No one cares more about your kids than you do, but I'm guessing most days at 11 pm, no one could treat them worse. It's just a fact that we give all day at work or school, holding it together when people step on our toes and cut us off in traffic, and at the end of the day, we're tired and we let it all hang out, knowing our families will forgive us.
I was over at a friend's once and washed a few dishes. When she went to make supper, she opened the cupboard, pulled out a pan, and said, "Okay, who didn't get this clean?" I whispered, "I wasn't sure how hard to scrub. I didn't want to scratch the no-stick coating." The friend apologized, saying she thought it was her kids who'd done it. But if we don't want to talk to our friends that way, why do we find it so easy to use that tone with our children?
I'm guilty. Let's say my child has a play date, and the friend spills chocolate milk, just like my son did that morning. Which child heard me say, "It's okay, sweetie. Accidents happen," and which one got "Not again! I just shampooed the carpet last week!"? That's right: the kid I don't even know gets understanding and the one I'd die for gets guilt-blasted. Why do we do that?
Here are are few possible explanations:
1. Nobody heard me yelling at Junior, but I know for a fact that the playmate's mommy is about to get a play-by-play of everything from the moistness of my baking to the humungousness of the bra I left drying on the towel bar.
2. Nancy Nextdoor has never spilled (or vomited or coloured or made lotion potions) on my carpet before, so this incident cannot invoke years of painful memories...
3. ...Nor will she spill there again every week for the next eleven years.
4. And, if she grows up to dump chocolate milk in the White House parlor or down Shania's dress, I'm not the pathetic mother crying on ET Canada about it, while Ben Mulroney shakes his head in national embarrassment.
If the problem is that 1. no one is holding me accountable, 2. I'm holding onto resentment from the past and fear of the future, it helps me stay calm and use my "nice mommy" voice if I remember that a) I am being watched and b) that this is the moment that matters.
So sometimes, when I'm feeling tired and overwhelming and afraid of the next poisonous thing that's going to come out of my mouth, I image these grouchy, hyperactive darlings aren't my children. I pretend I'm going to send them home to their real mommies, and all I need to do is get through the next hour and make sure I use that time to show them how much God loves them because it may be my only chance.
I tell myself that nothing I do is secret because chances are, if I lose it on a regular basis, my children will tell someone: if not their teachers tomorrow, then their therapists in college. And as the song goes, "there's a Father up above who is looking down in love."
...which reminds me - they really aren't my children after all: God's just sent them over for an extended play date. He loves them even more than I do, and amazingly, he trusts me to devote myself to them like they're my own, and treat them like they're His.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
No-I'm-not-on-crack parenting advice Part 1: What that kid needs is a good massage and more television
This is the parenting advice you won't hear from your mother, the granny in the checkout line, or the guy behind you at church.
Instinct says, "When they're bad, make them miserable so they'll think twice next time." At the first sign of noncompliance or disrespect, we take away TV, send him to his room, and pile on the chores. How's that been working for you?
If you've got a kid with the skills to self-regulate: to control impulses, manage disappointment, and express frustration in words, a little pain can lead to gain. But if you've got children anywhere on the spectrum, chances are, they couldn't meet your expectations in the first place, and now you've just made it worse by overloading them when they're down and taking away all the things that could calm them. Typical children need the consequences and rewards to motivate them; for a child missing skills, all the consistent consequences in the world will only make it worse. Way worse.
By all means, when Jakie or Judy starts throwing knives or refusing to do her homework, give 'em a time out. But not the "I hold the door shut while you scream and you can't come out till you're nice" kind, though (I wish I'd never met the psychologist who made us do that for weeks.) This is not the time to make them submit to your all-powerfulness; this is a time to model relaxation. You can't teach flexibility by being inflexible. "Your actions are telling me you need some time to calm down; would you like an exercise ball rolled on your back or should I read you some Hobbit?" might sound like rewarding the bad behaviour, but it's not about rewards or behaviour - it's about teaching your child the skills to cope.
On a recent playdate-gone-bad, my daughter was excited to see her old classmate, but almost immediately announced "It was more fun before you came" and proceeded to play computer games without her. The school psychologist reminded me that my daughter's rudeness was the only way she knew how to cope with the unmet expectations: her friend had matured and was more into gossiping about movie stars than pretending to be puppies. My husband calmed her down and helped them choose a movie they both liked. A nine-year-old on the spectrum is not ready to manage disappointment gracefully. If we'd focused on her behaviour, we'd have missed the point.
When your spouse or client drives you crazy, you take a walk or grab a coffee. You're not rewarding yourself for wanting to throw them out the window; you're doing what you need to do so you don't want to do it anymore. When life drives your kid crazy (and a lot of things will), he needs you to teach her the same thing.
As you turn the TV on for your screaming toddler, or hand your grounded teen a phone to call a friend, or offer your daughter a foot rub after she called you "idiot," don't expect your mother to stand up and applaud. But don't for a minute think you're being a pushover parent.
You're being an effective one.
Instinct says, "When they're bad, make them miserable so they'll think twice next time." At the first sign of noncompliance or disrespect, we take away TV, send him to his room, and pile on the chores. How's that been working for you?
If you've got a kid with the skills to self-regulate: to control impulses, manage disappointment, and express frustration in words, a little pain can lead to gain. But if you've got children anywhere on the spectrum, chances are, they couldn't meet your expectations in the first place, and now you've just made it worse by overloading them when they're down and taking away all the things that could calm them. Typical children need the consequences and rewards to motivate them; for a child missing skills, all the consistent consequences in the world will only make it worse. Way worse.
By all means, when Jakie or Judy starts throwing knives or refusing to do her homework, give 'em a time out. But not the "I hold the door shut while you scream and you can't come out till you're nice" kind, though (I wish I'd never met the psychologist who made us do that for weeks.) This is not the time to make them submit to your all-powerfulness; this is a time to model relaxation. You can't teach flexibility by being inflexible. "Your actions are telling me you need some time to calm down; would you like an exercise ball rolled on your back or should I read you some Hobbit?" might sound like rewarding the bad behaviour, but it's not about rewards or behaviour - it's about teaching your child the skills to cope.
On a recent playdate-gone-bad, my daughter was excited to see her old classmate, but almost immediately announced "It was more fun before you came" and proceeded to play computer games without her. The school psychologist reminded me that my daughter's rudeness was the only way she knew how to cope with the unmet expectations: her friend had matured and was more into gossiping about movie stars than pretending to be puppies. My husband calmed her down and helped them choose a movie they both liked. A nine-year-old on the spectrum is not ready to manage disappointment gracefully. If we'd focused on her behaviour, we'd have missed the point.
When your spouse or client drives you crazy, you take a walk or grab a coffee. You're not rewarding yourself for wanting to throw them out the window; you're doing what you need to do so you don't want to do it anymore. When life drives your kid crazy (and a lot of things will), he needs you to teach her the same thing.
As you turn the TV on for your screaming toddler, or hand your grounded teen a phone to call a friend, or offer your daughter a foot rub after she called you "idiot," don't expect your mother to stand up and applaud. But don't for a minute think you're being a pushover parent.
You're being an effective one.
Sunday, October 09, 2011
The fall of never wills
This is the fall of never wills.
With two kids on the spectrum, a husband with chronic headaches, three part-time writing contracts, church responsibilities, and a rabbit, I don't take on extra things lightly. There were certain things that I said I'd never do:
1. I never will take in boarders,
2. I never will get a dog,
3. I never will put my child in private school.
I need a nap the day after overnight company because I can't rest when other people are around; how could I ever relax with people in my house 24/7? I don't even like other people's cute little pooches yapping and jumping on me, why would I want to scoop 15 years of poop for my own? And why pay thousands of dollars and drive across the city for an education when there are good public schools down the street?
1. The boarders: This fall, our niece and her husband needed a place to stay until they found their own apartment in the city. I didn't feel an immediate "no" inside, so I figured it must be a good idea. After all, it would only be temporary, and if I had to pick someone, another introvert who has to still like us next Christmas (and every Christmas after) is a safe bet.
It was a good incentive to clean out the guest room closets, rearrange the basement, and shampoo the carpets. Two weeks of work and ten years worth of outdated computer equipment we wouldn't have gotten to without the deadline of boarders.
It's been a good experience. With extra adults around, I can run out for a few minutes without taking K and G, and finally more than one other person at the table appreciates my cooking. I like having someone to talk to about my day (I think my husband likes the break too). K and G love the extra attention from people younger and cooler than their parents. I admit, there have been moments when I wanted the privacy to yell at my own family in peace, but for the most part, parenting for an audience has kept me more patient and thoughtful.
2. The dog: All summer when we'd go camping, G would stand at the entrance to our site and wait for a dog to go by. She'd introduce herself, name the breed (she knew every one), and ask good questions. She didn't always wouldn't read books about anything but dogs. All her computer games were dog grooming games. She wouldn't always play with other children, but every dog was her friend.
I decided to go to the Humane Society and take a look. We talked to an adoption counsellor about what we were looking for: a small, quiet, mature, well-trained dog that's good with children and rabbits. Basically, I wanted Jesus with fur. The counsellor told us about a corgi cross, rescued from a reservation, that would be available the next day, and we could put her on reserve. We came back the next day, and after passing door after door of giant dog trying to break through windows, when they let the corgi into the room, she walked up to us, sat in front of us, and licked our hands.
Well, that did it. We've had her for a week and a half, and she's the sweetest thing. Lily wasn't trained when we got her, but she's caught on quickly. She follows us around the house and lies at our feet. I couldn't imagine any dog but Lily. She's a German shepherd on corgi legs, so she looks ridiculously long for a dog so short, but who could resist those eyes?
3. The school: After a couple difficult years of public school for K, we started looking into a specialized university-entrance school with small classes and teaching modalities geared toward ADHD. He had to switch schools anyway, since our public school only goes to grade 6. The bus stop is 2 km away, so waiting in the car for the bus twice a day adds an hour to my day. And the tuition is insane. But it is so worth it. No more daily calls from the school. No more wasting years in the library with an EA. No more being the one supported kid in the class. No more picking him up at all hours of the school day in tears (usually mine). When he jumps off that school bus, he's smiling. I bet he's learned more in the past month than he did in the past two grades. Private school definitely has its place.
So I'm a private school bus-chasing, poop-scooping landlord. Yeah. It turns out all the things I thought I couldn't handle, I can. I'm stronger than I thought. My heart is bigger than I thought. And that's a good thing. Who knows what Ange will tackle next?
With two kids on the spectrum, a husband with chronic headaches, three part-time writing contracts, church responsibilities, and a rabbit, I don't take on extra things lightly. There were certain things that I said I'd never do:
1. I never will take in boarders,
2. I never will get a dog,
3. I never will put my child in private school.
I need a nap the day after overnight company because I can't rest when other people are around; how could I ever relax with people in my house 24/7? I don't even like other people's cute little pooches yapping and jumping on me, why would I want to scoop 15 years of poop for my own? And why pay thousands of dollars and drive across the city for an education when there are good public schools down the street?
1. The boarders: This fall, our niece and her husband needed a place to stay until they found their own apartment in the city. I didn't feel an immediate "no" inside, so I figured it must be a good idea. After all, it would only be temporary, and if I had to pick someone, another introvert who has to still like us next Christmas (and every Christmas after) is a safe bet.
It was a good incentive to clean out the guest room closets, rearrange the basement, and shampoo the carpets. Two weeks of work and ten years worth of outdated computer equipment we wouldn't have gotten to without the deadline of boarders.
It's been a good experience. With extra adults around, I can run out for a few minutes without taking K and G, and finally more than one other person at the table appreciates my cooking. I like having someone to talk to about my day (I think my husband likes the break too). K and G love the extra attention from people younger and cooler than their parents. I admit, there have been moments when I wanted the privacy to yell at my own family in peace, but for the most part, parenting for an audience has kept me more patient and thoughtful.
2. The dog: All summer when we'd go camping, G would stand at the entrance to our site and wait for a dog to go by. She'd introduce herself, name the breed (she knew every one), and ask good questions. She didn't always wouldn't read books about anything but dogs. All her computer games were dog grooming games. She wouldn't always play with other children, but every dog was her friend.
I decided to go to the Humane Society and take a look. We talked to an adoption counsellor about what we were looking for: a small, quiet, mature, well-trained dog that's good with children and rabbits. Basically, I wanted Jesus with fur. The counsellor told us about a corgi cross, rescued from a reservation, that would be available the next day, and we could put her on reserve. We came back the next day, and after passing door after door of giant dog trying to break through windows, when they let the corgi into the room, she walked up to us, sat in front of us, and licked our hands.
Well, that did it. We've had her for a week and a half, and she's the sweetest thing. Lily wasn't trained when we got her, but she's caught on quickly. She follows us around the house and lies at our feet. I couldn't imagine any dog but Lily. She's a German shepherd on corgi legs, so she looks ridiculously long for a dog so short, but who could resist those eyes?
 |
| You will love me... |
3. The school: After a couple difficult years of public school for K, we started looking into a specialized university-entrance school with small classes and teaching modalities geared toward ADHD. He had to switch schools anyway, since our public school only goes to grade 6. The bus stop is 2 km away, so waiting in the car for the bus twice a day adds an hour to my day. And the tuition is insane. But it is so worth it. No more daily calls from the school. No more wasting years in the library with an EA. No more being the one supported kid in the class. No more picking him up at all hours of the school day in tears (usually mine). When he jumps off that school bus, he's smiling. I bet he's learned more in the past month than he did in the past two grades. Private school definitely has its place.
So I'm a private school bus-chasing, poop-scooping landlord. Yeah. It turns out all the things I thought I couldn't handle, I can. I'm stronger than I thought. My heart is bigger than I thought. And that's a good thing. Who knows what Ange will tackle next?
Monday, August 08, 2011
Gratitude
I came across an old journal this weekend. It's a gratitude journal my husband and I kept back when we were poor, overworked students (which is completely different from the slightly less poor, overworked parents we are today).
We both had minimum wage retail jobs (and bus rides) that I hated so much I had to hide my head under the covers at the end of every day to distance myself from the ladies who called me dear and touched my arms and asked for that green book about Jesus, and the wackos who cried "bar codes are the mark of the beast!" I was writing a thesis and T was training for a job in computer technology. Both of us had a lot of stress and health issues and hand-me-down furniture. I'm sure people looking from the outside would have said not a lot to be thankful for.
The reason I hadn't read the journal in so long was because I we'd abandoned it after a couple weeks. Actually, the journal covers almost every day from June 11 to October 4, 1998, with a few more days later that winter and the next. Every night, five entries. Five reasons to be thankful. Written as a couple.
Here are a few of my favourites:
We both had minimum wage retail jobs (and bus rides) that I hated so much I had to hide my head under the covers at the end of every day to distance myself from the ladies who called me dear and touched my arms and asked for that green book about Jesus, and the wackos who cried "bar codes are the mark of the beast!" I was writing a thesis and T was training for a job in computer technology. Both of us had a lot of stress and health issues and hand-me-down furniture. I'm sure people looking from the outside would have said not a lot to be thankful for.
The reason I hadn't read the journal in so long was because I we'd abandoned it after a couple weeks. Actually, the journal covers almost every day from June 11 to October 4, 1998, with a few more days later that winter and the next. Every night, five entries. Five reasons to be thankful. Written as a couple.
Here are a few of my favourites:
- T made casserole
- this camp has flush toilets!
- God keeps seeking us out
- we have all our limbs
- new underwear for $1.99
- frogs aren't extinct yet
- not all work days are like today
- a customer made Ange laugh by asking "What do Jewish people wear...you know, the cap with the feather?"
- new church blessed and welcomed us with hugs, handshakes, words
- little AR at church said Ange looked like a princess
- someone saved a woman in trouble, but got stabbed for his efforts. It missed his heart so he'll live
- mocha (our bunny) lay on Ange's lap while she studied
- a couple on the news were unable to afford to go to China to adopt a little girl but then they won plane tickets to China at a sporting event
- we sometimes are grouchy, but we can still love each other
- we are not allergic to chocolate
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