Jade
April 21st 2003, 01:49 PM
(Link back to Part I (http://www.theologyweb.com/forum/showthread.php?postid=69663#post69663))
How to Manage Your Time, Children and Sanity (Part 2) (http://www.family.org/pplace/newparent/A0022925.cfm)
by Allie Pleiter
Having said all that, I feel I must temper all my praise of structure and authority with tones of mercy and respect. From such lessons comes another parenting truth: Respect your children. No they are not little adults. But they are little people. Who are—can you believe it?—occasionally right. Children need to feel we've heard them, even if we still elect to pull rank. Some of the best parenting ideas have had came from the answers to questioning my children, "Well, what do you think we should do now?"
Tiny People Can Have Big Ideas
There was a time, right when kindergarten started, when Amanda was rather unhappy. Part of that may have come from the fact that she was now 5. In my experience, the terrible twos have nothing on the fearsome fives. It's another of those things you just have to get through. Remember your parents sighing, "it's just a stage"? They weren't too far off.
I could no longer cope with Amanda's constant unhappiness. It was tough going. Lots of crying. My normally bubbly girl was a lump of misery. No one—neither my husband nor I nor her teachers—could find a path to success.
Finally, in an act of desperation, I flopped down beside her on her bed. I stop here and point out that I sat beside her. That sounds minor, but I have found that if you sit beside your child, you are talking with them. All too often if I sit in front of them, I fall into talking at them. We sat in silence. Eventually, I said something to the tune of "I can't figure out why you're so unhappy. Can you tell me what's wrong?"
After the usual list of 5-year-old grievances, a tiny shred of evidence came out. "You and Christopher get to stay home all day," she said, "And I have to go to school."
This, I knew, was big stuff. "Tell me more," I said.
Parents, engrave "Tell me more" on your foreheads. When your child finally articulates a problem, remember to say this rather than to jump in with your idea of a solution. You'll be flabbergasted by what you learn.
Amanda felt that Christopher was getting the much better deal, staying home with Mom. I don't know if she thought we broke out the hot fudge sundaes the minute we put her on the bus or something, but she was convinced we were having loads of fun in her absence. It didn't matter how much fun kindergarten was if your little brother didn't have to go and you did. I had to respect that.
"Amanda," I offered after she had talked for a good long while, "you're learning one of the biggest lessons in life. The simple truth is you can't always do what you want." I let it sink in, in silence, for effect. This was the mother of all teachable moments.
"No," countered Amanda, screwing up her face in deep thought. "That's not the biggest lesson in life." She had her own idea of Life's Biggest Lesson. Somehow God gave me the grace to hush up and let her have the floor.
"The Biggest Lesson in Life," she pronounced, "is that you cannot give your baby brother back."
Oh my. Deep, deep stuff.
Big, hard issues for a 5-year-old. We talked more about it, taking extra-extra care to show I respected her feelings. Just to see where it led I asked, "Well, what do you think would happen if we drove by the hospital and told them you were unhappy with your new little brother?"
I wasn't really surprised to learn she had thought through this already. "Nope," she replied, "he's much bigger now. They'd know. They wouldn't take him back." It somehow seemed to appease her, however, that I had even dared to ask such a question. In a few minutes we started talking about how cute he was at times. I told her—in precise detail—how CJ and I had spent our day while she was gone. I let her know having a colicky baby in the house has been hard on all of us, and that there were times even Mommy wished things were different.
Things got infinitely better after that. Not perfect, but better.
How Amanda Saved the Day
Most management books will tell you that often the best solutions come from the rank and file. This has been true of our family. At age three-and-a-half, Christopher was showing no signs of embracing this potty thing. He knew the mechanics, he knew the advantages, he just didn't want to get on board. I was frustrated beyond my capacity. Vacation Bible School was starting in three weeks and children needed to be trained to attend VBS. I was running VBS, so I really, really needed my kids attending. I had legions of people praying that CJ would catch on in time. Legions.
I got my answer, but it came in a much different package than I was expecting. We were sitting at the lunch table one afternoon, discussing as a family our "potty dilemma." Finally, the lessons of my brief parenting career actually sunk in for a moment and I turned to Amanda. "Can you think of some way to persuade CJ?" I asked, not really expecting anything useful.
That little light bulb went on in Amanda's head again. Amanda, smart girl that she was, utilized the most powerful persuasion she had: Amanda Day.
Amanda Day started as a way to give her some special time in the midst of dealing with all that hit our family since CJ was born. As a matter of fact, Amanda Day came about as a direct result of our Biggest Lesson in Life conversation. On Sundays, after church, Amanda got the afternoon to do the activity of her choice with the parent of her choice. Now it so happens we were having this little potty strategy summit on a Sunday. I watched Amanda carefully lay out the advantages of Amanda Day to her little brother. She finished up her little presentation with the newly-minted policy that "you can only have Amanda Day in underwear." So CJ, if he wanted CJ Day, had better get himself into those cool little training pants if he wanted in on the deal. Amanda also knew that the most exciting place in the world to Christopher was Dunkin' Donuts. So, for extra incentive, Amanda mentioned that the inaugural CJ Day could very possibly be a trip to Dunkin' Donuts. Ooooo.
As Jeff and I gaped in astonishment, CJ hopped off his chair and headed off in the direction of his bedroom and, I hoped to his underwear drawer. Amanda, with a smug-but-duly-earned grin, trotted off after him. She led him into the bathroom, took him through the drill (we could hear all this from the table), helped him pull on the training pants, and returned him prepped and ready to the dining room table.
It did not matter that we had not yet finished lunch. Nutrition was going to take a happy backseat to hygiene. Jeff and I jumped up from the table, loaded ourselves into the car, and headed straight to Dunkin' Donuts. And that, ladies, is how my son got potty trained. Who knew my answer to prayer would be a quick-witted grade-schooler wielding a chocolate-frosted and sprinkles doughnut?
Communicate, Communicate, Communicate
Even as toddlers, our children are smart. They are just as likely to be used by God as anyone over three feet tall. They're astounding. They are little people. Yet I am terribly bad at remembering this some days. I save all my clear thinking manners for the outside world and let my family see me with my hair down all too often. Sometimes we treat our families worse than any staff member we had as a member of the working world.
Which brings me to this parenting truth: You must communicate your expectations. Your children can no sooner read your mind than your husband can the week before your anniversary. You need to tell them—clearly, calmly, in terms they can understand—what it is you need from them. Of course, that means you have to figure out what it is in advance, but hey, if it were easy we'd all be doing it, right?
(Be sure to catch the last part on Friday :smile:)
How to Manage Your Time, Children and Sanity (Part 2) (http://www.family.org/pplace/newparent/A0022925.cfm)
by Allie Pleiter
Having said all that, I feel I must temper all my praise of structure and authority with tones of mercy and respect. From such lessons comes another parenting truth: Respect your children. No they are not little adults. But they are little people. Who are—can you believe it?—occasionally right. Children need to feel we've heard them, even if we still elect to pull rank. Some of the best parenting ideas have had came from the answers to questioning my children, "Well, what do you think we should do now?"
Tiny People Can Have Big Ideas
There was a time, right when kindergarten started, when Amanda was rather unhappy. Part of that may have come from the fact that she was now 5. In my experience, the terrible twos have nothing on the fearsome fives. It's another of those things you just have to get through. Remember your parents sighing, "it's just a stage"? They weren't too far off.
I could no longer cope with Amanda's constant unhappiness. It was tough going. Lots of crying. My normally bubbly girl was a lump of misery. No one—neither my husband nor I nor her teachers—could find a path to success.
Finally, in an act of desperation, I flopped down beside her on her bed. I stop here and point out that I sat beside her. That sounds minor, but I have found that if you sit beside your child, you are talking with them. All too often if I sit in front of them, I fall into talking at them. We sat in silence. Eventually, I said something to the tune of "I can't figure out why you're so unhappy. Can you tell me what's wrong?"
After the usual list of 5-year-old grievances, a tiny shred of evidence came out. "You and Christopher get to stay home all day," she said, "And I have to go to school."
This, I knew, was big stuff. "Tell me more," I said.
Parents, engrave "Tell me more" on your foreheads. When your child finally articulates a problem, remember to say this rather than to jump in with your idea of a solution. You'll be flabbergasted by what you learn.
Amanda felt that Christopher was getting the much better deal, staying home with Mom. I don't know if she thought we broke out the hot fudge sundaes the minute we put her on the bus or something, but she was convinced we were having loads of fun in her absence. It didn't matter how much fun kindergarten was if your little brother didn't have to go and you did. I had to respect that.
"Amanda," I offered after she had talked for a good long while, "you're learning one of the biggest lessons in life. The simple truth is you can't always do what you want." I let it sink in, in silence, for effect. This was the mother of all teachable moments.
"No," countered Amanda, screwing up her face in deep thought. "That's not the biggest lesson in life." She had her own idea of Life's Biggest Lesson. Somehow God gave me the grace to hush up and let her have the floor.
"The Biggest Lesson in Life," she pronounced, "is that you cannot give your baby brother back."
Oh my. Deep, deep stuff.
Big, hard issues for a 5-year-old. We talked more about it, taking extra-extra care to show I respected her feelings. Just to see where it led I asked, "Well, what do you think would happen if we drove by the hospital and told them you were unhappy with your new little brother?"
I wasn't really surprised to learn she had thought through this already. "Nope," she replied, "he's much bigger now. They'd know. They wouldn't take him back." It somehow seemed to appease her, however, that I had even dared to ask such a question. In a few minutes we started talking about how cute he was at times. I told her—in precise detail—how CJ and I had spent our day while she was gone. I let her know having a colicky baby in the house has been hard on all of us, and that there were times even Mommy wished things were different.
Things got infinitely better after that. Not perfect, but better.
How Amanda Saved the Day
Most management books will tell you that often the best solutions come from the rank and file. This has been true of our family. At age three-and-a-half, Christopher was showing no signs of embracing this potty thing. He knew the mechanics, he knew the advantages, he just didn't want to get on board. I was frustrated beyond my capacity. Vacation Bible School was starting in three weeks and children needed to be trained to attend VBS. I was running VBS, so I really, really needed my kids attending. I had legions of people praying that CJ would catch on in time. Legions.
I got my answer, but it came in a much different package than I was expecting. We were sitting at the lunch table one afternoon, discussing as a family our "potty dilemma." Finally, the lessons of my brief parenting career actually sunk in for a moment and I turned to Amanda. "Can you think of some way to persuade CJ?" I asked, not really expecting anything useful.
That little light bulb went on in Amanda's head again. Amanda, smart girl that she was, utilized the most powerful persuasion she had: Amanda Day.
Amanda Day started as a way to give her some special time in the midst of dealing with all that hit our family since CJ was born. As a matter of fact, Amanda Day came about as a direct result of our Biggest Lesson in Life conversation. On Sundays, after church, Amanda got the afternoon to do the activity of her choice with the parent of her choice. Now it so happens we were having this little potty strategy summit on a Sunday. I watched Amanda carefully lay out the advantages of Amanda Day to her little brother. She finished up her little presentation with the newly-minted policy that "you can only have Amanda Day in underwear." So CJ, if he wanted CJ Day, had better get himself into those cool little training pants if he wanted in on the deal. Amanda also knew that the most exciting place in the world to Christopher was Dunkin' Donuts. So, for extra incentive, Amanda mentioned that the inaugural CJ Day could very possibly be a trip to Dunkin' Donuts. Ooooo.
As Jeff and I gaped in astonishment, CJ hopped off his chair and headed off in the direction of his bedroom and, I hoped to his underwear drawer. Amanda, with a smug-but-duly-earned grin, trotted off after him. She led him into the bathroom, took him through the drill (we could hear all this from the table), helped him pull on the training pants, and returned him prepped and ready to the dining room table.
It did not matter that we had not yet finished lunch. Nutrition was going to take a happy backseat to hygiene. Jeff and I jumped up from the table, loaded ourselves into the car, and headed straight to Dunkin' Donuts. And that, ladies, is how my son got potty trained. Who knew my answer to prayer would be a quick-witted grade-schooler wielding a chocolate-frosted and sprinkles doughnut?
Communicate, Communicate, Communicate
Even as toddlers, our children are smart. They are just as likely to be used by God as anyone over three feet tall. They're astounding. They are little people. Yet I am terribly bad at remembering this some days. I save all my clear thinking manners for the outside world and let my family see me with my hair down all too often. Sometimes we treat our families worse than any staff member we had as a member of the working world.
Which brings me to this parenting truth: You must communicate your expectations. Your children can no sooner read your mind than your husband can the week before your anniversary. You need to tell them—clearly, calmly, in terms they can understand—what it is you need from them. Of course, that means you have to figure out what it is in advance, but hey, if it were easy we'd all be doing it, right?
(Be sure to catch the last part on Friday :smile:)