parenting in public

I read an article a few weeks back, an opinion piece really, wherein the writer was commenting on some kid's atrocious behaviour in the KFC. I've searched but I can't find the article to link to - sorry - but the point was that the writer, and most of those who left comments were taking the old 'in my day we just got klapped good and proper for bad behaviour - what's wrong with today's parents?' line. Yawn.

Whether you're a spanker or not, if you're a parent you'll know from experience or observation that 2% of the time a swift slap will silence an unreasonable child, the other 98% of the time? He or she'll just scream even louder.
Not the end goal you're hoping to achieve in a public place right?
Also, again whether you support spanking or not, I think that to spank in public is a very different kind of punishment than spanking at home. In public you're adding humiliation to the pain you've inflicted, on top of whatever emotion got the kid acting out in the first place.
Of the list I feel humiliation is the most harmful.

My take on the KFC-screamer was that the kid was over-tired, needing a poo, or hungry - hungry for real food I should add. These are the 3 main reasons my girls act up, though like all children, they're totally capable of pulling new reasons for losing their shit out the bag anytime.

All of this I considered as, under the watchful eye of a good dozen other parents (and knowing that whether in judgement or sympathy, they're definitely gauging my response), I had the rare delight of extracting my kicking and screaming, hungry, over-tired (and probably needing a poo - because don't they always in a public place anyway?), big girl from a restaurant over the weekend.

Here's how I did it:
I left husband to pay bill and handle non-screaming child
I told screamer firmly and quietly that she's disturbing the other diners and needs to calm down and come to the car. NOW.
I offered to carry her (a diffusing tactic which usually works - she's so big now that carrying is a treat)
But when it didn't, I scooped her (and her long, long kicking legs) up, and carried her to the car in a calm and dignified manner
At the car, I chucked her in the back seat, slammed door shut, locked car and while she thrashed and foamed at the mouth inside, sent this tweet:

And it really did.

I was proud of myself that I didn't lose my shit. That I didn't make any ridiculous threats, that I remained calm, that I didn't flash too much flab at innocent bystanders as I wrangled my girl, and crucially: that we didn't cave on the ice-cream issue which had caused the furor in the first place.

But I know enough to not regard this as a precedent set. I'm lucky that I can count on one hand the number of times my girls have (so far) caused a scene in public, but I'm under no illusions that I'm out of the woods on this one. And I know that my response hinges on as many factors as their behaviour does - very possibly this time the large G'nT I'd enjoyed with my meal made all the difference.

What I did learn is that parenting in public carries a whole set of different challenges to parenting at home, and that decisiveness, swift action and feigned nonchalance (to the freaking kid and the inevitable audience) is definitely my game plan. And maybe a stiff drink where possible.

Let's see if I have occasion to eat these words.

And btw - we don't have the pox! Yippeee.

pants on fire

I remember, years and years ago, watching aghast as a friend of mine told her then 6 year old daughter that she couldn't ride in the back of my bakkie (pick-up?), 'cos the canopy door 'was broken'.
In my pre-parental naivety I felt the size of the lie was hugely disproportionate to the issue at hand, such a blatant untruth merely to prevent a possible melt-down?

Now that I'm a parent I have a whole lot more sympathy. I now realise that this could have been one in a series of power-plays which had been taking place all day, that my friend possibly knew her daughter was hungry or tired and that getting into a debate just wasn't worth the risk. I now know about picking your battles. I know how fragile a child's young ego is, and how a parent quickly learns to tread gently around it, often risking other people's judgment and disapproval, but trying to ignore that in the knowledge that you know your offspring better than anyone.

I also know how easy it is to lie when you're tired, or hungry, or your ego is feeling a bit fragile.

But I'm determined not to. This is not a judgement, or something which makes me feel sanctimonious and holy.
Lying makes me feel crap, and I don't like feeling crap.
Not lying makes me use my imagination, and I like using my imagination.
I want my kids to trust me, and I credit them with being bright enough to learn quickly if they can't.

It's not possible to tell the blatant truth all the time. One can't be honest about the truly horrific birthday gift (at least not to the giver), or exactly how many Smarties one may (or may not!) have eaten last night while baking cookies for Friday's school bake day. But this doesn't mean one has to lie.
'What an enormous vase!'
'Not as many as I could have.'
These are both legitimate, and honest, answers. And both true.

If my children are to learn from me, from my example, then I want to teach them the classiest, most imaginative, most respectful way to navigate the world as truthful human beings.

I want to be able to say 'I never lie to you' and mean it. I want them to trust me on that.

4 going on 14

Last week I had a moan on facebook about how I thought we were supposed to be in the 'Fabulous 4's' with Friday, and a whole bunch of mum friends commented that sadly I seem to have been misled.
Apparently it is in fact the 'F*cking 4's' we find ourselves in the middle of right now.
Which does seem to make a lot more sense ...

We are having a bit of a tricky time with Friday, and it is disrupting family life somewhat. She's moody and uncooperative, prone to sulks and huge sobbing fits over ... nothing. She's not taking instruction well at all and has developed a hard and defiant little facial expression which instantly makes my palm tingle with an almost uncontrollable urge to unite the two.
Those in the know say kids experience a hormonal surge at this age not unlike those that come with the teenage years, and if you scan the list above I could very well be describing a 14 year old right? Joy.

I think all of her behaviour is rooted in one thing, an admittedly very teenage thing too: she's just loving the sound of her own voice.

She doesn't hear us when we tell her to eat her supper because she's too busy talking to herself inside her head.
Or just too busy talking.
She'll lie sobbing on her bed for 30 minutes because she's quite intrigued by the sounds she's making.
She'll scream at me for the same reason.
She'll argue just to try out her voice and see how much influence she can wield with it.
She barks instructions for the same reason.
She shouts at her sister, she squeals in the bathroom, she 'sings' as loudly as she can so as not to hear us.

She basically cannot stop talking, through the good chats and the bad spats, and I think it wears her out.

I'm a little averse to all this talk of the Terrible 2's, then the F*ck You 3's, and now the F*cking 4's. They feel like handles with which to explain away a whole lot of (trying but normal) growing up behaviour. And they fall into that old trap of focusing on the negative, never a healthy way to view the world.

Growing up is hard, I still feel like I'm struggling with it everyday. But I'm resolved, on this one, to remember that I'm more grown-up than her, I'm the Mum, and just like my long-suffering mother did for me, I'll try and muster the creativity and patience to deal with this.

And possibly invest in some earplugs.

who you calling stupid?

Ah the sins of a four year old. Still so sweet, so innocent.

Friday came home from school a few months back calling us all 'stupid'. The perfect example of a boringly responsible parenting moment.
'We shouldn't call people stupid Friday. It's not a nice thing to say to someone and you can hurt people's feelings.'

The trend continued for some time, we carried on gently reprimanding her, but we didn't want to turn it into a biggie and I was pretty sure the novelty would wear off. (Or, more likely, move to much worse words. Ack.)

The girls and I went away with some friends for a few days and the 'stupid' bug spread like wildfire, putting me in the unenviable position of The Mum of the One Who Started it All.
Don't laugh, you'll get your turn one day.
Soon the climbing frame was 'stupid', the cereal in the bowl was 'stupid', the stones on the path as we went for a walk were 'stupid' - and it was getting boring.

I upped the discipline, tried banning the word, having quiet to-the-side (as in 'now I'm serious and lest you be afraid') chats but egged on by her peers, I honestly wasn't having much effect.

Help came from a very unexpected quarter. Late one afternoon as the kids sat drawing at the dining-room table of the seaside house we were staying in, the peace was shattered by Friday screaming; 'Mummmmeeeeee, a baboon! Mummmeeeee, a baboon!'
I ran in from the kitchen to see a large male baboon sitting shamelessly on the table, eating crayons. The kids scattered as I stormed him, yelling and clapping my hands.
He nonchalantly jumped off the table and sauntered out, taking a box of puzzles for closer inspection on the verandah as 3 women, a dog and a bunch of kids shouted at him through the (now closed!) door.
Eventually, having tried and rejected several cups of tea, the puzzles, a tub of baby-food and a tomato sandwich, he moved off, and we tried to calm the kids down.

There were tears and re-enactments, claims of bravery and terror. Juice needed to be drunk and bathrooms visited, lots of hugs were required - I could certainly have done with a gin - but after some time, when we'd all calmed, Friday said quietly from her place on my lap,
'Mum, that baboon was really stupid hey?'

And I had to agree that he was.

Since then we've hardly heard the word. It occasionally crops up, but now her usage is almost always completely correct.
It seems what was required was a context, a real self-experienced context, for her to decide for herself the meaning and appropriateness of the word.

I'm certainly hoping future life lessons won't be quite so dramatic, but I'll not forget what I learned from this one:
Contextualise always. Let her find her own way, she almost always will in the end. Remember the baboon, use the baboon - this story will have many other applications in the future.

Sorry 'stupid' bab, you had to be the fall guy on this one.

smartie-pants

Following some defiant behaviour from Friday last week I confiscated the box of Smarties I'd given her as a treat.
Obviously her protestation was loud and indignant.

I reiterated my point, that defiance and unreasonable behaviour results in the stripping of privileges. She hit me.
I asked her not to do that, and she hit me again.

So, I took the only recourse I had available and, right in front of her, I upended the box of Smarties into my mouth and ate the lot.

I've never seen such shock register on that small face. Hot tears of disbelief literally sprung from her eyes. Even my husband looked somewhat aghast.

But with a mouthful of chocolate, and the even more delicious satisfaction of having stuck by my guns and gained the upper hand (and to be honest, a sprinkling of completely inappropriate playground Nah Na Na Na Nah), I have to confess I enjoyed every minute of it.

She's not mentioned the incident since.
Humiliation? Disbelief? Material for a therapy session at some point in the future? Time will tell ...