Perfecting the Art of Conversuasion
I survived two spilled milks (one on my bedroom rug). I survived twenty-two temper tantrums. I survived one lost remote control, four late night arguments, forty-six rounds of “he called me ____” or “____” or “____” and six broken boxes. I survived another March Break.
Sure, kid, you’re cute. Now get out of your box house, rip off those sunglasses and go to school. Yes, I know you’re sad that the holiday is over. No, you can’t stay home with mommy for one. more. second.
K BYEEE!
I’ve been losing my cool lately, and it’s all because of a 7-year old. THIS is the monster that’s been pushing my buttons, making me scream and driving me to drink.
I know. A complete terror, isn’t he?
Sigh. It’s so easy to have perspective when I’m not in the moment. But as Ryder gains independence, he has also become inquisitive, defiant and often, aggressive and uncooperative. It’s all part of growing up, I know, and he’s no different than any other 7-year old I see. Yet it’s very difficult to think with a level head and keep my cool, especially when he asks “why?” for the hundredth time or says “I don’t want to” just as often.
Why don’t kids come with a manual? Better yet, why don’t they have a “pause” button?
Parenting. The hardest (and most rewarding) job in the world. Tell me it gets easier, friends.
So it occurred to me this morning that actually say “Don’t” to Ryder more often than I actually say his name.
Don’t jump.
Don’t touch that.
Don’t hit your brother.
Don’t eat that.
Don’t crawl behind there.
Don’t pull on that.
Don’t kick the back of my seat.
Don’t you dare give me that look.
Don’t say that.
Don’t scream like that.
Don’t stand there.
Don’t make a mess.
Don’t make that face.
Don’t DO that. (10x per hour, at least.)
Hence, I’ve decided to cease calling him Ryder, because he obviously responds more effectively to Don’t.
(Or maybe he doesn’t. But do I care at this moment? DON’ T think so!)
Friends, let’s all bow our heads and pray that I don’t decide to sell him for two Bon Jovi concert tickets.
If you’ve got 6 minutes, are not easily offended, and want to share a laugh, link on over to First World Problems: The Grocery Store Incident from fellow blogger Lara of The Chester Diaries. I’ve been reading Lara’s blog for almost a year now; her exploits as a “Mommy Noob” are often hilarious and touching, and I love that she’s a “real” mom – she drops f-bombs (often), has no illusions about being perfect, and no qualms saying what’s on her mind.
Of course this can also work to her disadvantage, as witnessed in her latest post. Let’s just say she had her own lesson in humility, but didn’t exactly back down from the fight. Go on, give it a read – I’m curious to see whose side you’re on: Lara’s, or Shakey McF*ckin’ Shakerson.
(When I read the post, I wasn’t sure if I should feel scandalized or laugh my head off – I decided to laugh my head off.)
Simply click the link above… and enjoy!
Sometimes, it’s the parent who needs to be scolded.
This morning began like most others. Wash the kids, clothe the kids, feed the kids, keep the kids from killing each other… and so on. Except I learned a valuable lesson I won’t soon forget, courtesy of Ryder – my lovely, sensitive, incredibly perceptive little guy.
It happened while I was (trying) to help them change out of their pajamas. Reid was running around my bedroom, and I swear that kid is so fast and so small it’s like trying to catch a greased pig. As he continually dodged my advances, Ryder ran in front of me, taunting me less heartily but highly annoying nonetheless. Well, after about 30 seconds of a game that felt like 30 minutes, I’d had enough. Grabbing Ryder by his shoulders, I steadied him and yanked his pants and undies down in one swift movement, puling them from around his ankles and tossing them into a clothes hamper behind me.
And then Ryder looked at me. It was a combination of shock and pure disgust; a look reserved for someone who had just slapped you across the face. And then he began to cry – tears of frustration, shame and embarrassment. He wailed and hid behind my dresser, trying to pull his pajama top down over his torso.
It was then that I realized that by unceremoniously yanking down his pants, I had humiliated him – robbing him of his dignity as he stood there naked from the waist down.
It had never occurred to me that a 3 year old could be embarrassed.
I have never considered myself a bully.
I will never make him feel cold and shamed again.
And so today, in humiliating my son, I learned a lesson in humility.
(I’m sorry, sweet Ryder.)
One of my newest blogger buddies – Erica over at EverythingMomAndBaby.com – suggested I check out a complimentary webinar this Thursday evening…
“Get your kids to listen – the first time. No nagging or yelling required.”
Um, YES PLEASE!
This Thursday, June 2nd at 9:00pm EST, join parenting expert Amy McCready, Positive Parenting Solutions Founder and TODAY Show Contributor and discover tools and strategies you can use right away.
Who Should Attend:
Frustrated parents of kids ages 2-16.
What You’ll Learn:
– why kids really misbehave – it’s probably not what you think!
– how your personality may actually fuel misbehavior
– the 5 R’s of Fair & Effective Consequences so kids listen the first time you ask
– training resources to reduce your parenting stress & stop nagging, reminding & yelling
Click here for more information.
You must reserve your seat in order to receive a link to access the webinar. When you “enter” the webinar, you’ll see the session slides and a live video box of Amy. Use the chat box to type questions or make comments.
With a 3-year old whose favourite past time is throwing tantrums, I can use all the help I can get!
Is it possible to love your children equally – but like one better than the other?
Before Reid came along, our whole lives revolved around Ryder. Pictures were taken, milestones were recorded, and we endeavored to fulfill every want, whim and desire. And Ryder lapped it up; as a first child (and an Alpha Male), he pushed our limits of patience, sobriety and tolerance – but never love. There was always too much love to give – an obsessive, all encompassing love for our only child.
In fact, so powerful was his hold over me that, consumed with our daily adventures, I missed the early signs of my second pregnancy. But a tiny little miracle was growing inside of me; a beautiful little boy.
Guilt.
I’d been drinking. Not taking pre-natal vitamins. Jumping off park benches with Ryder. It hit me. I was going to have another baby. So I did my best to play catch up; I cleaned up my act and started acting like a pregnant woman. But all through my pregnancy, I was still consumed with Ryder.
“Is the baby kicking?” my OB asked late in my pregnancy.
“Um, yeah,” I responded. I was too embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t even bothered to do a kick count.
Guilt.
I began obsessing that I would never love our second baby as much as I loved Ryder. How could I? For two whole years, my world revolved around him. Where in my heart could I find the room to love another as deeply? I was prepared to feel love for Reid, hoping against hope that it would measure up to the obsession I felt for his older sibling.
And then Reid arrived. And my heart literally burst open. This tiny, lovely little being who looked at me with eyes full of wonder and adoration. I cried out in relief; all that time worrying that I wouldn’t have enough love to give, and here I was, falling all over again. I understood why my mom never declared favourites; I identified with every mom who ever said she couldn’t choose. With excitement and profound peace, I realized that I loved my two sons equally.
I did it! I was a good mother!
Reid needed me. I nourished him, held him close. Ryder needed me less; happy to watch TV or play with his trucks, he loped in for the occasional hug or kiss good night. The balance of attention was temporarily skewed, but my affections were nonetheless level.
And then Ryder entered his two’s. And he became TERRIBLE. And now I realize, after much self-loathing, that although I love Ryder to pieces, I like Reid more.
Guilt.
Reid doesn’t throw tantrums. He doesn’t talk back. He eats what I give him, goes to sleep at a convenient time and certainly doesn’t drop the F-bomb during Christmas dinner. Ryder challenges me on absolutely everything. Nothing comes easy; every request is met with defiance. He pushes my buttons. He pulls at my emotions. And the little sh*t just kicked my leg because I wouldn’t let him watch YouTube.
Like a pendulum, I can feel my emotions swing back and forth. What happened?
How in the world did I go from adoring Ryder to wanting to lock him up? Where is that unconditional adoration for my “perfect” first born? I think back to when he was younger and try to resurrect those feelings of patience and tolerance. Before I screamed at him, threatened him and shook my fist at him in disbelief.
And then I look at Reid – peaceful, happy, agreeable. It’s no wonder our relationship is so easy; he’s a chilled, content dude, just like his father (as opposed to his fiery, argumentative sibling who takes after…). But will he too turn terrible? Will I be singing the same tune with him in 2 years? Why is parenting so difficult?
I know with all my heart that my two boys are my life, my reason. I hate feeling that I’m “favouring” one in any way. Yet I am certain, without a doubt, that my relationship with Ryder has changed. But whenever I ask around, I’m confronted with “Oh no! I love them all the same! How could you suggest otherwise?”
Well, I do love them equally – but is it horrible that, for the moment, I like one better?