The N Word
Nate has been really into saying “no” the past couple of months. If I ask him to do something, he can’t help but violently oppose it, no matter how much he might actually want to do it. This is frustrating to both of us, although I must admit to taking a perverse delight in occasionally interrupting a tantrum to tell him that I think he should have dessert. The horrified look in his eyes as he hears himself screaming NOOO is simply delicious.
The parenting books call it “asserting one’s individuality,” but I have my own private (and less socially acceptable) name for it. A perfectly normal stage of development, but we’ve been screaming at each other a bit more than I would like, these days.
The Supercuts of Dorian Gray
Nate spent the other night at Jennifer’s house, so I could go out with some friends after work. On my way home, I stopped to get my hair cut. I sat in the chair, and the stylist put a neck strip and cutting cape on me, to keep the trimmings out of my clothes. This particular cutting cape was brown: an important detail, as we shall see.
Snip snip, buzz buzz, and then she asked me to look down, so she could work on the back of my neck. I looked down and recoiled in horror; the trimmings in my lap were pure white. I remembered seeing brown hair in the mirror when I combed it that morning. Clearly, all my hair had turned white during the day, and no one had told me. I kept my head angled down, because I didn’t really want any scalp lacerations, but I peered up at the mirror to see my newly white hair.
The neck strip was pretty tight, and with my head bent down, I saw that I had an enormous double chin. Good grief, white hair and heavily overweight? I suddenly looked 20 years older. Or ten years older, if I don’t lay off the Oreos.
When she was done cutting, I lifted my head up, and my appearance was back to normal. It took me another day or so to figure out that the lapful of white hair was due to the fact that I couldn’t see my brown hair against the brown cutting cape.
Back In Time
When I was a kid, my mom gave me the classic mother’s curse: “I hope you have a kid just like you.” I took her seriously. I didn’t think I’d ever want to have kids, but I realized that I might, and with that realization came another, more sobering one: I would be an adult someday. I vowed to myself that I would never, ever forget what it was like to be a kid.
On my way home from my foray into the future at Supercuts, it all came slamming back. I’ve forgotten a lot, but I suddenly remembered, with perfect clarity, the searing frustration of being a small child. I felt as if I had absolutely no control over anything.
Now that I’m a parent, my childhood memories are valuable intel: an insight into the mind of my own child. Control is like crack to a little kid. And the easiest way for Nate to exert control over a situation is to say no. He knows I can’t force him to eat, or use the toilet, or go to sleep. And the more I want him to do something, the more he enjoys saying no.
The answer hit me like a ton of bricks: Let the Wookiee win. It won’t hurt him to skip a meal, or stay up late once in a while.
It worked like a charm. The hourly fights have tapered off to the occasional tantrum every few days. He was confused at first. He asked how much dinner he would have to eat in order to earn dessert, and I told him, “Just eat as much as you want.” Now, we decide before dinner whether or not there will be dessert, purely on my whim. We average dessert two nights a week. He can skip dinner and go straight to dessert if he wants, but he knows from bitter experience that when the meal is over, it’s over, and if he is still hungry at bedtime, I will laugh at him.
No more begging him to eat one more grape. No more screaming at meal time. And damn if he isn’t eating a pretty healthy dinner most nights.
I know this is a touchy topic, so I want to be clear: this is not meant to be advice. I don’t know your kid. I am blessed with a child who eats a lot of different things, some of them good for him. If you are having problems getting your kid to eat, you have my sympathy. That is not one of our problems. He just has a wicked sweet tooth, and he enjoys saying no to me.
I guess “pick your battles” is a pretty basic parenting lesson. It’s taken me a while to learn it, but by golly, it’s working.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Yes, pick your battles. Gabriel and I rarely get into a real “f*ckaroo,” but when we do…yeah, I can’t take the same approach to meals, and yet I do in a sense – I don’t force him to eat stuff he refuses to eat. I make the same dang stuff every week, with no vegetables or fruit except the occasional apple slices. There’s just NO point. I don’t even have dessert to bargain with (we don’t eat it…he might have a piece of candy from his stash but more likely not) and his father and I both pretty much agreed we’d never do that bribery thing anyway.
Life is too short to spend it in useless shouting matches with kids, because they can go and go and go, like the Energizer Bunny, and we get more and more and more fried. And sad.
Hi, I found you by way of Tanager. I’m a survivor of raising twins, and had to smile while reading this. It reminded me of the time when my daughters UNlearned whining. Now whining is something I just cannot abide! It was during the summer, and my daughters had discovered the delights of videos. They also learned how to say NO and whine a lot. I hit the perfect solution…you may say no, whine, and argue with the higher power (ME!) all you want, but each time you do it will cost you a day with no videos. You may discuss your viewpoint calmly and rationally, but once you hit that whiny stage you are done. All three of us learned to pick our battles that Summer, and to this day my girls are calm and rational when they argue. Best of luck to you!