One of the best things we've done for our kids, besides the positive discipline parenting, the Kidpower parenting, the empathic parenting, is to let them be and become.
Meaning, to let them become who they already were, are, and will be.
Of course, we've had our own thoughts on what we've wanted them to become, but never at the expense of their own decision making. Their own mistakes. Their own regrets. They own successes.
A teen's prefrontal cortex is still in its infancy, and it has until later in the 20's to fully develop. This means that teens often rely on the amygdala, which is the emotional center, and that leads to heightened emotions, risk-taking, and impulsive behavior.
But that doesn't mean they can't learn the coping mechanisms they'll need to deal with the adulting stressors of life that have only just begun. Because it begins in childhood today, no matter how loving and supportive you are as parents.
Kids can be more resilient than most parents think they can. We struggled and stressed about our own kids' struggles and stresses about their own social anxieties and mental health. At some point, both have had their own breakthroughs; they've adapted, overcome, and are thriving. These are great personal leadership skills to develop and practice whatever those "anxieties" are. That includes us the parents getting them whatever supports and resources they may need at the time they need.
Kids can also know more about who they are and how they identify than most parents want to believe. That makes it hard for adults who have specific beliefs and ideologies about who their children are and who they should be. Sexual orientation and gender identity, for example. Our youngest was clear when they told us they were queer and identified as they/them. We've been nothing but supportive parents, and staunch allies, ever since. They were even nominated for a youth leadership award this year for the march they organized last year.
Before we wanted to have children, it was my wife Amy who opened me up to endless possibilities with our lives. To always look at life through eyes of love without judgement or shame. To learn and adapt as best I could. That was hard at first, but I got there.
When we changed our minds about children, then we were all in on being the best parents we could be. That they would learn to embrace and manifest endless possibilities that we believe in. That we would guide them and teach them as best we could. Again, they have to develop their own decision making. Make their own mistakes. Own their own successes. And hopefully learn to limit regrets.
That's a constant work in progress, and no matter what, one of the best things we've done for our kids is to let them be and become.
One of the best things I've done for myself and our kids is to take their mother's lead. For that, we are all grateful.
Even as I got upset about the article I read, I couldn't help but think about that time with our youngest Bryce. The time when they were five years old and I had to carry them thrashing and kicking out of CVS. I was on a mission to get last minute cheap and fun little Christmas gifts for my wife Amy (yes, I'm one of those guys). Bryce had a meltdown because they wanted a toy they weren't going to get. Our oldest Beatrice tried to help, but as a seven-year-old, that's not easy to do when your sibling is out of control in a store and you're trying to get them out safely.
It wasn't the first or last time Bryce had melted down growing up. But I never thought of punishing them to attempt to extinguish the behavior. That never would've worked because it would've fueled the melt down further. Instead, we always did our best to secure them safely and let the tantrum burn out, which it always did. Yelling at them and/or shaming them would've exacerbated the problem and just create fear, distrust, and resentment.
A recent Wall Street Journal article titled "Goodbye Gentle Parenting, Hello ‘F—Around and Find Out’" (paywall) is what got me upset and thinking about all of this. Even before I read the article the title alone made me mad. "Goodby Gentle Parenting" -- as if parenting with love, empathy, positive discipline, and of course, Kidpower, was feeble and weak and not conducive to deterring poor behavior.
The article went on to share "tough love" parenting examples like throwing your child into a pond because they were "acting up" and not listening or biting your child back if they bit you.
WTH?
I don't care if it worked or not in the short term, that's nuts and will not help you raise respectful and responsible kids. Instead, it will help you raise bullies. And if your kids have any kind of mental health issues, it's potentially worse for the kids' mental health if they've been treated punitively (which was the way it was for a long, long time).
Punitive discipline can have a lasting negative impact on your children. When my sister and I were growing up, we were spanked for misbehaving and our mouths washed out with a bar of soap for cursing. That did not necessarily get me to stop the behaviors, but it certainly made me fearful and angry. Fortunately, our mom moved on from that discipline style in our late childhood -- and thank goodness! But the lasting impact for me is that I continually fight against my punitive-mode origins.
Yes, I can be a fussy dad, but I've worked on it every day since we first had Beatrice and then Bryce. Amy and I intentionally parent with respect, empathy, and positive discipline. Positive discipline's goal is to teach, guide, and encourage better behavior in the future. This includes using respect, clear expectations, natural/logical consequences, and encouraging our kids to foster self-control, which is what we've done since they were little.
Removing Bryce from the meltdown's crater all those years ago was a natural consequence. They weren't getting the toy they wanted and so we were no longer going to be around the toys they wanted. Once Bryce cooled down, then we had a discussion about why they couldn't have the toy. Not a super in-depth conversation when your child is five, but you've got to start somewhere. Now that both Beatrice and Bryce are teens, the positive discipline payoff has been the strength of our parent/child relationships, their relationships with others, and their value of self.
Do we do it right every time? Nope, but we're pretty damn consistent otherwise. Do our kids get where we're coming from all the time? Nope, but they listen and learn much better than if we focused on "toughening" them up by literally biting back. Empathic parenting outperforms the punitive every time in our lesson plan.
The only thing worse than telling a stressed out adult that everything's going to be okay is telling a stressed out teen that everything's going to be okay. There's a nuclear fission reactor inside teens that's constantly splitting emotional atoms that unleash inordinate amounts of overdramatic erratic and irrational energy.
And that's on a good day.
This body-changing and hormone-raging energy can run the gamut from frenetic to brooding and change in a millisecond. It's not that teens can't be rational and somewhat adult-ish in their daily disposition, because they can, but developmentally their frontal cortex is just coming online as everything else in their body changes. It's a whole new world for them, and for their adults in charge. When I think back to my teen years (and even through my 20's), there were seemingly countless stress-filled days and nights that completely altered my perception of reality. I split emotional atoms regularly and radiated myself with mind-melting anxiety that got worse as my teens wore on.
Adults struggle with how to deal with radiating teens. My parents did their best to understand my sister and I and to talk to us rationally. They offered me sound but unrealistic advice on how to deal with stressing about a test, or a teacher, or trying out for sports, or a part-time job I had, or going to college, or a girl I liked, or -- the list goes on and on. It was unrealistic because developmentally I couldn't "adult it" like they could (or tried to), no matter the choices in front of me. Thankfully they never told me to just "deal with it."
And we'll never do that either. Whether it was last year when our oldest Beatrice worked through her angst about applying to be a junior leader and camp, and then doing it and loving it, or this year when our youngest Bryce recently wanted to audition for a youth theater production of Beauty and the Beast. And then she didn't. And then she did. And then she didn't. And then she did. And now she's loving it. It's hard to watch your kids stress out about things you believe ultimately they'll enjoy and will help them learn and grow, but stress they will. Plus, even with the competitiveness in growing up, we want them to enjoy what they choose to do, just like all the years I coached them both in soccer.
My wife Amy and I understand all this (or try to) and do our best to provide our daughters the strategies and tools to manage splitting their own emotional atoms and the choices they'll make (or won't). We can't prevent the anxious meltdowns from happening, no matter how much we'd like to, and no matter how trivial we think it is. Because to a teen, all things are far from trivial. We're also not going to tell them to just deal with it and/or get over it; that's just not realistic or even possible for them (or us as adults). Thankfully parenting with Kidpower and Positive Discipline has helped us traverse childhood's easy bake ovens to teen-land's nuclear reactors.
However, we can't expect them to just do something because we think they should, no matter much we want to see them do it. Or force them to do it by shaming them or telling them they don't have a choice. Because they do. At least ours do. Understanding and applying choices, good or bad, are a big part of growing up, and our kids should have choices. Because choices can help them overcome their anxieties when they have the right tools and strategies. Finding their own way won't prevent them from stressing and radiating anxiety, but it will help them grow up aglow with healthy choices.
The ripped chip bag rested peacefully on the kitchen counter. Although its usefulness had come to an end, and the remaining potato chips now sat safely in a resealable bag, its demise was a violent one. There wasn't just one random rip down the side of the bag -- there were multiple shreds -- as if ripped apart by sharp talons of a hungry animal.
"Beatrice, let me show you again how to open up the chip bags," I said to our oldest daughter.
"It's really hard to open!" Bea exclaimed.
And so it goes. Not only about opening up chip and cereal bags, but also resealing them with clips.
"Girls, let me show you again how to clip the bags shut," I said to both our girls, holding up a bag of cereal and a clip. "Fold the open end a couple of times and then clip it, like this. That way the stuff inside stays fresh."
"Okay, Dad. We'll do it," they both said.
Which then they don't, half-sealing or leaving open on the table. And so it goes. We keep practicing Positive Discipline, though, and now that our children are flying headlong into teenage-land, there will be constant reminders like these. Over and over and over again.
The good news is that for the past few years they've received an allowance for doing specific chores each week around the house. And those things they do, with the occasional reminder or two. Sometimes with a serving or two of teen sass as well.
We're okay with that because we're eons from the days of wiping buts and noses. We do miss those days of their childhood (but not really the wiping buts part), especially when our phones pop up photo memories from years past. But mercy me -- Beatrice is cooking now! And both our daughters are transforming into responsible and accountable human beings, finding their individuality and independence with eyes of love and empathy.
"Yes, because of the water and power problems. People need help," she said.
"Do you both want to donate your allowance 'give' money you saved?" said their mom, Amy.
"Yes," Bea and Bryce said.
"Then we'll match it," said Amy.
Another big milestone arrived recently as well -- one that involves a developing independence. The girls have spent more and more time alone at home by themselves when Amy and I are going for a walk or a hike or running errands. However, this latest milestone was a different kind of alone, one involving venturing into the world without Mom and Dad. Every Saturday there is a farmers' market across the street from us. It's the beginning of a highway actually, but there is a four-way stoplight at the intersection with "walk - don't walk" signals.
The girls really wanted to go by themselves and get some yummy treats. We agreed and then reviewed our safety plans about crossing the street. We also reviewed our Kidpower safety about being on their own and being calm, confident and aware about everything and every person around them as they walked to the farmers' market and back again. We gave them some money and reminded them to buy us carrots with the greens so our rabbit could eat the greens.
Off they went. "Should we follow them?" I asked Amy.
"No, let them go. They'll be okay," she said.
The girls don't have phones yet, although that will change this year as they start doing more things on their own, and as they finally get to go back to in-person school (Bea will be in 7th grade and Bryce in 5th in the fall!). And while they struggle with opening and closing chip and cereal bags, among other things that we as adults take for granted (and can also still struggle with), their path to independence is a wonderful thing to witness and an honor to be a part of.
Checking first is critical. Always has been. Especially when there's an agreed-upon plan with the adults in charge. Meaning us, the parents. Checking with us first before they, our kids, change the plan.
For example, if the plan is, you, our children, will wear your masks inside when over at one of our pod homes, then you wear your masks inside. Pod homes meaning the families we rotate with a few times a week to watch each other's kids. Our kids get to play with their friends after school, and the parents get a break for a few hours after school.
Even if the adult in charge at that point and time in the house they were all in says it's okay to not wear masks, our children know they are supposed to check first with us before they do anything different than the agreed-upon plan. One of their friends didn't wear a mask inside, then others joined in, including our children.
After we went camping recently and were around a lot of people we did not know, even though we wore our masks and practiced COVID-19 safety protocols, we still were around a lot of different people. That, combined with the fact that another one of our pod families were around others indoors without masks, and we decided it was for the best that our girls wear their masks inside when at the other pod families that following week. That included our own home when it was our turn during that week.
Like checking first, some things are not a choice is another Kidpower mantra we repeat daily. And no matter the COVID-19 fatigue we've all been feeling, and mercy me have we been feeling it, it doesn't change how we practice health and safety protocols during a pandemic. This is true for our pod families and they all want to be safe as well.
It's been nearly a year since covid lockdown and distance learning for us where we live. And it sucks. Super sucks. We've done well as a family, and with our friends and pod families, but it still super sucks. We also don't disparage our friends because our kids decided to change the plans and take their masks off, no matter if the adult in charge said it was okay. We're all exhausted from this pandemic. Again, it super sucks.
Both our daughters tried to make the case that, since this was an agreement they didn't agree with, that it was okay to take off their masks. And we again reminded them, some things are not a choice and that we always check first with us before the plan is changed.
What is the natural consequence to be though? Should our daughters not be allowed to get together with the pods and friends for a week? That was our idea at first, and we posed this question to the parents in the Positive Discipline class we're in. The consensus was, no. Punitive discipline does not foster learning the right lessons, and especially not after the fact. Keeping communication open and continuing to be clear about the plan is key: thank you for telling us and what could you/we do differently next time before making a decision to change the plan. Always check first.
Children and teens don't have the capacity for consistent and rational decision making. Good God, so many adults don't either. We believe in including our daughters in the decision-making process, even though obviously we are the parents, the adults in charge.
This is why our family meetings are so important every week. Why personal responsibility and accountability are so important today, and tomorrow when they're teens. One of the parents in our class shared that in their friend pod, covid spread quickly due to not practicing safety protocol. Here was the natural consequence to learn from. Our oldest Beatrice realized that it wasn't just about potentially exposing themselves to the virus, it was about exposing us to it, her parents, who were more likely to get sick than either her or her sister.
No matter how tired we all are, some things are not a choice.
It's been my default response setting since the day our first daughter Beatrice pulled herself upright and began stumbling around the house. I even doubled down on the default responses when our youngest Bryce did the same.
I am still that Daddy Goat Gruff. It isn't easy to reprogram such wired reactive responses of punitive discouragement going back decades to my own childhood. Don't do this and stop doing that. It's how I was raised, even with a loving and encouraging mother.
My wife Amy has always encouraged an alternate way of raising our children. That solidified in her study and practice of Kidpower and now Positive Discipline. These days we practice Kidpower every single day, empowering each other with emotional and physical safety skills, boundary setting and more. We're also now taking a Positive Discipline course together, which is designed to teach young people to become responsible, respectful and resourceful members of their communities.
According to Positive Discipline, there are different styles of parenting that not only impact our children's lives, but all the lives we interact with each and every day. For example:
Authoritarian (Control Through Power & Coercion)
Order without freedom.
No choices.
You do it because I said so!
Behavior modification with a heavy emphasis on rewards & punishment.
Often invites rebellion & sneakiness.
And more...
Permissive (No Limits)
Freedom without order.
Unlimited choices.
You can do anything you want.
Very loving, however, low demands with few guidelines & rules.
Makes things as easy as possible for the child.
And more...
Positive Discipline (Firmness With Dignity & Respect)
Freedom with order.
Limited/realistic choices…you can choose within limits, which show respect for all.
Formulates guidelines for the child.
Provides the child with decision-making possibilities.
Holds the child accountable.
And more...
It's the positive discipline I'm really working on. We're both working on, although it does come easier to Amy. And thankfully she encourages me all the time. That's important, because encouragement is also a big part of positive discipline.
For example, every night after Beatrice takes a bath, she leaves her clothes on our bathroom floor, and then dumps her wet towel on the floor, either in the hallway, on her bedroom floor, or sometimes downstairs in the living room.
It's drives me friggin' bananas. And every night before bed, I tell her to please pick up her clothes in the bathroom and hang up her towel. Amy echoes that sentiment. I've even started encouraging her to put her clothes in the dirty clothes right after she gets out of the bath and then hang up her towel when she's done with it. I want her to be part of the solution.
So, I am working on it. There needs to be constant and firm reminders for Bea about the clothes and towel, but we are working on it. Even thought the Neil Peart quote I shared was more about drumming than parenting, there is an equanimity between being firm and stubborn to get the positive parenting right. Sure the default settings still kick in -- don't -- stop -- stop -- don't. As I wrote above, reprogramming decades of such wired reactive responses of punitive discouragement, the long tail of Daddy Goat Gruff, takes practice and perseverance. All I can do is keep trying and doing.
They found me at park near our house. I saw them drive up on the street, park and get out of their car. They stood there for a moment, probably collecting themselves on what to say to me, what to ask me. My behavior had been more and more emotionally erratic during my senior year in high school. They had no idea as to why. Not many people did, not even my closest friends at the time.
And it's not that they wouldn't have listened if I tried to explain what was happening. They would've, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't articulate it. Not until that moment at the park. Earlier we'd been at some event inside an auditorium, which I believe it was another in a series of high school graduation events. Before the event had started, I had fled.
My parents came and sat across from me. I talked and cried. They listened and cried. I told them how alone I felt. How I didn't want to be here anymore. How crushing the stress and the anxiety was that I felt. How uncomfortable I'd get in groups and how I needed to get out and go far away. I didn't tell them everything then, but I told them enough. They had no idea this was how I had been feeling or why.
Decades later, and my wife Amy and I have our own children. Two girls, now 10 and 12. Since October of 2018, we have a family meeting each week where everyone is encouraged to speak freely. After we share something about each other we've noticed over the past week, giving each other compliments and sharing what we're grateful for about each other. Then we move on to discussing managing our emotions, providing support, positive communication -- and safety plans. After that, it's share time, where the girls can discuss anything they want.
We practice Kidpower every single day, empowering each other with emotional and physical safety skills, boundary setting and more. Amy and I are now taking a Positive Discipline course together, which is designed to teach young people to become responsible, respectful and resourceful members of their communities. Amy had taken a class two years ago, which is where she got the idea of the family meetings. These are all things that we can do.
Being able to speak freely without judgement isn't easy to do today in our society. The isolating impact of COVID-19, along with the social upheaval of the past year and continued polarized shaming and blaming, it can really suck being an adult or a child these days.
Which is why we make it so safe to talk to each other about all these things. One positive thing about this past year is that we've become closer as a family. We speak freely without judgement, respecting each other's boundaries and keeping each other safe. We do get eye-rolls and sighs sometimes when we review being emotionally and physically safe with the girls, but we know it will pay dividends for them living a healthy life as adults with healthy relationships.
“Don't shoot me Santa Claus I've been a clean living boy I promise you Did every little thing you asked me to I can't believe the things I'm going through…” The Killers, Don’t Shoot Me Santa
Somewhere between the cafeteria and the parking lot, we lost our Joy. She'd been with us the whole night and every time we saw her or felt her, we couldn't help but smile. I swore I had picked her up with everything else when we loaded up to go. Beatrice swore, too. She said she saw her in my arms as we headed for the car.
But when I dumped everything in the back of our car, she was no where to be seen.
"Beatrice, where's Joy?"
Immediately the angst of losing Joy simmered inside. Bryce and the Mama would know soon enough and not be happy about it; Joy was Bryce's favorite character.
"I don't know. I thought you had her Daddy?" Beatrice clicked her seatbelt.
Dammit, I thought. "Bea, I'm going to see if I dropped her."
"Okay."
I walked back through the parking to see if I could find Joy. Nothing. Joy was gone. I went back to our car and told Bea to get out and help me look. We walked all the way back to the cafeteria where her latest grade school's movie night had transpired early that evening, the Disney Pixar movie Inside Out. It's currently Bea's favorite movie, having seen it nearly 20 times, and of course Daddy cries every friggin' time he sees it. Hence why she wanted to bring the stuffed character of the same name, one of a set of characters we had given to Bea for her birthday. We had also brought Disgust with us, Bea's favorite character and a foreshadowing of sorts.
Only Beatrice and I were supposed to go to this movie night just as we'd done the previous two, but this time Bryce actually wanted to join us. So the Mama packed up more stuff for us all to bring. We still brought both cars anticipating that Bryce would want to go home early (which she did).
But happy we were with the fact that the entire family wanted to go this time. Joy filled in the space between us all sitting on a blanket spread out on the cafeteria floor. We ate pizza, chips and carrots and the day before felt like light years away...
...Unfortunately, Joy was safe and sound at home when I took the girls to get their flu shots and mine as well the day before movie night. The Mama had already gotten hers through work. Our family doctor had lost an entire batch of flu mist and shots due to a refrigeration problem, so that had killed the close-to-home pleasant option. Sure, we could've gone to the county clinic, but that was way across town and would've taken too much time for me that day. Instead we went to Safeway down the street where the plan was to get the shots and get them a treat next door at Yogurt-land. But the pharmacist had no help that day and couldn't administer shots until later in that afternoon, long after I had to get back to work.
Fine. We'd go to CVS instead since I wanted the girls to pick out something cheap and fun for the Mama to round out her Christmas gifts. Yes, CVS. No judging, please. But the problem there was the fact that they couldn't administer the shots for any child under eight years old. Argh. (That would end up being the case the day after movie night at Safeway where they had originally told me six years or older could get the flu shot. Cold-hearted bastards.)
"Okay, girls. Let's pick something out for Mommy."
But immediately Bryce picked out a toy for herself. "Daddy, I want to get this."
"No, Bryce. We're only getting presents for Mommy."
"Yes! I want this!"
"Bryce, please. We're only shopping for Mommy and then we're going home. You already got a treat after Safeway."
"I want it!"
The Brychter scale flipped on in my head and the tremors around us started rocking and rolling. Please, no. Not until we get out of here.
I moved as quickly as I could with Bryce's earthquake escalating all the way to a 10.0. I negotiated with Bryce, gave her another couple of choices, and Beatrice tried to help too, but the earth was roiling out of control and Bryce was beyond the rational. Impulse control down. Sanity off the grid. The world imploding around us. Checking out and leaving in short order was the immediate plan.
Unlike the day the Bea stung, this time Bryce roared like a hungry lion in the middle of the now shaking store floor near the register where I paid for the gifts. She threw down the toy she wanted, picked it back up and threw it down again.
"Bryce, we're leaving now. Please come over here."
"I want the toy, Daddy! I want the toy now!"
"Bryce, I already gave you another choice. These gifts are for Mommy and you can pick a small toy like Bea has, but not the one you want."
Tears streamed down her bright red face and she fell to the ground as if participating in her own private Occupy CVS protest.
"Bryce, please come over here."
Everyone around us watched, but I blocked out all fields of vision except my lines of sight on Bryce and Beatrice. Less than a week earlier I lunged in to care for sick sweetie Bryce who had thrown up all over the place while I tried to work, but now she was wild animal I had to cage, get home and get the Mama to help soothe (in that order). My tranquilizer gun perpetually shot placebos.
"Please, Bryce."
"No! I want the toy!"
More up and down off the ground. More throwing of the toy. A crowd gathered.
The positive parenting and natural consequence negotiating just wasn't going to work at this point. Somewhere deep down I heard the Mama and other positive discipline pundits shouting Remove her from the environment -- Now! Lousy local conditions be damned.
That's when Bryce ran up and hit me on the hip. I'd just finished paying for the merchandise (I selfishly wasn't leaving without the Mama gifts) and as soon as she retracted her hand, I grabbed her arm firmly.
"Stop!" she yelled.
I pulled her firmly toward the door with my right hand while all the purchases hung from my left. I got her to the sliding doors, but then Bryce grabbed the security system alarm gate and held on tight with her free right hand. I pulled, she shifted diagonal, but didn't budge. I could've pulled her vertical like in a cartoon.
"We're going home now, Bryce! Stop it!"
As I screamed this I felt horrible. I never wanted it to escalate this far. Remove her from the environment -- Now!
I finally got her out the door and now she thrashed making it exponentially more difficult to manage the moment.
"Beatrice, please carry this stuff for me so I can pick up Bryce."
Bea complied and as I hauled Bryce up to cart her to the car, she thrashed and hit and scratched, and all I could think about was not hurting her. To get her home. Intact. Unscathed. To the Mama. And away from me.
I strapped her and we got home. Finally. Still with the Mama's gifts. As Bryce settled down I discussed what happened with the Mama, her consoling me and telling me I had no other choice but to remove her. Bryce later told me she loved me, and then all was well with our world again. We all survived no matter how guilty I felt about treating her a little roughly (just as the Mama has had to do herself). And although Joy was all but lost, we made it through movie night and then the reattempt at the flu inoculation the next day, which only I could get this time due to the age limit and that nearly made the Mama flip out. But we made it unscathed to our annual visit with Santa Claus where we had a Zen-like moment with him, discussing the mindful omnipresence of Santa (and, in a way, parenting). Amen.
And then later that night, we both lunged in as Bryce threw up again all over her bed, and then Bea's.
Compared to the rest of the crazy shit happening in the world today, and to those less fortunate than us, our family growing pains are quite benign, but they're still our growing pains nonetheless.
We still haven't found Joy, but we're grateful it continues to find us, and that always makes for a Happy Christmastime.
It's been a week since the three words stung me. The pain has since subsided, but the memory lingers on like a healing itch.
The Daddy Day plan was to go to the Seymour Marine Discovery Center, what the girls call the "little aquarium" (we call the Monterey Bay Aquarium the "big aquarium"), and then go to Natural Bridges State Beach and check out the Monarch butterflies. The Mama was away for the day getting some much needed R&R with her best friend, and so I was in charge.
Which is fine. It ain't my first rodeo; the girls and I have had many fun solo adventures prior to this one. The Mama made sure I had plenty of snacks packed (note to self: always have snacks at the ready when adventuring with your children). And of course, don't forget the water. I brought plenty of both with us.
We weren't even going that far away, but the girls and I both were excited to again check out the little aquarium. The warm weather made for a spectacular day and off we went. At first, the adventure was smooth sailing. We went inside the Seymour Center and participated in their scavenger hunt, each girl marking off the different fish and sea creatures we found from an erasable laminated sheet. Or, more accurately, Daddy marking off Bryce's sheet with Beatrice kind of managing hers, but both the girls did help me identify all the various ocean animals and winning a creature necklace in the process (that I ended up wearing).
From swell sharks to sea cucumbers to the touch tanks filled with hermit crabs and green sea anemones -- the girls had a blast. And so did I. Of course they hounded me for a gift from the gift shop before we left, and I caved for something small for each girl.
Back out into the sunshine the girls then wanted to play on the elephant seal statues for a bit. But then a cold front brewed inside Bryce. This happens when she gets hungry and her passive-aggressive behavior becomes a sudden thunderstorm.
"I want to go home now!"
"Let's have a snack, Bryce," I said. "We still want to go see the butterflies after this.
"No! I want to go home!"
"No, Bryce. We're not going home," said Bea.
"Girls, let's have a snack and then we'll go see the butterflies and then go home and have lunch."
"No!"
Ugh.
We took a break and had a snack, which seemed to clear Bryce's angry sky, and then walked around the Seymour Center along the ocean cliffs and back around to where the big whale skeletons were. We were doing okay, although Bryce still wanted to go home, so I should've known better and cut our losses then and there. But I didn't, and we drove over to Natural Bridges. When we got out of the car, the storm clouds were waiting on the side of the road like sketchy hitchhikers cursing under their breath.
Stalemate #1: Bryce wouldn't budge. We had started along one of the trails toward the Monarch butterfly grove and Bryce still didn't want to go. She stopped cold, plopped down on her butt and stubbornly whined that she wasn't going any farther. This fun exchange lasted about five minutes until finally I agreed we could go to the gift shop to look but not buy anything else, but then we'd still have to go see the butterflies. Bryce reluctantly agreed and we were off again.
Stalemate #2: We immediately hit another trailhead and again Bryce refused to go on, crying even more adamantly that she wanted to go home. Bea jumped in the angry fray telling Bryce she had to go see the butterflies. Then sister bickering ensued. There were a lot of families out hiking through Natural Bridges, many from other countries, their various languages drifted by us while we stood there on a little wooden bridge along the trail and argued. We were there for at least another 10 minutes while Bryce said she wanted to go and Bea said she wanted to stay. I waited and was patient and did everything I could to keep focused on the principals of positive discipline.
"Girls, the longer we stand here, the less time we'll have to see the butterflies."
"I want to go home!"
"I want to see the butterflies!"
Ugh. Another five minutes went by with them only agreeing to disagree and I finally said, "Girls, we're going home now. If you can't agree on what we're going to do, then we're going home. It's time for lunch anyway."
Stalemate #3: Bryce got onboard with that, but Beatrice did not. In fact, Beatrice's storm clouds broke and that's all she wrote; she wasn't budging. But Bryce took off back up the trail, no matter how many times I told her to stop. Bea's arms were crossed.
"Bryce! Stop right now!" I yelled. "Bea, c'mon now, we're going home!"
"No!" they both shouted back at me.
A German family came down the trail tentatively (I heard them talking, which is how I knew), hearing our shouts and sensing our distress and probably reading the angry daddy on my face. And the fact that I held Beatrice's wrist in my fist pulling her toward me didn't help the situation.
"Hi," I said as they passed.
"Hi," they echoed uncomfortably and scurried on down the trail.
"Beatrice, we're going home now! Bryce wait for us!"
"No!"
Ugh. That was it. I had tried to be patient and calm. I tried to negotiate with them. I tried to muster up my positive discipline and Kidpower powers, but to no avail. They were dead to me. Daddy Goat Gruff firmness stomped its hooves and we were not playin' no more. I pulled Beatrice up the trail, caught up to Bryce, and then finally got them both headed to the car on their own power.
Stalemate #4: But when we got to the car and I got Bryce buckled in, Beatrice stood defiantly next to the car. She wanted to sit in the front seat. Nearing exasperation, I told her she could not sit in the front seat as it was against the law. Instead, she sat in the front passenger seat. That's when I got really pissed off.
"That's it," I said, scrambling around the car to get Bea from the front seat to her booster seat in the back. "We are done and going home now! I'm tired of this crap and you both not agreeing and not listening to me! Get your butts in the car!"
Bryce screamed and cried that she was already in the car as I got in the driver seat. In the rearview mirror Bea's face beamed red with anger. I could almost hear her growling.
"No TV or iPads when we get home! I will fix lunch but nothing else. I'm so disappointed, girls. I thought we were going to have a nice time today."
It was at that moment I was stung (and stunned).
"I hate you!"
That was Beatrice. Three words. One big sting. She was furious with me. Bryce began saying something else through her tears, but I didn't hear her. Beatrice's red face glowed in the mirror.
All I could think about was -- wow, that hurt -- and -- wow, I'm proud of her. Really. Those two things simultaneously. Yes, almost every parent deals with their child's defiance and the words "I hate you." And yes, it hurt, but it also didn't surprise me.
So yes, when the Bea stings as she can now do, it's painful, but it's beautiful, too. I was also proud of her as we headed for home.
"Daddy, why can't we watch TV or play with our iPads?" Bea asked, her fury gone.
Great question, my sweet girl. My anger had also fled as quickly as it had held my heart and head hostage. My firmness had turned to meanness and my punitive response in the end wasn't going to help undo what had already been done; it just made me feel better, that I had the control, the parental power over them to DO AS I SAY.
But the girls knew why I was mad and why we were going home. We did talk about it once we got home and I told them why it was so frustrating for me and that no matter what I still loved them. They told me they were sorry as well, even Bryce, who doesn't take kindly to sorry. "Can we play with the iPads now, Daddy?" they asked.
Sigh. "Yes, my lovely bee stings, yes you can."
After reviewing with the Mama and the girls' pre-school teachers during Bryce's parent-teacher conference two days later (Bridges to Kinder is where both girls attended preschool and where we learned positive discipline), at some point you have no choice to be firm. Not mean parental control where I unfortunately defaulted to, but firm nonetheless.
Our dear friend and the Bridges to Kinder preschool director, Teacher Laura as we lovingly all call her, shared some books with me, one of which is called Anh's Anger, about how to teach children (and even adults) coping skills when it comes to dealing with their anger. I highly recommend it.
Learn to sit with the sting until you soothe yourself. Amen.
I imploded. The frustration of not knowing what to do sprayed my gut like poison shrapnel, my heart buried in the rubble. The years of adept coping lost in a moment of weakness.
The poison seeped and seethed in my bloodstream until it reached the damaged language centers of my Cro-Magnon daddy brain, doing nothing more than igniting another series of fresh implosions, the poison ultimately reaching a lethal level. My heart was nowhere to be seen.
Finally, the Mama asked, “Are you grumpy again?”
The poison poured from my mouth; the caveman pounded my front lobes with his gnarled club.
“Yes, I am! I’m tired and hungry and I had to deal with Bryce screaming and again pounding on my face and chest like a mad woman while we were in line in the store. And I don’t know what to do about it. How am I supposed to just smile and use the whole positive discipline parenting approach and ask ‘what’s your idea?’ when all I want to do is smack her across the face!”
I sighed aloud. “Mercy, I actually do feel better now.”
The Mama gave me an uncomfortable smile, as if to say, Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place, butthead?
There we sat in the Trader Joe’s parking lot, us in the front seats, and the girls giggling in the back, oblivious to my angry outburst.
“Are we going to the harvest festival?” Bryce asked.
“Yeah, the harvest festival!” Beatrice echoed.
“To jump in muddy puddles!" they called out together.
“Yes, we are,” the Mama answered.
I remained quiet, still recovering from internal damage, but off we went. While I drove us onward, I reflected on my immature and impulsive delayed reaction, still struggling with the positive discipline parenting approach overall, especially when Bryce’s reactive tantrums explode in our faces.
I know the Mama struggles too, sometimes having a smack attack on Bryce when it’s just too much, which in turn only causes Bryce to strike back harder until she becomes a boiling sea of tears.
But that’s not why I was reflecting this time. Bryce is only four, and a much different animal that her older sister, and the fact is that we’re doing everything we can to instill positive and healthy “responsible” responses to anything that either girl will have to deal with short and long-term. Self-awareness, mindfulness and impulse control over destructive behavior takes time and a maturity that many adults can and do struggle with.
Like me. Although I’m light years from where I was before the Mama met me, the same pattern of internalizing angst until it implodes as referenced above still happens from time to time. It’s like having flashbacks from bad hallucinogenic drugs taken in an already fragile state of mind.
At least, I’ve heard from friends...
You get the point. I internalize. I implode. The poison seeps and seethes and hurts me and those around me. I expel it all as if exorcized. Then I’m better again.
The Mama’s always been better at being under control and direct in the moment, at quickly adapting while retaining a pragmatic and almost magical approach to every facet of life, but I’m getting there; I have my moments. A work in progress since the day we met over 17 years ago on the beach…
Sigh. Snap – wait, that’s it! For those of you keeping score at home, yes, I’ve seen the Mama meltdown (she is a lovely woman and human being), but it’s the “pragmagical” planning, execution and resolution that I now aspire to, before I implode!
And all it takes is a big, muddy puddle and harmonic convergence. Yes, that’s it. What a woman that Mama is. And for me, Bryce is the key as well, like malleable molten metal that can be easily turned into a precision tuning fork.
After Trader Joe’s, we did go to the Wilder Ranch State Park 40th Anniversary Heritage Harvest Festival and had an amazing time (which we usually do). It rained earlier in the day, which us West Coasters desperately need, but then the sun came out in the afternoon and it was gorgeous.
Thank goodness, 'cause Daddy Goat Gruff needed a little vitamin D and some family B love.
The Mama's the queen of the pragmagical -- planning ahead and bringing an extra change of clothes for the girls since we planned on letting them jump in the muddy puddles. We always do. It's incredibly fun and cathartic. I only wish me and the Mama would have joined them. (And if you and your kids watch Peppa Pig, you know what I'm talking about.)
Yes, B-come the tuning fork that needs to reverberate (and release) immediately in a big, sloppy, muddy puddle -- real or imagined -- before the implosion happens. That's the harmonic convergence I've been looking for.
So, if I just bend Bryce just the right way and hold her up to the glorious sunlight and jump...
I watched as she scraped the fork back and forth along the side of the bookshelf. Then she poked it a couple of times.
"Amy, please don't let her do that," I pleaded with the Mama.
The Mama didn't respond.
"Bryce, stop it," I growled.
"Bryce, what's your idea?" the Mama asked.
There it was -- the positive discipline response. But Bryce kept on scraping.
"Amy, please don't ask how she's feeling right now. Stop her from gouging the shelf. Thank you."
"Sweetie, she's not gouging the shelf. C'mon."
Amy sighed. "Bryce, Daddy doesn't want you doing that. Please don't scratch the shelf."
As soon as the Mama took Bryce's fork away, Bryce cried out in protest and shook her head. That's when I saw the fuse: a small, white, frayed cord that protruded from the lower back of her sweet little toddler head. I imagined that it originated deep in her reptilian brain's core, completely detached from her developing frontal lobes.
And sometimes the fuse smelled of gasoline.
All it took then was a single spark to ignite it.
Sizzle. Hiss. Boom.
More like -- Ka-Boom.
Such is the life with firecracker Bryce, and the closer she gets to turning four years old, the shorter the fuse seems to get. She's been exploding, hitting, yelling and crying at a exponential rate -- the classic temper tantrum. Sometimes the tantrums take what feels like an inordinate amount of time to extinguish, the fuse lighting over and over again like a trick candle.
It's especially difficult when we're in public, like just yesterday at the old fashioned 4th of July at Wilder Ranch State Park when Bryce fights, screams and thrashes while the rest of the world watches her cruel parents drag her away after calming her fails.
According to the Positive Discipline folks, it's not easy for most of us (children and adults included) to verbalize our feelings when they are upset, and there are those of us who can't verbalize their feelings at all at any time. Children (and unfortunately still too many adults) haven't learned how to articulate what they need and want. Scheduling time to have family meetings, talking through the problems, teaching the child to brainstorm for solutions -- all these things are supposed to help snuff out the fuse and calm the child. Temper tantrums often occur when children feel controlled.
I know that positive discipline doesn't mean being so completely permissive that there is no discipline at all, but it does mean we need to "both kind and firm in our actions. Kindness shows respect for the child. Firmness shows respect for the needs of the situation and for parents. Spanking and punitive time out are not kind."
Except when the child is gouging my bookshelf or smacking me across the face.
Sigh. Okay, even then, and even if it takes forever for the fuse to go out.
When experiencing hot things, my grandfather used to say, "Hot as a firecracker on the fourth of July!"
With Bryce, it's more like, "Hot as a Molotov cocktail on the eve of end times!"
She's our fearless little headstrong force to be reckoned with. Look out world. This kid means business.
"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see." --Thoreau
So many things we want to pass on to them, to teach them, to arm them the ability to disarm under duress, without backing down and with minimal compromise when needed in their ongoing search for self and relative happiness. Our children, genetic blend upon genetic blend, whether ours or others, hopefully will learn and development in a way that sets them up for success. Not success in the way that we initially think of it -- oodles of money, security and some monumental impact on the world -- but success in the way they live, in what they see, in how they react to every incremental circumstance good, bad or in between. Success from the joy of Zen. (We may joke about the realities of finding oneself and achieving enlightenment, but I'll be damned if I don't have the last laugh.) However, I hope, but can only imagine, that our girls' future is brighter and more opportune than the generation before them. According to Pew Research, "Millennials are also the first in the modern era to have higher levels of student loan debt, poverty and unemployment, and lower levels of wealth and personal income than their two immediate predecessor generations (Gen Xers and Boomers) had at the same stage of their life cycles." And yet, according to the same recent research, they're the most optimistic about their economic prospects. But they're also quite distrustful of others compared to other generations. What a conundrum. I hope that's not the case with our girls' generation. Again, we hope we're helping them "see" as clearly as possible, regardless of what they're "looking at," using positive discipline so as to encourage healthy emotional intelligence development. Easier said than done for me, since I'm such a grump jumper. Meaning that, although I've come a long way with my own "Zenning hard" self (continuous non-reactive "balance" development takes a lot of energy), it's too easy for me to jump to being a grumpy Daddysaur in the face of, oh, things like a broken sewer line six feet down in our front yard costing us thousands of unplanned for dollars. Holy crap indeed. Yep, whatever stink life throws in front of us, grumping jumping ain't solving much of anything except making others, and yourself, feel like crap. (I'll end the sewage metaphors now.) And did I tell you I dropped my iPhone face first onto frozen concrete? Did you hear that glass shatter? Sure that's pretty mild with all the other crappy (sorry) things and people that can happen to us in life, but most kids are grump jumpers by default, and impulse control is important to learn and no time like the pending mindful presence of toddlerville today. The Mama and I want our girls to be relentless in their search for self and relative happiness while celebrating those who both complement, and challenge, the journey. Zen hard, my girls. And Zen well.
That's what can bring Daddysaur's to their knees, one incremental yet non-intentional emasculating moment at a time.
The plan was for the Mama to take Bea to a playdate with a classmate, then Bryce would have a date with Daddy to go to the store and then enjoy a slice of pizza together. Unfortunately that didn't go so well -- Bryce wanted nothing more than to go with the Mama and Bea to the playdate, but that wasn't a choice for her.
So we powered through, me getting an unsettled Bryce into the car and on our way to the store. I diverted for a few to watch the big surf from the recent storms and that quelled her inner storm (plus the gummy bunnies didn't hurt).
"I'm better now, Daddy," she said.
I smiled. "I'm glad, Sweetie."
That's when I realized I didn't have the grocery list. The inner storm churned again and we ended up just going home.
Not her fault, but tough nonetheless, to feel like an emasculated failure who can't communicate with a 3.5 year old. No matter what I said, nothing helped. Not surprising considering that children this age have a tough time listening. According to Positive Discipline for Preschoolers, by Jane Nelsen, ED.D., Cheryl Erwin, M.A., and Roslyn Ann Duffy, children don't listen because:
Adults don't ask a child what she should or should not be doing, but tell her.
Adults set up power struggles that make winning more important than cooperating.
The child cannot comply with a request because it demands social skills or thinking skills that have not yet developed.
And many other things. Not that these directly applied to my scenario, but because Bryce doesn't have the social/thinking skills needed to assess why she was going with me and not the Mama, she wanted nothing to do with going with me.
It's bad enough (or good enough -- no judgement mommies) that when we attend a school event like we did the other day, a rainy day arts and crafts festival where the kids could go from table to table and paint and glue and do other things, that most of the parents there are mommies, not daddies.
Even with more women in the workplace today and more men staying at home, anecdotally we tend to still fall into these traditional caregiver/breadwinner roles and no matter how much we may lean in either way to compromise and help one another (regardless if you're an opposite-sex or same-sex couple), the breadwinner loses with the kids because they spend much less nurturing time overall with the kids.
It's not anybody's fault, especially the todders; they are more comfortable with the primary nurturers and don't have the coping skills to know the difference yet. That's just the way it is, so the "Daddysaur's" shouldn't take these overreactions seriously. We shouldn't, but we do.
Argh.
Which is why I need to take a little break from the family action yesterday. In doing so, both girls missed me and even Bea felt my angst, being such a feeler like me. The Mama, of course, just wanted to understand and help me work through it.
Damn you girls. I'm a nurturer, too. Daddysaur loves you.
It stirred, sensing something in its realm. It slowly opened one bleary eye -- suddenly two smaller creatures appeared. Probably B-hivers, it thought. It jumped up from its lair on full alert, scaring the larger of the two creatures.
The Daddysaur bounded to the floor to chase the B-hivers from it's cave, while the Mamasaur stirred restlessly behind them all.
"Girls, wait out in the hall and we'll go downstairs. Mommy's still sleeping and I'll be right there."
Such is the life of late with preschoolers in our prehistoric wake, those moments when we as parents feel older and "tireder" than usual that leads to the grumps with little ones who have boundless energy and endless brain activity.
Last night Bryce woke up yet again from a bad dream and came in our room crying, with the Mama waking, carrying and comforting her back to her bed to sleep. It's been a weekly event even with both of them being pretty good sleepers.
It's when they're awake when it all becomes a handful, playing well with each other one moment, then pounding on each other the next. Or hitting us. Or not listening to us. Or not getting ready to somewhere when we need them to, like school. Or being picky eaters. Or not picking up their things when we ask them. Or Bryce twisting her glasses and popping out a lens on a Sunday when the optometrist isn't in the office, like this very minute.
All very frustrating for fairly emotionally aware, balanced and impulse-controlled adults, like us. And probably you, too.
The Mama's been reading Positive Discipline for Preschoolers, by Jane Nelsen, ED.D., Cheryl Erwin, M.A., and Roslyn Ann Duffy, and now I'm reviewing it. The girls' preschool is based on the positive discipline research and methodology and although I've been aware of it since Bea started preschool, my cursory knowledge has run thin like my patience.
The fact is -- three-year-old's have more energy than at any other time in their lives. Yikes. No wonder that the B-hive continues to buzz so loudly.
The Mama and I grew up in a mixed discipline world of firmer hands and less softer touch, discipline more often associated with punishment and negative behavior extinguishing than positive learning and development. My parents' and Nonna's worlds even more so. Goodness, I was even spanked as a child.
My gruffness today as a parent just doesn't make any magic happen. It only squashes it.
According to the positive discipline book, we as Daddysaurs and Mamasaurs should focus on "Eight Methods for Implementing Positive Discipline":
Get children involved in the creation of routines, through the use of limited choices and by providing opportunities to help.
Teach respect by being respectful.
Use your sense of humor.
Get into your child's world.
Say what you mean, and then follow through with kindness and firmness.
Be patient.
Act, don't talk -- and supervise carefully.
Accept and appreciate your child's uniqueness.
Easier said than done when you grew up differently as I did, although my parents incorporated some of the above. Miss you Mom and Dad. Mindful positive parenting is where the magic happens.
And yes, Daddysaurs need to get into their B-hivers' world, which thankfully I do.
