Ridiculous Parent-Child Dialogues

There are a lot of things that irk me about the parenting advice world, but nothing quite ticks me off like the inane, complicated, Danny-Tanner-esque conversations all these multitudes of parents are apparently having with their children.

And never in these novel-length, concerned-but-kind talks, do the authors give any indication of the complete lack of fucks given by the children being spoken at.

I mean, you read this shit in a book, or hear it on audio, and you picture an ever diligent, soft-spoken mother, leaning over her heretofore tantrumming child (who now appears to be totally calm and involved in the conversation, listening, nodding, you name it), and spouting out joyous paragraphs of wisdom and light--about decency, humanity, love, apology.

We learn that these parents aren't perfect. They have to atone for their lapses in judgement. We learn that even when they lose it, and yell, they come back to their corner of calm, and their kid is apparently totally down for listening to every drippingly caring word that comes next out of their faceholes.

We never are told that in reality, mom is shouting these words to be heard over a child rolling her eyes, stomping her feet and humming. That the kid immediately turns around to the television (which in parenting book land is never on, but come on) and ignores these frosting-coated life lessons. We never see the kid interrupt the grand gesture to explain her side of the story yet again. We never see that the parent could possibly be saying all these things (which they're not), but the kid isn't hearing it.

I cannot with this. Enough. When I pick up a parenting book, I need help. I already know how to wax parenting poetical on my children about how everything would be in an ideal world, I don't need your made-up garbage dialogue. I need to know what you REALLY do.

With that in mind, here are my favorite pseudo-conversations, word for word, from a parenting book I just read.

In a situation where a child was rude and was not allowed to go to her friends party, this book says, no, let the child go to the party because it has nothing to do with the rudeness. Conversation:

"We would talk about it, addressing your rudeness right then and there."
"You mean like the other day when I slammed my bedroom door because I was mad at you, and we talked about it, and I wrote about it in my journal?"

Yes. I'm sure that's what happened. That's always how those talks go in my house.

On lasagna a child refused to eat:

"You know, make you ____, mommy did try to make you something you would like."
"I know you did, mommy. Thank you. But next time don't try so hard. I like all my vegetable separate, not together in a lasagna."

Yes, my children often tell me not to try so hard to please them. This is totally realistic.

During a penmanship lesson:

"That's so mean, mommy. I was really trying my hardest. It hurts me that you don't like my handwriting."
"Thank you for sharing your feelings. You don't have to change your handwriting if yo essence u don't want to. The more important thing for you to realize is that your handwriting is not ____. Your hair is not ____. Your clothes are not _____. Your face is not _____. Your grades are not _____. None of these are ____. You are more than any of this, beyond all beautiful, which is your essence. This essence can never be ugly, stupid, or inferior. It's always fine just as it is. So if I, or your teacher, or another kid tells you your hair is ugly, or your handwriting is sloppy, remember that since it's not the real you, and only a temporary way of expressing yourself, it doesn't define you. Perhaps then it won't be so hurtful anymore if I suggest you might want to write in your usual neat way. But I leave that up to you."

Kid is probably like...what the hell just happened? I fell asleep two sentences into that.

When a child doesn't do the dishes or some other thing she's been told to do:

"Is there some reason you can't fulfill my request? I need you to honor what I'm asking and put the dishes away."

Oh. Okay.

What to say instead of "you can be anything you want to be":

"If you are simply yourself, instead of copying another person or trying to be what someone else thinks you should be, you will find a way to express who you are in the world. By just being you, you will create a path for your life that's not only realistic, but that honors who you are."

Sigh. Okay. But that's for books when the kids are old enough to absorb that information and actually seek it out. Right now, can we just stick with, 'you can be anything you want to be?'

I'm just...these are only a very few of the long, convoluted conversations parents everywhere are supposedly having with their children. Just not me.



 

The Conversation at the Post Office

I don't often have time to go on wacky adventures with my kids anymore. We're all busy, unlike the lazy and horrific days of yore when I had to spend all day walking them two miles to the library and two miles back because they were babies and I didn't have a car, or a life, or any friends. So, if you were wondering why I hadn't posted any adventures, lately, that is (thankfully) why.

Anyway, that ended today when we went to mail out our Valentines.

But it's February 24th, you say. Why on Earth are you sending out Valentines now?

Answer: I made the tragic mistake of putting one flat lollipop in each envelope.

Before February 14th, we all piled in the car and went to the postal shop right near our house. The crusty postal worker there (who has known me for four years now, and still can hardly crack a smile most days) told us they were too thick to be considered regular mail, and we'd need an extra 20-cent stamp on each.

But they didn't have any 20-cent stamps and they weren't scheduled to get any in apparently ever. So I took my Vcards back (haha), and kept them in my car for two weeks, like any normal person would do.

Today, however, I had to go to the bank anyway, so I thought, 'let's find that elusive real post office and mail these suckers.'

Mistake.

First of all, I looked online, and the first link I tried for an address sent me via GPS to a Dairy Queen. Awesome.

The second link I pick gave me a real post office, but it was all the way across town. I spent an hour trying to get to a post office. With my tired, just-got-out-of-school-and-haven't-eaten-yet kids. They performed admirably under the stress.

When we finally got there, there were a lot of empty spaces in the front, so I looped around to get to one...and found myself behind the longest stream of cars ever (which appeared out of nowhere!). By the time we snuck in, all the empty front spots were taken. I took a spot in the back. And we got in the loooong line. Right behind a police officer. Which is where our story really begins.

For a while, the girls amuse themselves with just me, but soon enough they tire of that and begin taking in the world around them. Almost immediately, Dulce asks: "Mama, is that a--"

"Yes, it is." I cut her off. I knew what she was going to say. "That's a police officer."

Not willing to be foiled, however, she pushes forward. "Is that a cop?"

Grimace. "Yes, but it's more polite to call them police officers." (At this point, he's staring at us.) I continue. "You can also talk to him, you know. He's standing right there. It's rude to talk about people loudly who are right in front of you." He nods in a kind and goofy way. (Thank God.)

Dulce is not going to let this go. "I thought they were called cops."

I just shake my head.

We spend a few blessed minutes in silence before Dulce gets braver. She walks closer to him. "Excuse me?"

"Yes?" he answers.

"What's that on your belt?" And we go through all the radios and guns and tools he's got on his belt. And I have to sternly say, DO NOT TOUCH THAT GUN to them in a post office. Grand.

Then Natalina gets involved. "Excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"Is jail real?"

(Remember there are like 50 people in line. All of them are laughing at this point.)

"Yes," he says. "So make sure you never go there."

She nods seriously, and takes a few moments to contemplate her future decisions. Then...

"Excuse me?"

"Yes."

"Are you in charge of jail?"

"No, I just take people to jail."

"You took someone to jail?"

"Yes."

"What was his name?"

"I don't remember. There have been a lot of them."

Her eyes widen.

"Why do you keep putting people in jail? You look nice."

Then it was the officer's turn up at the counter, and he made his exit.

I called out thank you to him, and wondered if I should tell him he got off easy. The other night the girls had asked a man with long hair and a bit of a belly if he was going to have a baby.

Five is a loud age, guys.



 

An Overheard Conversation

A few weeks ago, my husband and I went out to dinner. I wished I was a twittering mom because the conversation behind us was one for the ages. I don't even remember right anymore, which is a shame. Warning you right now that there is no purpose to this post other than my own eavesdropping (in my defense, the young woman was shouting for much of this) ticked me off.

The young lady behind me was apparently trying desperately to impress the young man she was out with. She started in on her sister, whose son, she said, had autism and ADHD. But then she didn't say that. Then she said, actually, he didn't have autism or ADHD. Actually her sister gave him soda and was a bad parent because of that.

Or, you know, he has autism and ADHD and you just want to complain about a parent giving a kid soda and make blanket statements about how "all parents make up problems for their kids so they don't have to parent right. They just have to give them pills."

Then she blamed all of her life problems on her own mother, saying the mother "was too strict" and "didn't understand her" and that she "hated her."

That the woman made it too hard to go out and get drugs--primarily pills.

And I just took both bits of information that had been presented one after the other and wondered...wow, do people even listen to themselves speak anymore?

Then I stopped listening myself. I had better things to do with my night off that listen to a 22-year-old woman talk in a hateful manner about just about everything.



 

Through the Eyes of a Child

Young children have all the answers. They simplify the problem and their solutions are often immediate and...impossible.

We've decided on a last-minute trip to see my family before Christmas (we can't make it for the holiday this year.)

This is the conversation I had with the girls about it.

Dulce: Mama, I want to go see Nana.
Me: Well, first I have to buy the tickets.
Lilly: Okay! I get you coins! (Runs to the coin box and grabs me a quarter.) Here you go. Let's go see Nana.
Me: Well, I'll need more than that.
Dulce: Let's go buy some money, then.
Me: It's okay, I can buy them now. (Buys tickets online). Okay, I bought them!
Lilly: Great! Let's go!
Me: (Thinking fast). Well, um, they have to come in the mail first.
Dulce: I know where the mail is! On the counter! Let's get it and go!


I wish I lived in their world sometimes.

Conversations with Ourselves

I mentioned a few months ago how my husband and I consistently ended up shouting at one another just to be heard over the din of "LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME!" that my toddlers put forth every time they see us attempting to converse.

We've moved on from that.

We no longer speak at all. It's too hard.

I've been solving this problem by holding conversations with my husband in my mind. I thought it was just me. Yesterday, though, I found out he does it, too.

There we were, seated across from one another at the breakfast table. I took a bite of my toast and glanced at my husband. At that exact moment, he gave an almost imperceptible nod to himself. I grinned.

"What are you thinking about?"

"What?"

"You're having a conversation with yourself. What's it about?"

And he proceeded to tell me what he was thinking about. Then he rushed off to work.

That evening, in a precious moment where the girls were distracted, he turned to me and said, "You know this morning, when you caught me thinking a conversation to myself?"

"Yeah."

"It's ironic because I was having a conversation with you."

I laughed. "I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't have intruded on your personal thoughts. I could tell you were talking to me. I do it, too."

"You do?"

"Of course! How else am I going to talk to you?"

And we died laughing.

When you have toddler twins vying for your every attention, you do what you have to do. Talking is no longer an option, so we work around it.

The question that remains? How many of my husband's ideas has my imaginary self agreed to without my knowledge?

Toddler Tricks - 58: Getting Them to Shut Up

Problem: The title sounds a little harsh, but if your toddlers are anything like mine, they talk your ear off. They talk and talk and talk, and it's not passive conversation where they're content to babble at you, nor is it regular conversation wherein they understand that they are supposed to say something and then you are supposed to reply, bringing new content to the flow. That will only confuse and upset them. They'll think you aren't understanding them and freak out. So how do you hold a toddleresque conversation without your partner breaking down into tears?

Solution: Repeat them. Exactly. Word for word. Do not attempt to vary your response. Do not attempt to repeat them and then add on a normal response. Do not try to repeat them in a different tone of voice. Simply parrot exactly what they have said back to you. "I cried about the yellow couch yesterday, mama."

Correct response: "You cried about the yellow couch yesterday, baby."
Incorrect 1: "Yes, you did cry about the yellow couch yesterday."
Incorrect 2: "You cried about the yellow couch yesterday, but today you are happy."
Incorrect 3: "Yes, we shouldn't cry over the yellow couch, should we?"

Another important component of this solution is that you cannot fake it. If you cannot understand each word clearly, attempt repetitions until you can figure it out. They'll not accept this for example: "I love me sugar bowl, mama," if they've said, "I love my spiky ball, mama." Even if you say the words you cannot understand exactly as the child has said them...they know. So that I can't get away with "You need ooney ceecee" if she means, "I need honey cereal."

Young toddlers are still unsure of their conversational prowess. By repeating them, it may not seem as if you are forwarding their conversational skills because that's not how real conversation works. But you are forwarding their skills by giving them confidence in their words. By repeating them exactly, they are reassured that you heard and understood them, which is a cornerstone of conversation. With toddlers, it's all about the basics.

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Livestreaming Now - Three Year Olds

Have you seen this?

Jason Good hit gold with this little diatribe of thoughts that must run through his two year old's head.

At three, children are so much more mature, you've no idea. They've truly grown and expanded their horizons. By which I mean they're still thinking the exact same thing only they can talk, so instead of having to make up a monologue for them, they give it to you. Until your ears bleed from the utter joy at hearing their dulcet tones...yet again.

At three, they've done my work for me. I now present to you the conversations held with me during the three minutes it took me to read about three minutes in Jason Good's baby's life.

Mama, video!
Down basket!
Nooooooooo!
Green couch, down basket, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
You want Cat in the Hat, Lilly? You want Cat in the Hat? Lilly. LILLY. You want Cat in the Hat?
No! Down basket! Green couch!
Hey! Don't kick the green couch.
Yes!
No! No, Lilly, don't kick the green couch.
WAAAAAH!
WAAAAAH!
Mama, Lilly is kicking the green couch!
-Lilly, stop kicking the green couch.
No! Kick it!
Nooooooo! Don't kick it.
Hey, your nose is wet. Mama, Lilly's nose is wet.
No! My nose is dry!
Your nose is wet, Lilly.
No, it's dry.
No, it's wet.
No! WAAAAAAAAAAH!
Mama, don't wash Bean. I love Bean.
I need Cheezits, mama. I don't like breakfast. I need Cheezits.
No! Not Cheezits. I want pretzels.
No! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
I want more honey.
I need my shoes.
I want to wear a diaper. I'm a baby.
No, you're a big girl now, Lilly. I a baby.
No, Dulce. I a baby.
No, me!
No, me!
WAAAAAAH!
Mama, you nice? Hug on the green couch! Kiss me!
No, no kiss her.
Yes, kiss me!
I have to go potty. ... Ta-da! Wipe me, wipe me!

At this point I give up and start praying to the coffee gods that nap time comes soon. Even when they're not fighting constantly, they are talking constantly. I mean constantly. Jason Good won't have to wonder what his child is thinking soon enough. His child will tell him. His child will give him a livestream of toddler information from dawn until dusk.

Oh, and she'll continue with her love of pushing buttons and fearing that mommy has disappeared forever. Only that love will be louder.

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SO HOW WAS YOUR DAY?

"Hi, honey! I'm thinking meatloaf or burgers for dinner. What would you like?"

"Um, meatloaf. Do we have the cheese?"

"YES. WE HAVE THE CHEESE. I'LL MAKE IT WITH THE CHEESE."

"OKAY. GREAT. I'M GOING TO GO FOR A RUN WHILE IT COOKS."

"SOUNDS GOOD. SHOULD BE JUST ABOUT DONE WHEN YOU GET BACK."

"PERFECT. HAD A GOOD DAY AT WORK TODAY."

"OH YEAH?"

"YES. SO AND SO IS REALLY FUNNY."

"WHAT'D HE SAY?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT? NEVER MIND. I'LL TELL YOU WHEN THEY GO TO BED."

I don't know if this happens to you, but in this house, adult conversation is severely frowned upon by those shorter than four feet. They'll be off, playing on their own, perfectly happy...so long as my husband and I are not talking to each other. The moment they notice us interacting in a way that doesn't involve them, the background noise slowly beginsto crescendo. We don't even notice until it's too late. Suddenly, we're screaming at each other about our days, or small observations we've had. Yelling at the top of our lungs to hear each other over the din. It's only after we've been doing this for a sentence or so that we realize what's going on and can the conversation.

The way the children do this is brilliant. Usually they don't even come over to cling to us. They do it from afar.

"Blardee blah doo blo doo wop bleeder blah," slowly turns to "BLIEDER BLUEDY LALALALAALALA, ELMO'S WORLD," slowly turns to "I'm PWINCESS MAMA. MAMA. MAAAAMA! DADA? DADDY? I'M PWINCESS!"

It seems that children's egos (at least my children's egos) cannot yet handle even a moment that does not revolve around them. Rather, they can't handle any togetherness that doesn't involve them. If I'm cleaning or cooking, for the most part they're fine. It's only when my husband and I try to talk. And it's only when we're talking about things that are not the babies. As long as the conversation revolves around cute or bad things the twins did today, they leave us alone to our chit chat.

Any other form of conversation, though, and they subversively grow louder and plead for attention until we finally give up.

You win for now, babies. Until I can figure out a way around this, or you figure out that you are not the only ones in this house.


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