WPMs
This wasn't my Worst Parenting Moment to date – I know what was, and won't be discussing it until the statute of limitations has expired – but it was a lesson about myself and about The Boy. (This story is about a year old, by the way, but something got me thinking about it today.)
A couple of times, as I prepared to stay home with Los Monstricos, people asked whether I was prepared for the fill in the blank. The crying, the peanut butter, the poop. Nobody ever got it right on the first guess, though, so I always had to correct 'em. I suspected (and was correct) that the hardest thing for me would be dealing with creatures who were sometimes reasonable, and other times not.
I don't want this to sound esoteric. I've reared dogs, and dogs are reasonable. Once you can get them to understand the promise of a treat, then the behavior either is or isn't worth that treat. Eventually, there's a reciprocal bond (a dog is smart enough to make sure his bond is with Him Who Proffers Treats), and the behavior either is or isn't worth treat + bond. And if your dog decides he's rather go chase that bird, he knows he's forgoing his Scooby Snack and he has the perspicacity to act shamefaced while you wag your finger at him. That's reasonable.
Babies aren't reasonable. You can go blue in the face telling a little baby to just eat that thing because there's a promise of goodness 'round the corner, and it just doesn't matter. You should save your breath and just wish it into the cornfield because you'll get the same result. I suspect that reason isn't beyond the ken of a baby – I'm on the side of all the research that says they're remarkably smart and reach a hundred logical conclusions a day – but communication is, and deferred pleasure is, and discipline is. So babies are just squalling pooping Id Sacks, none of which surprises anybody.
The problem I knew I was in for has to do not with babies but with Boys, who are capable of communication, deferring pleasure and discipline, when and if they feel like it. Just yesterday I explained to The Boy that we should let his little brother have first bath, because if he went in second, he could basically stay in as long as he wanted. (It counted in my favor that he knew I meant it – maybe he imagined me rising from my bed the next morning, stretching, putting on a robe, and sticking my head in the bathroom: "You ready to get out yet?") But their tiny heads are swimming in a rush of input and want, and they get to a point ten times a day where they just WANNIT. And the tears come, and you can't talk them off of a ledge like that, because they WANNIT. As noted peripherally in this earlier post, there are plenty of times when you want to tell the boss that the reason you need the day or the afternoon off is that you WANNIT. And if he doesn't agree, you cry.
I don't remember what it was about (they're all molehills, really). I do remember that it wasn't just something we didn't want him to have, it was something he couldn't have. I only remember that because sometimes it's easier to give in, but that wasn't an option. Maybe he wanted the Cancer Stick. The wail had started, the tears had followed hard upon, and now we weren't getting anywhere. Distract him with candy or other toys. Check. Get momentarily stern (surprise him). Check. Bucket of cold water over the head. Check. I was doing dishes or buffing the dog or something, more witnessing the unrest than participating in its attempted quell, but growing more and more tired of listening to the show. Finally, I took matters into my own responsible, and very reasonable, hands. We now had two problems, after all: the thing he still couldn't have, but also the resultant hysteria. Quell the hysteria first, I reasoned, then when all is calm, deal with the thing he can't have.
WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! Come over here!
Come on, enough crying! No more crying.
She is carring him into the kitchen.
Okay, let's calm down.
Okay. Boy, can you listen to me for a minute?
(snif) Yeah.
Okay. Do you want the (Thing)?
(snif) Yeah.
Well, you can't have it.
- - - - - - - -----
You can probably anticipate the result of my wisdom. It was not the result I anticipated. The chief result, aside from renewed wailing, was the procession of looks, from puzzlement to disgust with lots of stops on the way, crossing Her face as she carried him back into the living room. The extent to which I ameliorated the disaster: I gave them a target for some new, shared loathing.
A couple of times, as I prepared to stay home with Los Monstricos, people asked whether I was prepared for the fill in the blank. The crying, the peanut butter, the poop. Nobody ever got it right on the first guess, though, so I always had to correct 'em. I suspected (and was correct) that the hardest thing for me would be dealing with creatures who were sometimes reasonable, and other times not.
I don't want this to sound esoteric. I've reared dogs, and dogs are reasonable. Once you can get them to understand the promise of a treat, then the behavior either is or isn't worth that treat. Eventually, there's a reciprocal bond (a dog is smart enough to make sure his bond is with Him Who Proffers Treats), and the behavior either is or isn't worth treat + bond. And if your dog decides he's rather go chase that bird, he knows he's forgoing his Scooby Snack and he has the perspicacity to act shamefaced while you wag your finger at him. That's reasonable.
Babies aren't reasonable. You can go blue in the face telling a little baby to just eat that thing because there's a promise of goodness 'round the corner, and it just doesn't matter. You should save your breath and just wish it into the cornfield because you'll get the same result. I suspect that reason isn't beyond the ken of a baby – I'm on the side of all the research that says they're remarkably smart and reach a hundred logical conclusions a day – but communication is, and deferred pleasure is, and discipline is. So babies are just squalling pooping Id Sacks, none of which surprises anybody.
The problem I knew I was in for has to do not with babies but with Boys, who are capable of communication, deferring pleasure and discipline, when and if they feel like it. Just yesterday I explained to The Boy that we should let his little brother have first bath, because if he went in second, he could basically stay in as long as he wanted. (It counted in my favor that he knew I meant it – maybe he imagined me rising from my bed the next morning, stretching, putting on a robe, and sticking my head in the bathroom: "You ready to get out yet?") But their tiny heads are swimming in a rush of input and want, and they get to a point ten times a day where they just WANNIT. And the tears come, and you can't talk them off of a ledge like that, because they WANNIT. As noted peripherally in this earlier post, there are plenty of times when you want to tell the boss that the reason you need the day or the afternoon off is that you WANNIT. And if he doesn't agree, you cry.
I don't remember what it was about (they're all molehills, really). I do remember that it wasn't just something we didn't want him to have, it was something he couldn't have. I only remember that because sometimes it's easier to give in, but that wasn't an option. Maybe he wanted the Cancer Stick. The wail had started, the tears had followed hard upon, and now we weren't getting anywhere. Distract him with candy or other toys. Check. Get momentarily stern (surprise him). Check. Bucket of cold water over the head. Check. I was doing dishes or buffing the dog or something, more witnessing the unrest than participating in its attempted quell, but growing more and more tired of listening to the show. Finally, I took matters into my own responsible, and very reasonable, hands. We now had two problems, after all: the thing he still couldn't have, but also the resultant hysteria. Quell the hysteria first, I reasoned, then when all is calm, deal with the thing he can't have.
WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! Come over here!
Come on, enough crying! No more crying.
She is carring him into the kitchen.
Okay, let's calm down.
Okay. Boy, can you listen to me for a minute?
(snif) Yeah.
Okay. Do you want the (Thing)?
(snif) Yeah.
Well, you can't have it.
- - - - - - - -----
You can probably anticipate the result of my wisdom. It was not the result I anticipated. The chief result, aside from renewed wailing, was the procession of looks, from puzzlement to disgust with lots of stops on the way, crossing Her face as she carried him back into the living room. The extent to which I ameliorated the disaster: I gave them a target for some new, shared loathing.
posted by I. at
3/23/2007 01:20:00 PM
3 Comments:
Maybe,you can't have it BECAUSE . . .
On the other hand, Declan's always been a masterful crier to keep your and Aim's attention on him.
Bull's Eye!
Re:
--Declan's always been a masterful
--crier to keep your and Aim's
--attention on him.
They both are, really. I think it comes with the territory.
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