There are a lot of lessons parents need to teach their children. There are some that you plan for: Don’t step into moving traffic. Use your words. Use a fork. Others that spontaneously present themselves after you’ve left your child unattended for a nanosecond: Only pencils go in the electric pencil sharpener. And then only a nanosecond later: Eraser side down also not a good idea. Then there are those you just couldn’t have anticipated. Explaining that the salt shaker works better when you haven’t licked the top of it, for example.
Some lessons are fairly black and white, particularly the ones related to safety and basic social skills. Looking both ways and not licking communal property seem as close to universal guidance as there in this world. Others are more colored. Colored by how you were raised, colored by a particular parenting philosophy you ascribe to, colored by how many hours of sleep you had the night before.
But what I seem to be finding more and more these days is the lesson you thought you were going to teach, isn’t always the one you should. What I’m realizing is that sometimes it is the reflection of our children – plus a good cleansing breath - that can morph the message into something different than we initially had in mind. A case in point.
It’s a normal afternoon day. I am in the kitchen with Quinn and Colin. Out on the front porch is Colin’s bicycle. To be more specific, out on the front porch is the-world’s-most-poorly-constructed-excuse-for-a-bicycle. The bicycle recycle truck on it’s way. We’re trying to keep Colin away from the front window.
Quinn asks: “Hey, Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch.” I discretely reply, “Shh. Drop it. I’ll tell you later.” Colin, who normally hears everything, has missed this conversation and continues to ride his (indoor) scooter into the kitchen wall. Quinn repeats earnestly, “But Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch?” Out comes “Drop It” number two. It is still not understood. Quinn now begins making his way to front door to show me the bicycle …. With this, I move immediately to that loud place that hurts my own ears, “DROP IT!!!!!”
There are facial contortions and a tear is forming. Quinn then blurts out, “Mom, you’re mean to me!” as he stomps into the den. Colin, who has continued to be an unengaged party to the discussion and as far as I can tell has miraculously not heard the word “bicycle”, is now busily working a puzzle at the kitchen counter. The front porch showdown has been avoided, but now Quinn’s upset and so am I. Colin is just looking for edge pieces.
And then, out comes this. “Mom, Quinn’s right.” It is Colin speaking. “Excuse me,” I say. To which Colin calmly repeats, “Quinn’s right, Mom. You are mean to him.”
I am ready to unleash. Some immediate lessons that come to mind: Stay out of things that don’t involve you. Don’t offer opinions when the temperature of a situation is already elevated. Don’t walk into moving traffic for heaven’s sake! And don’t call me mean!
And then I take a cleansing breath.
As I consider his words, I wonder to myself. Do I really wish for him to be a quiet bystander? Or, do I want to teach him that it is important to go to someone’s defense even when it puts you in the line of fire. That standing up for you what believe shouldn’t be calibrated by the intensity of the situation. That sometimes Mommies are not nice. That sometimes I’m not nice.
A second cleansing breathe.
I must entertain the thought that perhaps he is just goading me or trying a new tact at talking back. But then again, he is the only one in the kitchen who is calm. And so I conclude that my initial lesson plan isn’t what is needed here. Colin is just calling it like he sees it. Well done, my son.
And so I head for the den to find Quinn.
Some lessons are fairly black and white, particularly the ones related to safety and basic social skills. Looking both ways and not licking communal property seem as close to universal guidance as there in this world. Others are more colored. Colored by how you were raised, colored by a particular parenting philosophy you ascribe to, colored by how many hours of sleep you had the night before.
But what I seem to be finding more and more these days is the lesson you thought you were going to teach, isn’t always the one you should. What I’m realizing is that sometimes it is the reflection of our children – plus a good cleansing breath - that can morph the message into something different than we initially had in mind. A case in point.
It’s a normal afternoon day. I am in the kitchen with Quinn and Colin. Out on the front porch is Colin’s bicycle. To be more specific, out on the front porch is the-world’s-most-poorly-constructed-excuse-for-a-bicycle. The bicycle recycle truck on it’s way. We’re trying to keep Colin away from the front window.
Quinn asks: “Hey, Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch.” I discretely reply, “Shh. Drop it. I’ll tell you later.” Colin, who normally hears everything, has missed this conversation and continues to ride his (indoor) scooter into the kitchen wall. Quinn repeats earnestly, “But Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch?” Out comes “Drop It” number two. It is still not understood. Quinn now begins making his way to front door to show me the bicycle …. With this, I move immediately to that loud place that hurts my own ears, “DROP IT!!!!!”
There are facial contortions and a tear is forming. Quinn then blurts out, “Mom, you’re mean to me!” as he stomps into the den. Colin, who has continued to be an unengaged party to the discussion and as far as I can tell has miraculously not heard the word “bicycle”, is now busily working a puzzle at the kitchen counter. The front porch showdown has been avoided, but now Quinn’s upset and so am I. Colin is just looking for edge pieces.
And then, out comes this. “Mom, Quinn’s right.” It is Colin speaking. “Excuse me,” I say. To which Colin calmly repeats, “Quinn’s right, Mom. You are mean to him.”
I am ready to unleash. Some immediate lessons that come to mind: Stay out of things that don’t involve you. Don’t offer opinions when the temperature of a situation is already elevated. Don’t walk into moving traffic for heaven’s sake! And don’t call me mean!
And then I take a cleansing breath.
As I consider his words, I wonder to myself. Do I really wish for him to be a quiet bystander? Or, do I want to teach him that it is important to go to someone’s defense even when it puts you in the line of fire. That standing up for you what believe shouldn’t be calibrated by the intensity of the situation. That sometimes Mommies are not nice. That sometimes I’m not nice.
A second cleansing breathe.
I must entertain the thought that perhaps he is just goading me or trying a new tact at talking back. But then again, he is the only one in the kitchen who is calm. And so I conclude that my initial lesson plan isn’t what is needed here. Colin is just calling it like he sees it. Well done, my son.
And so I head for the den to find Quinn.
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