There’s been a lot of yelling in our household lately (especially around bedtime), so I recently downloaded an eBook about gentle parenting and how to approach frustrating situations with a little more patience.
The overarching theme of the book is to keep remembering that your child is good inside, and even though he may be acting like a spoiled, ungrateful little demon, it’s because he’s having trouble regulating his emotions and his reactions to them – and not that he is a bad person.
That’s a wonderful little anecdote that I can get behind.
But that’s about the only thing I gained from the book because after skimming the first approximately 30 pages, I said to heck with this whole cool, calm, and collected parenting baloney.
One chapter focuses on how “two things can be true.” For example, if Mikey wants me to read another story at bedtime but I say no because it’s too late and he gets upset, I should say to him, “Two things can be true: I can tell you we are done, and you can still wish we could read another book and be upset about it. So tomorrow, if you want to read more books, we will start earlier.”
In the book, the imaginary child seems to accept that response and goes to bed with no fuss.
Now, I’m not sure what universe this book was written in, but that’s just not how things work on Planet Crocco. The “just one more” plague is alive and well over here for our 6-year-old.
And the “just one more” turns into one more minute of watching TV (more like 20 minutes), “just one more story” (more like two), “just one more” drink of water, “just one more” random fact he wants to enlighten us with …
And that, in turn, leads to me or my husband raising our voice and threatening the child up, down, and center unless he goes to sleep “right now.” In fact, I’d say the book actually reinforced my belief that you are not effective unless you are yelling and losing your mind.
Here’s an example:
I have a very specific memory as a teen of a time my dad absolutely lost his mind. I was in a door-slamming phase and, while my dad has always been an extremely gentle and calm individual, there was something apparently triggering for him when my older sister or I slammed the door.
One day I was pouting about something or other and I stomped my way all the way down the hall, into my room, and slammed my door with more oomph than intended. I mean, I did purposely slam it, but it got away from me.
I can still recall the thudding of my dad’s work boots as he swiftly made his way to my door and flung it open in a rage. He did a whole lot of yelling, and then punched a hole in my wall that I covered for a good several months with a New Kids on the Block poster.
Fast forward more than 20 years later, and my child has just learned the power of the stomp. It’s a new thing. We’re not sure where he learned it, or if it’s just something we all realize at a certain age – the way to release aggression by stomping our feet. But it’s maddening.
The first time Mikey did it, my husband and I just kind of looked at each other and said, “That’s new.”
The second time we both said, “Oh, heck no!”
I don’t know what kind of Herculean strength my kid has, but he can stomp so aggressively across the living room that the lights jingle downstairs where my husband is working. Cue him taking the stairs two at a time to come lose his cool on Mikey.
And now we’re back to the yelling.
I want to call up dear old Dad and simply tell him, “I get it now.”
But here’s the thing … It worked. It works.
My dad scared the bejeebers out of me with his reaction, and you can bet I never slammed a door again.
And Mikey’s stomp has evolved into a foot-drag.
Here’s my “two things can be true:” I can yell at my kid, and he can still come out of it just fine.
Holly Crocco is editor of the Putnam County Times/Press and mother of a 6-year-old. She can be reached at editorial@putnampresstimes.com.
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