Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Parenting: A War of Attrition

This claim implies children are the enemy, and that sounds so, well, mean...and also true.  In my case, the war is being fought with boots on the ground firmly in the kids' favor.  Kid Army-5.  Parent Army-2.   Granted, I conceived, gave birth to and have chosen to continue feeding and housing said boots, but instead of writing me off as a crazy person who deserves her war, imagine my position.  I am fighting a war with an enemy I arm and fund.  I pass the appropriations bills in Congress.  I send them MREs, and I build assault rifles and fighter jets for them.  It's absurd, so let's not quibble over blame here.  I am in a uniquely disadvantageous position, militarily speaking. 

One of the places that steady, relentless parenting pays off is in church.  Sweet, grey-haired  women approach after Mass to congratulate me on how well behaved my children are.  The war of attrition means learning to modify their behavior without the laying on of hands.  I live in California, so I can't spank in public because I might be turned in to the authorities.  (An attempt to pass a law making spanking in California illegal back in 2007 failed to pass, but it is probably only a matter of time). 

Beyond the danger of someone speed dialing CPS in a parking lot, it's also that I don't want to spank them; I shouldn't have to.  I do not enjoy it, and it is a last resort, but if rare enough, an effective one.  I want to encourage in them appropriate behavior in public places.  My daughter's wonderful preschool teacher once reminded me that how they behave at home is not nearly as important as how they behave in public.  The latter is the true test.  Therefore, I am heartened when retired parishioners take note of their good behavior in church.  I can trust the oldest three to sit still without making weird noises, and that is no small victory.

The three year old still has occasional moments that try Mommy's soul, like the time I approached the altar for communion and she said, "Can I have a cookie."  Not wanting to miss an opportunity to teach our Catholic faith, I replied, "No, you're not old enough, and it's not a cookie.  It's Jesus.  It just looks like a cookie."  While this may be an admirable preschool level catechism on the doctrine of transubstantiation, it only made my daughter immediately shout "I want a Jesus cookie!"  This kind of outburst is the exception, not the norm, thank you Jesus, and when people compliment my children's good behavior, I do usually credit Catholic masses every Sunday since the womb, not to mention Palm Sunday and the Easter Vigil.  Whenever they start getting antsy, I just whisper to them fiercely and with feeling while pointing at the very crucifix pictured below:



"Look up there at Jesus.  He died on the cross for you.  I bet he wanted to get down and get a drink and he was probably hungry, too, but did he quit?  No, he didn't.  He stayed up there so that you can go and live with Him in Heaven someday, so it's not too much to ask that you sit still for the next few minutes.  God only asks for an hour a week of you sitting still.  It's the least you can do."

If you're Catholic, you are laughing and nodding your head right now, and if you aren't, you probably think that is outrageous guilt.  Well, we all should feel more guilt and less selfish indulgence, thank you very much.  The Oprah-tization of our culture has meant a bit too much glossing over of the importance of sacrifice and guilt if you ask me. 

Despite the praise my angel babies may get in public sometimes, their behavior is almost never up to my standards and often, especially in the grocery store in the late afternoon after I have worked all day with teenagers and just want to get something for dinner and more granola bars and milk to get us through the school week, sometimes, they become the enemy and those aisles are a battlefield. 

There is a possibility you are not familiar with grocery shopping with five children, ages 11, 9, 7, 3 and 1.  You are really missing out on a whole range of frustration and chaos that you do not currently experience.  Come, come.  Look, look, and think of this story next time you see me.  Perhaps you will take pity.  The following details come from an actual trip to the store.  I did not invent anything.  If you listen closely you may hear the artillery and smell the acrid smoke.

Most people think the trouble with kids in the grocery store is that they ask for things.  Most people are absurdly superficial in their understanding of how deep and wide are the skills to annoy that children possess. 

Kids do not just beg for cookies and Cheese-Itz and ice cream and yogurt raisins and every item featured prominently on an end cap at Von's .  Let me just take this moment to thank grocery store market research for knowing exactly how to market to me and my family so as to completely defeat and contradict all good parenting.  If you do not believe me, check out this article on Psychology and the Supermarket.  There is a scientific reason why the Coco Pebbles are on the bottom shelf and the unsweetened Shredded Wheat is on the top.  It is no accident that Little Debbie cakes are displayed on the end of the aisle where you have to stop your cart to grab milk and eggs.

Beyond begging for treats they bicker with each other over who touched whom.  They try to push the baby in the cart while ignoring his screams.  He can't believe his sisters' nerve in trying to steer his cart.  "Who do they think they are?" his red-faced squeals and fat, pounding fists seem to say. An equally popular approach to tormenting Mom while shopping is to try to explain to me every detail of the day.  All four of the children who can talk do this at once, of course, as they be-bop behind angry cart baby and I, in various states of distraction.

One child tries to tell me a funny thing her best friend said when the cafeteria lady threatened everyone with detention if they continued to throw their tater tots at each other. 

Meanwhile, that inspires younger sister to tell me (at the same time) how much she loves tater tots.  She then continues asking if we can buy tater tots for dinner tonight, even after I've said no three or twelve times and am now two aisles further in our shopping odyssey.

Child #2 keeps asking about the tater tots with only slight variations like "Well, then can we get french fries?" 

This request is followed immediately by contributions from the seven year old who has only partially been paying attention.  She will, at this very moment,  pipe up with "Ooohh, I love french fries and you know, Mommy, they have them right over there at the deli and they're already made ...awesome!" A cheery fist pump seals her certainty that I will, of course, go buy three pounds of french fries for them.  The logic is inescapable.  Mom is here looking for food, right?  We're all hungry right?  My sister has just suggested a perfect solution, and I know they're right there because I already asked if I could have some when we first arrived.  It makes sense that mom will do this.

But don't worry, while this inane conversation continues, in fact throughout the entire previous exchange about tater tots and the cafeteria lady and the logic of french fries at 4:45 in the afternoon, my three year old has been touching boxes and asking for any number of things she sees flitting past her antsy, bubbly, rapid- fire, passionate, loving, blink-and-you-miss-it-focus.  She has been trying to
push the cart,
                     pull the cart,
                                       climb the cart,
                                                             ride the cart,
                                                                                 and play chicken with the cart. 

She has also started two likely tantrums and several perfectly pitched whines whenever you have threatened to put her in the cart.  As long as she's not in it, the cart is Scooby and the Gang's Mystery Mobile.  It's Herbie the Love Bug and Thomas the Tank Engine all combined.  However, she doesn't want to actually sit in it!  "Nooooo, I don't waaaaaant to go in the caaaaaaart."  Vowel extension is a predictable feature of three year old angst.  Look it up in a linguistics text; I'm sure it's there.

In fact, let us pause here to enter the mind of a three year old because it really will deepen your appreciation of the grocery store battlefield.  A three year old can best be understood by studying this crucial and oft used phrase,

"But I don't want to  _____________"  Insert whatever you like here:


  • go to bed
  • eat broccoli
  • clean my room
  • put on underwear
  • come inside when it's raining
  • go to bed
  • put down the hammer
  • stop watching that dancing mouse over and over and over again
  • go to bed
  • stay off the grocery cart

It does not matter what or when the request is, a three year old does not understand why she should do ANYTHING unless she wants to or feels like it.  "I don't want to" is as soundly argued and reasonable as any sober pronouncements from the Supreme Court.  It makes perfect sense, and it is shocking that you, Mommy, continue to think I should do anything if I don't want to. 

I don't want to go in the cart.  I want some Fruit Loops.  I don't care that they're packed with enough sugar to dissolve my teeth in one bowl.  I don't care that the fruit flavor has been sprayed on in a factory or that cereal that tastes like Pez probably isn't the best choice, nutritionally speaking.  They are at my eye level (thank you, again market research) and they are the latest image in my View Finder. 

Every second is precious and long in the life of a three year old, so simply saying "I am not buying you Fruit Loops" is not enough.  You will have to say it every time you come to the store and you will say it at least once a minute for the rest of this particular shopping excursion. 

So,  I have helped you understand where your three year old is coming from.  It won't make your strong-willed firefly less annoying; she is just now placed in sharper relief.  A clear, maddening picture of her. 

But wait, there's more.  Just like the Ginsu knives, we aren't finished yet!  Let us recap:

Child #1:  Continues to give details about friend's HILARIOUS comment  -- "No mom, this is sooo funny!"
Child #2:  Loves tater tots and wants to make sure you understand.  She's busying lobbying for tater tots while continuing to expertly scope out the store for anything else she can get you to agree to buy in your feeble state.  Her sister is not far behind her:
Child #3:  Lobbying for real live already fried french fries, "Right over there! Don't they smell good, Mom?"
Child #4 Is flitting around the store, playing with the cart and begging for sugar.

Fear not, Dear Reader, in addition to the free shipping and handling, you also get Child #5

Child #5:  Whining, reaching, grabbing, whining, screeching, smearing fig newtons into the cart cover.  Yes, I grabbed fig newtons and started feeding him.  Don't judge me.  At least they weren't Oreos, and fig is a fruit.

Like I said:  war of attrition.  It requires patience in the moment and a long focus.  To yell, to hit or do something big, bold and memorable could end the gadfly questions about french fries, but what will that create in her, later in life?  They do not understand that I am trying to meal plan for seven people while replaying mistakes I made at work and thinking about the housework and grading that wait at home.  They live in the moment.  We adults, we Five Star Generals, do not live in the moment.  We suspend many moments and responsibilities together in ourselves, and my three year old butterfly won't understand why Fruit Loops cause Mom to be so angry.  My seven year old didn't mean to make me cry and spank anybody; they're just french fries.  What's the big deal?  I cannot snap.  I have to breathe and keep coaxing and discussing and loving them into good behavior.

Scary. We wield a lot of power as parents.  The world will tell you that you don't.  They will say Rhianna and Lady Gaga and Facebook and Twitter wield all the cultural power.  Keep telling yourself that, World.  I see young people who respond to the healthy fear of not wanting to disappoint their parents.  It's alive and well in some of them, just as it was in us.  Where a healthy fear and respect of parents is not operating, I will show you drug use, sex, and drinking.  I will show you defiance, detention, and bad grades.  Harvard will not be calling, but you might awaken one night to this on the other end of the line,

"Good evening, ma'am, I am sorry to wake you.  This is Officer..." and your world immediately swirls into sweating and panic.  I do not want to live that life in a few years, so I continue to hold them accountable.  I did not buy french fries or tater tots.  I did not yell at anyone, or sit down on the pharmacy chair and weep, although both sounded appealing.  My three year old ended up having to ride in the cart.  She screamed for a bit, and then she stopped because I said I would leave the entire cart there, march all of us home and put her to bed with a spanking.  She believed me.  Would I have done it?  Yes, if I had to, but when you fight the war of attrition and you try to be consistent and firm, you rarely have to resort to such drastic measures.  They know you mean business. 

In my role as a high school teacher, I often like to say my favorite idea for a bumper sticker is:

Good Teaching Can't Fix Bad Parenting


Our culture often reviles teachers and bemoans the education system at the same time that it asks us to fix all sorts of cultural and psychological ills that come from family, not school.  The boy smoking cigarettes and glaring at adults like they personally deserve nothing but scorn was once that cute three year old begging for Fruit Loops.  If you teach him that "No" means "No" and it does so because you love him and want him to be a good person, perhaps he will not sneer and smoke outside Starbucks in a few years. 

I believe the bumper sticker is true.  However, as the mother of five children who have not reached high school yet, let alone junior high,  I'm holding off on putting it on my own car.  I have high hopes that my children will be good students and citizens far into their futures, but the war continues, and I don't want to declare a premature victory.

Regret

Asking teenagers to write about what they regret will not elicit much depth. It is not, as you might imagine, because they have not lived lo...