said to myself.

 

He was pretty quiet as we continued on to school.  He whimpered a few more times.  Each time I replied, “I’m sorry you’re sad, Boy 2.”  Soon we arrived in the school parking lot.  As Boy 1 hopped out his door and as I unbuckled Boy 2 and took him in my arms to set him on the pavement, he completely forgot that he was sad.  He moved on to another emotion – excitement.  I followed them as they raced into school, then gave them hugs and kisses.  I smiled as I realized that I failed.  That I didn’t control Boy 2 with my various strategies.  I couldn't avoid the power struggle.  I failed - and that’s okay.  Failure is part of the long journey called “Parenting.”

 

You can’t always avoid a power struggle.  But you can stay composed and calmly go through them with your child.  The alternative only escalates the frustrations of power struggles.  A parent’s ability to stay tranquil through power struggles in the only possible way of diffusing the situation.  And, by staying calm, you begin to model and teach your child how to remain composed during their power struggles and conflicts with others.

 

Parenting is a difficult path that is full of failure.  It’s hard to stay calm.  But on this journey, remember that failure is okay, indeed, it's inevitable, and then seek to forgive yourself.   For failure is part of the journey.