parenting

I claim a victory in the Battle of the Bedtime. I confess I cheated, but I still won. At 7 pm I took all four of my kids on a walk. I was the only one walking, everyone else had wheeled vehicles, but they were muscle powered an thus still tiring. Only Patches rolled in effortless splendor in his stroller. It was a long walk. They were all glad to get back home and put the bikes away. When I put Gleek to bed I checked back in 10 minutes and she was out. This is a major improvement over last night where she was awake for 90 minutes after I put her to bed. Link went to sleep quickly. Patches struggled a little bit. He really wanted to go sleep in my bed, but Howard had already crashed for the night. Besides Patches needs to be sleeping in his own bed, that’s why we have it. This only leaves Kiki awake, she’s next on my list.

Then I need to go to bed too. Because I can’t win tomorrow night’s Battle of the Bedtime unless I make all the kids get up at a reasonable hour.

Bedtime struggles continue, but I now suspect that at least part of the problem is biorythmic rather than behavioral. Kids only need so many hours of sleep at night and if I’m letting them sleep in until 9 am (or later,) they won’t be sleepy at bedtime. So I’ve printed out some charts so that I can track sleep patterns for my kids. Hopefully the act of keeping track will help me adjust the schedules so that we’re better prepared for school to start in just over a week.

Tonight I’m thinking of another donkey. This one doesn’t have a story really, not like the other one. This one is just stubborn. There are two ways to get the donkey to move. One is to hang a carrot in front of it, thus enticing it to move forward. The other is to threaten it with a stick so that it moves to avoid pain. These same motivational strategies will work on people too. It’s just that for people you don’t usually employ actual carrots or sticks.

Monday’s confrontation with Gleek did not solve the bedtime problem. We have continued to have nightly struggles with keeping her in bed. Tonight she and I discussed it, she told me she would be good, I said “remember” right as I walked out the door. Within 3 minutes she was out of bed and opening her door. The agreed upon consequence for breaking bedtime rules is that I take her security blanket. I had to do it last night and was then awakened at 2 am by a disoriented and inconsolable Gleek sleepwalking to find her blanket. Not something to which I wanted I want to subject either of us again. But she’d been out of bed. So I took the blanket and told her that if she could lie very still for 10 minutes, I would bring it back. She lay very still. She lay so still that she was asleep before the time was up.

Aha! I think. Finally something that works.

It works because there was a carrot. I’ve been trying to solve this problem with applications of bigger, scarier sticks. Not once have I introduced a reward for good behavior. DOH!

Lying still in a dark room with no people in it, is torture to Gleek. It is so much like torture that the only sticks which might outweigh it are the big ugly ones that I won’t use. All I need to do is find a stick-and-carrot combination that is sufficiently motivating for her. Emphasis on the carrots.

I read a story today about a man who gave a donkey to his friend. He assured the friend that the donkey was very well behaved, he only had to whisper in the donkey’s ear and it would do what it was asked. The friend took the donkey for two days and then brought it back. He couldn’t get it to do anything. The man offered to show the friend how it was done. He took a wooden stick and whacked the donkey on the nose, then whispered in it’s ear.
“I thought you said all I had to do was whisper.” Said the friend.
“Well, yeah, but first you have to get it’s attention.”

I’m feeling great affinity for that story after managing Gleek today. She is a wonderful, sweet little girl. I can ask her to do things and she will do them gladly. But often I have to metaphorically whack her on the nose to get her attention first. Sometimes that means a major confrontation in which I have to find the right lever to apply. I don’t have as many levers as I would like because she is so happy go lucky about almost everything.

I have been having a terrible time getting her to bed lately. I’ll tuck her into bed. She’ll object about my departure. Then all will be silent for an hour. I’ll send Kiki to bed only to discover that Gleek is not asleep at all. Gleek is wide awake playing in her bed. That is a major problem because shutting those two into a room together is a recipe for a fight. I need a way to make Gleek stop keeping herself awake. If she lies still for 5 minutes she is out like a light. I have scowled. I have scolded. I have confiscated her lamp. I have confiscated toys. I have given detailed instructions about what she should do, which she ignored. She was willing to live with all of that. Each night she claimed to be sorry, and she probably was, but not sorry enough to remember it the next night. Tonight I warned her and then confiscated her security blanket. She imediately let forth a litany of “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

I let her feel upset for awhile until she started saying things like “everyone badons [abandons] me. Now even my family badons me.” People believe the stories they tell themselves. Gleek was telling a story about being a victim. I couldn’t let that continue. I went in and talked to her about choices and consequences. And how “I’m sorry” doesn’t mean anything unless you stop doing the thing you are appologizing for. She listened and I think she finally heard. She met my eyes and promised never to break the bedtime rules again. I believed in her sincerity and returned her blankets.

Hopefully she will remember this tomorrow night and she will stop pushing the limits in this direction. It is too much to hope for that she’ll stop pushing limits completely. I figure I’ve got another couple of months before this pushing phase is past for awhile.

I did a much better parenting job last night. This time I was aware ahead of time that both Link and Kiki would need extra attention at bedtime. I got the little ones into bed early, well earlier anyway, it wasn’t exactly “early.” Then before I even tried to tuck Link into bed I sat down and talked to him about missing his friend. I did some talking, but mostly I did listening. Or more acurately prodding Link to talk so that he could put feelings into words. That process was critical for him to understand what was happening in his own head. It was amazing to me when Link made his own mental connection between his recent difficulties staying in bed and trying to avoid thinking about missing his friend. I hadn’t mentioned the connection to him, he just recognized it on his own. Extra love, extra snuggles, extra patience and a recognition that his regression into younger behaviors was a temporary stress response, got us through. At least it got us through last night. Link will need to grieve again because grief is never tidy.

Once Link was in bed I was able to focus on Kiki. This friend is also Kiki’s close friend. He was essentially an extra brother for her. They quarrelled a lot and many times Kiki would come storming home declaring that she would never play with him again. “Never again” usually lasted about an hour. Kiki’s grief will probably end more quickly than Link’s because the relationship was different and because she is better able to verbalize it and analyze it. But last night the grief was fresh and painful. Again I listened.

First grief is hard because the person has no prior experience to let them know that grief is temporary. When grief is fresh it hurts so bad that the grief stricken person cannot see past it. Right now Kiki and Link do not believe it will ever get better. They are both convinced that missing this friend will always hurt this much and make them this sad. I know otherwise, but they wouldn’t believe me if I told them. I just have to wait for them to discover for themselves. I just have to wait and walk this path with them so they don’t have to be alone. They will have other causes for grief in future years and in those cases this experience will help them know in advance that grief can be survived. That after grief comes new happiness. Knowing that does not lessen the pain, but makes the walk less frightening.

“…know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience and shall be for thy good.” Doctrine & Covenants 122:7

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and think afflictions shall be but a small moment.” Doctrine & Covenants 121:7

“Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” Doctrine & Covenants 64:33

For the past week or two I have had worlds of trouble trying to put Link to bed. He’d get out of bed up to a dozen times each night for a myriad of reasons. He wanted to sell something on ebay. He was worried that his blankets would get ripped to pieces. He was hungry. He wanted an extra hug. He needed a drink. He couldn’t sleep. The list went on and on. I’ve been ascribing this new and annoying behavior to the general sleep disruption that all my kids are experiencing due to the summer schedule. We’ve all been staying up late and sleeping late. I’ve been responding to the behavior with increasing amounts of irritation and anger.

Until last night it did not occur to me that what I was seeing was displaced anxiety. Link’s first, best, sometimes only, friend is moving away tomorrow. Last night Link could no longer dodge the source of his disturbance. At 11 last night Link got out of bed and was in tears because he didn’t want his friend to leave. Howard and I comforted as best we could. In truth there wasn’t much we could say to make Link feel better. We have plans to stay in touch with this friend. The friend is only moving 90 minutes away. But we all know that the friendship will not be the same as it has been. We comforted as best we could and we all went to bed exhausted.

Then I dreamed. I dreamed that I was taking all my kids on a train trip. We got our tickets and needed to rush for the train. It was there ready to go, but I was not ready. I bustled to grab kids and toys and shoes. But I was not ready in time. The train pulled out before I got on. Only as it was moving away did I realize that Link had already gotten onto the train without the rest of us. I’d been aware that he climbed onto the train, but it hadn’t registered until the doors were all closed an the train was leaving. Then I woke up.

At first I tried to exorcise the tension of the dream by spinning response scenarios. I could grab a conductor and have them call the train driver. Some train official could meet Link at the next stop and get him off the train and keep him safe until I arrived. I could jump in my car a drive to the next station. I could call a friend or relative to meet him at the next station. None of these thoughts solved the tension I was feeling. That is because it wasn’t a lost child aniexty dream. It was a visual symbol of last night’s experience. Link has a frightening emotional journey to make and he’s been travelling alone because I was too busy/distracted to get on the train with him.

I really wish the cluebat had thwacked me a week ago.

Well, today was my first experience with having a child “run away.”

Patches was tired and needed a nap. This meant that I needed to lie in bed with him and read him a story or two for him to be settled. It only takes about 5 minutes, but they must be quiet and peaceful minutes. Having Gleek in the room interferes with the process because she talks and then requires coaxing to leave. The coaxing almost always reminds Patches that he doesn’t really want to take a nap and I’m back to square one. Today Gleek did not want to have to wait out of the room while I settled Patches. I tried coaxing. I tried offering movies, stories, or computer games. I tried getting firm. Finally I picked her up, put her outside the room and locked the door. Gleek was outraged at this. She howled. She pounded on the door. Finally she announced “I’m Moving!” and all went quiet. I finished reading to Patches. Fortunately today’s stories were short rather than the epic length Dr. Seuss story he usually demands. Then I departed the room with mission accomplished.

Now I had a new problem. Gleek had obviously hidden herself away somewhere. I hadn’t heard the front door, so I thought she was still in the house. I don’t like “hiding from mommy” behaviors, so I knew I needed to craft my response carefully. Most of Gleeks misbehaviors are based in a desire for attention. I considered going to read a book and thus denying her the attention. I knew she would emerge on her own with a different attention seeking behavior. Unfortunately I was not certain she was in the house. It was possible that I’d missed hearing the front door. Leaving The House Without Telling Me is a major infraction of our rules and required different handling than merely Hiding From Mom. I needed to know which I was dealing with. I searched the house. I looked in all the hidey-corners. I called her name. Silence. Gleek is capable of silence, but the house felt truly empty rather than sneaky.

Gleek was plenty mad enough to deliberately break rules, so I considered her leaving the house as pretty likely. This provided me with a quandry. I couldn’t easily go and search for her. Patches was sleeping and I couldn’t leave him alone. Besides I wasn’t sure where to look for her. Would she go to a friend’s house to play? Would she find an outdoor corner and hide? Would she sit on a street corner? This was a new behavior and I didn’t know what shape it would take. Fortunately just as I was beginning to dither, I looked out the front window and saw Gleek on her way home. I had one minute to decide how I was going to react to her reappearance. Asking before leaving the house is a safety rule and I needed to reinforce the importance of it. I also needed to assure Gleek of her value and my love for her since it was an exclusionary event that set this incident off in the first place. I decided that anger had no place in the upcoming conversation. She walked in the door and I scooped her off her feet into a hug. “Where were you?!” I asked in a worried tone. “I looked all over the house and I couldn’t find you and I was scared.” Gleek was a little startled at this, I think she expected an angry confrontation. She and I had a snuggle and talked it all over. Will she ever do it again? I don’t know. Probably. What kids do once, they’re likely to do again. I just know I need to handle it carefully now so that when she’s capable of truly running away, she no longer wants to.

So I guess I’m pretty machiavellian. I consciously craft my responses to behaviors to encourage the ones I like and discourage the ones I don’t. I suppose it is pretty manipulative. I used to be furious at my Dad for the manipulations that he used when I was a teen. I’d be furious because I could see them and they still worked. Now I am a parent and I’m the manipulative one. But I have a whole different view of it. It is my job to teach these little people how to be good, kind, honest, hard working people. It is my job to keep them safe. There are a multitude of tools I can use to achieve those ends; manipulation, anger, scolding, punishing, force, violence, coaxing, bribing…you get the idea. I try to use the right tool for the right job. But more than anything else if I can consciously act rather than merely reacting, then I think I do alright. It may be machiavellian, but it beats screaming and door slamming.

I start each day with a Plan. The Plan is usually formulated the previous night as I drift off to sleep. Every day, without fail, The Plan goes awry. Today’s Plan went wrong before it even got started. Last night I lay in bed, my mind buzzing with thoughts and plans. Eventually one of the thoughts was “Hey, why am I not asleep yet?” At 2 am I got out of bed hoping that a snack would slow my brain and let me sleep. I wandered toward the kitchen, but was distracted by the light in Kiki’s bedroom. It was on. Kiki was awake drawing in bed. She’d had a nightmare and chose this way to deal with it. I was pleased with her maturity in dealing with her dream. We both got a snack and went back to bed.

Then morning arrived. The Plan had me out of bed at 7:30 to make breakfast for kids, so they could eat at 8 and get ready for swim lessons. I’d have time to eat and check email during that time. Nope. I dragged myself out of bed at 8. Groggily put breakfast food on the table and rousted the kids out of bed. Then we had Clash of the Crankies. Kiki and I had the Incident of the Hairbrush, the Incident of the Missing Flip Flops, the Incident of You WILL Appologize to Your Sister, and the ever popular Incident of He’s Looking At Me. I skipped my breakfast and email because of Incident Management and we all arrived at swim lessons.

Swim lessons are nice for me because I hand four kids to their teachers and then go sit in the gallery to watch. It is a blessed quiet space where someone else has to manage my kids. Today I spent that time revising The Plan. I’d bring the kids home, get them all changed, eat, and take a desperately overdue shower. Then I would be back on track with my original Plan, just a little later. On the way home we had the Incident of I Want That Seat, the Incident of Stop Singing, the Incident of It’s Not Fair, and upon our arrival home we had the Incident of Will You Kids Please Get OUT OF THE CAR! Then came the bustle of removing wet swimsuits from small children because heaven forbid that they do it themselves. Howard waited patiently through this process with a pile of Schlock scripts for me to read. With kids dressed I mixed a bowl of oatmeal, put it in the microwave, and read scripts for Howard. It was good reading, they made me laugh. Whew. I could eat breakfast, have a shower and be back on track.

Four bites into my oatmeal, my neighbor knocked on the door. She wondered if I could watch her four kids while she took her car for an oil change. This neighbor and I do this kind of spur-of-the-moment babysitting exchange frequently. I love being able to run off and leave some kids behind, so I try to oblige unless I have a concrete reason not to do so. Plan adjustment, shower would have to wait. In fact breakfast had to wait while I inventoried children and got them settled playing. Then I ate.

Somewhere during the morning, my back brain began composing this blog post. I realized that this morning is a perfect example of the kind of chaos surfing that parents must do daily. I have to ride the ebbs and flows of the needs of 4 children, a husband, myself, and our small business. The Plan seems to never last more than an hour without being adjusted and reconfigured. Sometimes I reach the end of the daily ride and I’ve accomplished the goals with which I began the day. Other times I reach the end of the ride having abandoned my original goals and having accomplished something else. Occasionally the entire ride is nothing more than trying to keep my head above water. On those days all goals other than pure survival are abandoned. No matter how the day turns out, the mental picture of me trying to surf upon waves of chaos makes me giggle. Somehow that laughter makes the ride easier to manage.

Gleek came off of her sugar high hard this afternoon. In the space of 10 minutes we went from happy to The End of the World is Nigh. During the ensuing 30 minutes of screaming she asserted that the only thing in the world that could possibly make her happy again was another ring pop. I was a bit skeptical since 3 minutes prior the only thing that would make her happy would be going to her friends house and just minutes prior to that she was crying to play with a different friend. I declined to provide the desired ring pop and heartlessly informed her that she would have to find a different way to be happy again. Lo and behold, after 5 more minutes of crying, a glass of milk, and snuggling to watch a movie, Gleek had found that the world would not end for lack of ring pops.

High doses of sugar, not good for Gleek. It is now 9:15, she has been exhausted since 5, and she literally cannot hold still long enough to fall asleep. I think I’m in for 24-48 hours of detox before she’ll be normal again. Forecast for tomorrow: Crankiness with occasional begging for candy.

I just spent 40 minutes explaining to my introverted daughter Kiki that a mumbled apology while staring at her feet simply doesn’t feel like an apology to extroverted Gleek. Gleek needs eye contact and touch to really feel reassured. When Kiki is upset she needs alone time, when Gleek is upset she needs people close by, if you leave Gleek she feels abandoned. For the sake of the conversation with Kiki, I called it “two different body languages” although that really isn’t the best terminology since more than body language is involved. The core message of our conversation was that for an apology to be effective at repairing damage, it needs to be placed in the language of the reciever which may or may not match that of the giver. Kiki naturally wants to show her shame by hanging her head and speaking low, but Gleek reads that behavior as being disengaged and unsorry. Hugs and eye contact make Gleek feel better, but are uncomfortable for Kiki to extend because she needs her space.

I’ve got a long road to walk with these two to help them relate well. But hopefully at the end I’ll have an introvert who speaks fluent “extrovert” and an extrovert who speaks fluent “introvert.”