Toddler Tricks - 83: Parents, Use your Words

Problem:

Your kids want something that is impossible to give them, or they have to wait a minute for something, or you need them to eat before they do what they want, or any other variation of "Mom, I want," and then "no." Now they're screaming crying messes, and you're wondering why people even have children in the first place, and where did you go wrong that you can't even have a coherent conversation with a three and a half year old.

Solution:

Don't say no. I mean, mean no, but don't say that word. The moment you say no, you will not be able to say another thing without being drowned out by the pure anguish of cries accompanying a child who doesn't get what she wants. This is the training phase. They'll get over this. But right now, their brains hear the word no, and everything else crumbles around them. Their world disintegrates. This is something that students earning an early childhood education degree should understand as well.

And they want this to happen. If they're not going to get what they want, their next favorite choice is to break down about it. If you explain why they aren't getting it without using the word no, they'll repeat, they'll cajole, they'll beg. Until you forget that you're trying to teach them how to converse, verbalize their arguments, and have patience. Until you absentmindedly and because you think maybe they're not understanding you, say no. Then you've done it.

Not that your child shouldn't be able to hear the word no and just accept it, but as a teaching method, right now, the world allows them to shut their minds down, and no further learning will be done. Kids need to know why things happen or don't happen. That's why they ask why so often (I assume.) So, if you take out the culmination, instead of leading with it, you've got a better shot of helping them understand why some things must be and why others cannot be. No then starts to have meaning. They'll slowly come to understand that "no" has a purpose other than to piss them off. They'll hopefully begin to trust you. Or at least listen to you in public. Which is really all I ever hope for.


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A Parent's Road is a Tired One

My husband was right.

The girls went to bed at 11:30 p.m. last night. (They share a room and can often be found "having picnics" or "going camping" after lights out.) Since it was so late when they laid down their little heads, I figured they'd sleep until at least 9 a.m.

My husband said, "They'll probably be up at 7."

Not to be outdone, Natalina pounded up the stairs at 6:38 a.m. I tried to put her back to bed, but I knew it was an exercise in futility.

She was hungry, she said. So I fixed her some cereal, and got her and Dulce dressed. She ate three pieces of cereal.

The real reason she was up is that the days are getting longer. The sun is shining earlier. She even pointed outside to prove me wrong. "But, mom, it's light out, see?"

Now they're busy wrecking my house, which I could swear they just did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.

Also, demanding cake. Because that's a perfectly reasonable request.

Edited to add: I know why! I told them we would make strawberry shortcake today! Never do this. Never  give them something to look forward to. I make this mistake once every few weeks, and it always ends up like this. They have been asking me nonstop when we're making the cake.

The only solution is to run them ragged, I guess. We're just getting over a cold and they don't know what to do with all their energy. But they're still coughing and sneezing so I can't really take them anywhere public. Looks like it's bikes, and tag, and the big bad wolf game today, over and over again. I've got to tucker them out.

Wish me luck.

Can. You. Hear. Me?

I know people (lovingly?) call three year olds threenagers, but I'm still astounded that this amount of attitude can come from something so small. Something so small that loves me so much and loudly.

I mean, we've got it all over here. We've got the exaggerated sigh. We've got the arms crossed, squared-shoulders harrumph. We've got the eye roll (although they're still perfecting that one. Sometimes they accidentally cross their eyes when trying to pull it off.)

Truly, we are a disgruntled bunch.

But the worst of them all, the one that cannot be pictured, the one that even if I could snap a shot of it, the photo would never convey the amount of annoyance this behavior brings...the worst is the ignoring me.

It's made even more frustrating by the fact that I don't even realize it's happening until I've said the same thing a dozen times with no response. I actually fall for it. Regularly. I think they haven't heard me. So I repeat. Because I honestly think they haven't heard me. Fool.

They heard me. They heard me the first time, they heard me the twelfth time. And I'm over here looking like a jackass broken record, giving them the benefit of the doubt because I haven't even considered the alternative until it's too late to correct the behavior.

Go down the stairs.
Go down the stairs.
Hey, could you go down the stairs.
(I do something else for a moment, then notice that no stairs have been gone down.)
Girls, can you go downstairs, please.
(I start down the stairs, no one follows me. No one has even acknowledged my presence.  That's when I realize it. They're purposefully ignoring me.)
Go down the stairs.
Girls.
Girls.
GIRLS!
GO. DOWN. THE. STAIRS. NOW.

Crying.

Now they're insulted that I yelled at them. How dare I? Gee, I don't know.

Sometimes I catch it before this point. If I do, I repeat their names over and over and over. Sometimes I say, Can you hear me? Can you hear me?

Amazing that I, who perfected this ignoring in my childhood, could be thrown for loop by it.

I remember doing it when I was a bit older. I remember thinking, when my mom would constantly ask me if I could hear her, 'why are you so needy, woman? You need validation at every turn? Yes, I heard you. I have ears. I'll get to your ridiculous, time-wasting, unnecessary request in a second. Either that or I'll forget about it, then be insulted when you have to remind me.  You know how this works. I. HEARD. YOU.'

Little did I know that I had trained my mother to do this, much as my kids are now training me. She had been conditioned to ensure that, yes, I actually did hear her and I'm ignoring her, so that later, when she had to tell me again, I couldn't say, "but, mom, I didn't hear you!"

And this ignoring thing, it's good. It's subtle. There is literally no response. No indication that they might have heard me at all. It's not like they set their jaws, and I know they're being obstinate. They literally act as if no one has spoken.

Threenagers. I can see everyone's point now.

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Once-ler Upon a Time

The Lorax is an awesome movie.

Now, maybe it's because this is the only movie I've seen all year (I think I saw two movies in the whole of 2011...I don't get out much anymore), or maybe my tastes have muted, having been subjected to hours of Dora and Max and Ruby...but, really, kids' movies just keep getting better and better, don't you think?

I would confidently say that any kids' movie released in the past five or ten years is better than any adult comedy.

There's such an art to making movies, and kids' movies especially, because they have to span the entire audience. The writers have to engage not only the kids for whom the movie is intended (and try engaging a three year old for an hour and a half...it's not easy), but also the weary parents dragging their kids there, or the well-intended grandparents who want to do something nice with the children and probably need a break from "my favorite game is asking you a billion non-stop questions."

The movie-makers find themselves having to span generations of different experience and amusement levels, and they do it. Adding adult jokes and content to kids' entertainment isn't new by any means, but if you ask me, they're perfecting the art, and each movie that comes out is better than the last. Tangled probably topping that list.

It must be so hard to write stories like this, or even (in the case of many movies these days, kids' and adults' alike) rewrite them. To capture imaginations across the board. Having now tried to write fiction myself, I appreciate each line of dialogue and each fitting theme. I'm about as lyrical as a foot, so seeing people do this for a living the way I did news, like, 'hey, no big deal, just writing up an awesome movie,' well, it's awe-inspiring to me.

And the songs are fantastic. My all time favorite is Ursula's number in The Little Mermaid. I don't think you can get better lyrics than this:

"The men up there don't like a lot of blather
They think a girl who gossips is a bore
Yes, on land it's much preferred
For ladies not to say a word
And after all, dear, what is idle prattle for?

Come on, they're not all that impressed with conversation
True gentlemen avoid it when they can
But they dote and swoon and fawn
On a lady who's withdrawn
It's she who holds her tongue who gets her man."

The Once-ler's big number isn't quite as witty lyrically, but it's still a smash as far as I'm concerned. How can you not love this deliciously creepy song?



I don't know how bad he could be, but after seeing this scene (not pictured because none of the film is out there yet, and if it were, this would be a spoiler anyway), I wouldn't mind finding out.

The interpretation of the Once-ler is genius. He's probably one of the best-written villains out there, being given a boost by the fact that the writers had to make most of him up, tying greed in with innocence, knowing destruction with good-heartedness. A very tough blend, though, of course, they had help from the hints left by Dr. Seuss. Here's an excellent post all about the making of the new Once-ler.

Nowhere anywhere can I find a picture of him in his Once-ler duds, so I guess you'll have to go see the movie. It's worth it, really. Even with a squirmy three year old on your lap.

Oh! I do have one complaint. If you want to watch a movie in peace in the theater, how about you don't go to the matinee showing of The Lorax, k? Geez, people. Who else did you expect to be there? Of course it was going to be a preschool.

Anyway, final words.

"Unless someone like you
cares a whole awful lot
nothing is going to get better
it’s not."

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The Sickness Olympics

When you are a twin, you're constantly vying for someone's attention. You're never getting someone's undivided self. You learn to share and take turns, but if you're three, well, sometimes those lessons don't always stick. You love your sister more than anything, but sometimes you just want her to disappear for a hot second so you can get a hug without her clamoring up for the same attention. Is nothing to be yours, ever?

I can't imagine this.

It ramps up tenfold when they're sick. Especially since one usually gets the other sick, meaning the sick-phases are rarely in sync. One almost always feels better than the other one. In physical symptoms, that is.

This particular illness first hit Dulce over the weekend. She got a lot of attention because she was quite sick and she needed it. Natalina was fine, bouncing off the walls, and trying to distract me from caring for Dulce at every opportunity, but in a good-natured way.

Natalina fell really ill just yesterday, as Dulce began her upswing. Now, Dulce had gotten used to all the extra attention, and resented the shift as I had to turn my eyes to Lilly for a while. She tantrumed, cried, pretended to be sicker than she was and tried all sorts of things to even the balance of attention out.

I try, really try, to give both kids an equal share, but when one is sick, I cannot take time to comfort the other one's jealousy. I'm busy trying to break a fever or calm a coughing fit.

It becomes a competition as to who is the most sick.

It's not that I don't love you, child, it's that I cannot comfort you while I comfort your sister, especially since you both refuse to share my affection. I can't sit with both of them at the same time. I can't hug both of them at the same time. I can't do anything with the two of them. That messes with their competition.

This spills into wellness, as well, with the occasional "You said Dulce was beautiful. I'm not beautiful." Or "You called Lilly nice, I'm not nice?"

The sooner the girls get the notion of "both" the better. But I can't say I fault them for not understanding it. Most children don't have to learn "both" until, well, they grow up and get married.

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