Showdown

Since my cousin Jen commented on my last post and said I was a good mother, I thought I'd share a story that might make everyone reach the opposite conclusion. (That's the thing about a blog -- I could just choose to tell the stories that make me look good, but see how honest I am!)

I mentioned back in early August that Isaac's behavior had changed, and that he seemed both clingier and more defiant. (This mood seems to have passed, by the way. Hooray!) At the time, however, it didn't inspire my best parenting moments.

One afternoon last month Isaac and I were outside; I was gardening and he was playing nearby. He picked up a softball-size rock and threw it down a flight of stairs. I told him, "We don't throw rocks. Rocks can hurt. You can throw a ball, but not a rock." I continued gardening, and he threw another rock. He hadn't been aiming at anything in particular, but he came fairly close to striking Walt, which angered me. I grabbed up Isaac and marched into the house with him, lecturing him all the way.

He began to cry and said he wanted to go back outside. Truth is, I wanted to go back outside too. (It was a beautiful day.) So instead of saying, "We're going to stay inside for a while until we both calm down," I decided we could go back outside as soon as I could get him to agree to not throw rocks. Thus began the showdown.

I asked him, "When we go back outside, are you going to throw rocks?" He answered yes. I thought maybe he hadn't understood the question. I asked him, "When we go back outside, are you going to throw a ball?" He answered no. This went on for many minutes, with me trying to phrase my yes-or-no questions in a way that would get the answer I required. It was like a bad direct examination in which the defendent was determined to implicate himself. Finally I asked him, "What do we throw?"

"Rocks," he answered.

Deciding this discussion had been a total waste of time, serving only to make us both angrier, I opened the door and we went back outside anyway. (It was a beautiful day.) However, moments later we got into another showdown, this one featuring the dog's water dish. I filled it up with water with the garden hose. Isaac dumped it out. I yelled at him. I picked him up and marched back inside. I lectured him. He cried. I tried to get him to say he wouldn't do it again. He refused. We went back outside. Then we repeated this entire sequence.

Back outside for the fourth time, I thought I'd try to lighten the mood, so I gave Isaac the hose so he could fill up the dog's water dish himself. He did so happily, and I thought we had finally broken the cycle. Then he turned the hose on me. Accident? Perhaps at first, but he kept spraying me after he saw my reaction. In a fit of rage I grabbed the hose from him and sprayed him briefly in the chest.

Then he really cried, and I picked him up and carried him inside again. But this time I didn't lecture him -- I apologized.

After we both changed into dry clothes and cuddled for a while, things were better between us. And later on I re-read the chapter on controlling your own anger at your child's behavior in Pantley's The No-Cry Discipline Solution.

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Coda I:

Now I see a half-dozen ways in which this afternoon went wrong -- I got off-track long before I turned the hose on my two-year-old child -- but at the time I couldn't see a thing. I was blinded by the feeling that I needed to make Isaac agree with me -- only I knew the one way that things should be, and I was furious at his defiance.

No, he shouldn't be allowed to throw rocks; that much is true. However, I clearly didn't choose a very effective way to teach that lesson. I could have prevented the whole showdown by stopping my gardening as soon as I noticed he needed more attention -- then he probably wouldn't have thrown the first rock at all. And even if he had, I shouldn't have gone on and on about it, and I shouldn't have gotten angry. I should have told him once, then promptly taken him to another area of the yard (one without rocks!) to do something really fun. Really, he's too young to control himself -- it's up to me to make it easier for him.

Hopefully I can remember this lesson the next time Isaac does something after I've told him not to do it.

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Coda II:

As you might guess by the fact that it's taken me more than a month to write about it, I'm ashamed of this story. I did talk about about it in person at the time, however, because I was upset by my bad behavior. Luckily the second friend I talked to was sympathetic, and even helped me see the humor in it.

The first person I talked to, however, was unreceptive -- to put it nicely. I don't usually say negative things about other people here, because this is not a private or anonymous blog. All of my relatives, friends, and acquaintances know about the blog, and I'm pleased and honored that many of them read it.

But I found this exchange almost as upsetting as the original problem:

Me: I've been having problems with defiance lately.

Friend: Not with Isaac, the perfect child!

Me: [silence]

Was she trying to tell me that I talk too much about Isaac? Do I boast too much about him? Am I unsympathetic to other people's troubles with their children?