Monday, February 28, 2011

The "Unholy Trinity"

6:48 a.m. The winter world outside my kitchen cold and dark as I prepare my coffee and warm the children’s milk. They sit sleepily at the kitchen table. Slurp, slurp goes their milk. The coffee pot burps and sizzles. "Ernesto, wanna play Guess Who?" Six-and-a-half year-old Gloria slides off her chair, darts into the playroom, and is back again not two seconds later, her new game in hand, and they're off!  Bing!  As if someone put quarters in their backs and toggled their "on" buttons. I continue my slower metamorphosis into waking life, cream into coffee, bleary-eyed email check, spam deletion, unfurling of the newspaper from its plastic cocoon……

"Ernesto! Stop it! No!! Ernesto, I said STOP IT!" My head snaps up to see three-and-a-half year-old Ernesto sprawled across the kitchen table, attempting to spy on Gloria's “secret card” - the one that is supposed to remain hidden from view as they take turns asking questions, trying to figure out who is the other player's "mystery person." I also see karate-girl, Gloria, straight-arming her brother at the forehead as he struggles onward in hot pursuit of a cheater's Pyrrhic victory. This is not good.  As I see it, I have three options: (1) Do nothing and see how the interaction plays itself out; (2) Intervene calmly and work with them to resolve their conflict; or (3) Give in to my early-morning, not quite awake irritation, raise my voice, and tell them to knock it off.  After one more sip of coffee and a quick prayer, I step into the fray. "Ernesto," I say, aiming for the ideal calm-but-firm tone, "Please respect Gloria's words and sit down on your bottom."  No response. Boy struggles onward, karate-girl increases the force of her arm against his head, her eyes silently pleading with me to do something. I repeat myself.  Nothing changes.  Something snaps inside. I feel angry and helpless.  I am not really ready for this day to begin, let alone to work at parenting them.  I just want this to be over. I just want to enjoy my coffee. I just want them to get along and play their game. So, what do I do? I SCREAM, of course. "ERNESTO! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!!!" Ernesto jerks back into his seat.  Gloria sits wide-eyed and waiting, relieved but wary. There is silence beyond deepest silence, followed by the heart-breaking rasp of little-boy sobs.  I feel empty.  I envision my life force, expelled by my scream, aerosolized, and now slowly raining back down onto my children and I.  As I breathe myself back into me, I am conscious of one thought - "Now what?" My heart sinks. Ugh. OK. Triage 101. First, tend to the “mortally wounded.”  I sit down, open my arms, and invite my sad, soggy little boy into them. "I am sorry I screamed at you.” I say. “I am so sorry. That must have been scary, huh?" "Ye-he-he-ess, Mommy, I don't like it you screamed at me-hee-hee..." he says.  "Well, I made a mistake. Mommies make mistakes too. I made a mistake and I am sorry. I will try to do better next time.”  There is silence, then sniffles, but the silence feels different. I can’t really explain it, it is intuitive, but there is a peace in it, and it often indicates that we are in a teachable moment, so I say, “Ernesto, you know what? It is not OK for me to scream at you when I could make a better choice, but I am not the only one who made a bad choice here. I think all three of us can learn from this. I can learn that screaming at you is not the best way to help you learn. But, do you know why I screamed?" I ask. "No," he replies. "Well, I was angry that you were trying to see Gloria's cards – that is not a fair way to play the game - and you weren't respecting her words – she asked you to stop twice – and you didn’t stop, and you weren’t respecting my words, and that made me angry too.  I asked you to sit down in your chair, and you didn’t do what I asked. So, I can learn to not yell at you, but you can learn from this too. You can learn to try and follow the rules of the game and to listen to your sister and respect her words." As he quietly ponders, I turn to my daughter next and say, "And, you can learn from this too.  What do you think about the way you were touching your brother?  Is it OK to push your brother's head like that when you don't like what he is doing?" I ask. "No,” she mumbles. “That's right. So, what do you think you could do next time he doesn't listen to you, instead of pushing him?"  "Ask for help,” she replies. "That is one option. And it could be a good one, but what else? What if no one is right there and able to help you?" She looks at me blank-faced, completely stumped. I try again, "What is the worst thing that could happen if he kept trying to see your cards and you didn't push him away?" I ask.  Her face and voice flash with pent up anger and frustration as she blurts, "He would see who my mystery person is! And, then that would be cheating!  And, I would be angry and not want to play with him anymore!" She sinks back into her chair.  “Exactly. Natural consequences, right?  And, then, he might learn a lesson. He might learn why it is important to follow the rules of the game, not cheat, and respect other people's words, right?" She nods.  She wants a hug too, so there we are, as the sun rises over the backyard hedges, the “unholy trinity” wedged in one chair, in a single, soggy, pretzely embrace.

Later, many times over, I replay the scenes in my mind and ask myself:  Why did I flash with anger?  Why did I scream at my son?  Did I really need to intervene? Should I have stayed out of it?  Should I have allowed Ernesto to encounter his lesson in a different way?  As Mark Twain said, “A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”[1] I rewind the scenes again, and this time, I replay them like one of those "choose your own adventure"[2] novels.  If I had taken a different path and had not "violently" intervened, I see Ernesto continue in his struggle to spy Gloria's card, she continues to push him, he sees the card, she gets angry, screams at him, ends the game.  Perhaps he learns his lesson, but, just as likely, he doesn't really learn anything, and just feels anger towards his sister, or even triumph in having viewed her secret card, a reward for his deviousness. Or, they continue to struggle and my karate-girl escalates the physical violence and hurts him, then he quits the game, and they learn only the same old lesson about the consequences of trying to resolve conflict through physical force. Compared with those potential outcomes, ours seems preferable.  Nevertheless, I am left with an emotional hangover of regret.  Why?  I rewind the scenes once again, and this time I see something new, something that might be obvious to you, but was not clear to me until I wrote it all out:  Because I “lost it,” and yelled at my child, what might have been just another sibling conflict became an opportunity for all of us – the “unholy trinity” – to learn.  Like my children, I have a chance to learn through the experience my own "natural consequences.”  These consequences were the guilt and regret I suffered after screaming at my child.  After reflecting on my behavior, here are the lessons I hope to carry with me:  (1) Raising my voice to get the children’s attention can be an acceptable choice, but next time, instead of singling out one child, I hope to remember to say something neutral, like "Freeze!”[3]; (2) When I engage in the work of parenting my children, I am not just teaching them, the process is teaching me and, if I am open and aware, I will receive valuable lessons; and (3) Guilt and regret can be helpful cues that a lesson is available for me, but once I identify the lesson, I can let go of those feelings, let the past be in the past, and move on to the next chapter in the adventure.


Photo credit:  http://www.littlebeanonline.com/

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2 comments:

  1. tippingpointMarch 2, 2011 at 8:25 AM

    Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, all of it. Your gorgeous writing and your brilliant thinking process combine to provide a vivid EXPERIENCE of parenting, not a "when your kid does this, do that..." blurb. I feel it, I visualize it, and the learning for me is complete. Thank you for the gift.

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  2. RyanMarch 2, 2011 at 12:09 PM

    Thank you for the kind feedback on my writing and parenting. I truly and deeply appreciate it. I would never claim to have "the answers" to anyone's parenting dilemmas, but it does help me to write out and share my experiences. It is always gratifying to know that someone gets something from that sharing.

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