Sunday, March 8, 2015

8: The variables...

The day had been bright and warmish....snow melted, socks were put away in favor of ballet flats, and after church Saturday night we found ourselves at a local pizzeria with a handful of other parents with other littles.  As the sky turned from cool to warm and then all the way to black, we chomped on the dinner we called ahead to order.

We thought we were being responsible; hungry kids and little wait time should make for a happy family.  And smooth meal.

But, somehow, that simplistic math...with no variables...ended up including a few.

Like the fact that our five-year-old sighed and grimaced while waiting for the hot pie and breadsticks. A grand total of five minutes.  But that wasn't quick enough to suit his exacting standards.  Luckily the pie arrived before his grief came full-term.

Like the fact that the pizza joint has arcade games and they were just a few feet from our table. "Mommy, can we PLEASE play the game now?" and "After we are done eating, remember?" composed the bulk of our dining banter.

Like the fact that I was lucky enough to have the exact change for him to play 'the claw' game with my husband --- just once --- after stubby pieces of crust were all that remained of the once grand pie. But then that wasn't enough because the elder little only won two Tootsie Rolls instead of a big, glamorous prize from the display case.  

Like the fact that he doesn't even like Tootsie Rolls today, so he stood beside our table crying, throwing his hands, growling, and then hurling a wadded up napkin at an unsuspecting dad engaged in casual conversation at the next table.  His kids were playing arcade games while their pizza baked. They kept running between table and game, table and game, delivering their candy winnings. In good spirits; laughing.  The parents laughed, too, as they talked about all things --- trivial and important.

Like the fact that when the elder grew increasingly upset, so did the smaller little. And they were both crying.  At our small four-top table with one high chair shoved in the back corner.  Beside the games. And everyone turned around to look, sometimes sheepishly, sometimes with rapt engagement.  We were the only entertainment; everyone else's kids talked, ate, giggled, smiled, and stared.

Like the fact that I quietly ushered both boys outside to wait on the sidewalk while my husband paid. You know,  to avoid any other unsightly fits, outbursts, etc.  Even as we exited, I felt their eyes fixed on our little troupe.  We caught our breath in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that canvassed the narrow storefront.  I knelt down.  In a calm, quiet voice, I talked with the elder little about the napkin situation. He listened, his chocolate eyes melting into mine.

Like the fact that in full view of everyone inside the pizza restaurant and a couple two feet away getting into their car, he snipped my comments down to a more palatable proportion by winding up and smacking me on cheek.  Hard.  Before I could even see it coming.  Underneath the eye that squints a little more when I break into a smile.  That side of my face smarted, as did the inside of my cheek which I chewed to avoid the ugliness that my flesh wanted to spew all over the sidewalk and anyone who would listen to my hurt and empathize with my embarrassment.  Like a statue, I stood staring out at the passing cars bumping along the brick street.

But none of this compared to the wound festering inside my heart that seems to grow a little more each day.

We've tried praise.  We've tried sticker charts.  Programs.  Incentives.  Rewards. Yelling.  Not yelling.  Taking toys away for a period.  Time-outs.  Time-ins. Time-outs downstairs.  Time-outs upstairs.  No trains.  No TV.  More time with mommy. More time with Daddy.  Fall soccer.  Winter soccer.  Explaining.  Not explaining.  

I always think, Are we the only ones dealing with this brand of pervasive inflexibility and impulsivity?  Because again at the restaurant beside all the happy kids, I felt that way.

After the shortest bedtime routine ever for the elder, I googled it.  We can't be alone in this.

And most assuredly, the first article I read described my son perfectly...and this one led to a string of others.  The formal search term, five-year-old tantrums.

It is a real thing.
And we aren't alone.
And we can get past this.
And he is still one of the neatest kids I know.
And he's fiery, but what his passion could someday accomplish...

Maybe another variable for the list above is that the other kids and other parents were just moments away from their control dance...

Write on,
b

10 comments:

  1. I can say that we've been there. Life is imperfect sometimes. I felt the way you have in your post-for example the day my daughter was having a complete meltdown on the way into daycare! And then, I witnessed it happening to another parent...so no, you aren't alone...we just don't always see what's happening but it does happen to everyone...

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  2. I love your use of "elder little" and describing the "control dance." Parenting is hard, each child is unique, it's not always easy, but it's worth it. No parent always has a well-behaved child. We all do our best and ficus on the positive. Hang in there.

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  3. I love your use of "elder little" and describing the "control dance." Parenting is hard, each child is unique, it's not always easy, but it's worth it. No parent always has a well-behaved child. We all do our best and ficus on the positive. Hang in there.

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  4. When our children are acting out they are always the only ones doing such horrendous things. And they are the only ones we care about. You feel badly for those other parents when their children lose control, and you feel relief that this time it isn't your child. You sound like wonderful parents.

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  5. When our children are acting out they are always the only ones doing such horrendous things. And they are the only ones we care about. You feel badly for those other parents when their children lose control, and you feel relief that this time it isn't your child. You sound like wonderful parents.

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  6. No you are not alone. Loved the repetitive phrase, "like the fact." It added to this scene you've described so clearly. Google is a marvel that can put a parent's worry to rest or incite fear. In the old days, we just did the best and held our breath.

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  7. I could have been reading about my nephew...five years old. His parents are doing their best...his older sister displays none of this kind of behavior...he on the other hand...is the sweetest, smartest, kindest little guy....but then...well, I think you know. You are definitely not alone...and I am sure other parents at that pizzeria were knowing that even though that night their children were giggling and happy and talking...that given another day...they would be experiencing the same as you. Your little guy is strong willed, but you all will survive.

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  8. No you are not alone! I've been there. I am there. We actually avoid certain settings when possible because our littlest sweetie is very strong willed. She wants what she wants when she wants it and there is h*** to pay if she doesn't get it. I don't know why she is that way. She's been raised the same as her three siblings, with the same rules, the same expectations, the same not giving in to her. But, it's her. Someday that strong willed little lady will be a strong woman who knows her mind and has the confidence to go after what she wants. I just keep reminding myself of that. :)

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  9. Love your parenting stories, I remember days and weeks like this. I used to always use the terms equilibrium, disequilibrium. You were just in one of those disequilibrium phases. This too will pass!

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  10. It's always liberating when you find others in your boat. You did a great job, a brave job, of sharing what is going through your heart. I'm sure it gets better and it will continue to fix that little wound in your heart :)

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Hi! I'd love to hear what you are thinking right now, so please take a sec and drop me a line. I'm so glad you stopped by today -- thanks a billion. :)