My son hit me the other night. Yep, he turned around from his Dinosaur Train computer game, said “Go away,” and walloped me upside the head. I didn’t even say anything except, “let’s get your jammies on.” Them’s hardly fightin’ words, right? Had there been a video camera present though, it would have been a great ad for Mastercard because I’m quite sure the look on my face was: priceless.
I know I was thinking: “oh-crap-what-do-I-do?” A thought and expression reserved strictly for a call to my boss’s office. My sweet little three-year-old Mohammed Ali must have read my confusion because he too seemed a little stunned in his own “oh-crap-what-DID-I-do?” moment. I could read it in his eyes. But he came to his conclusion way faster than I came to mine. His conclusion was to try it again, probably because it was something new and apparently wielded some fleeting sense of power over the Almighty Mom. My solution was to think a minute and see where this went – and it better not be to the other side of my head.
This is one of the many times I’ve had to stop and think “Oh, I’m the parent. This is one of those parent moments that I have to figure out,” but although I’m 42 years older than him, I think I probably felt just as lost as he did at that moment, if not more. Being a disciplinarian so far has meant saying “no” now and again and/or enacting diversionary tactics. I’ve spent a lot of time with other people’s kids and when they’ve misbehaved I’ve been able to laugh. But that’s someone else’s kids. I’m not responsible for who they become in this life. Wow. Is this what it feels like to be a parent?
I’ve read a lot about the different means of disciplining children, from a smack on the hand to “Supernanny”-style naughty stools. I don’t have the stomach for the naughty stool and I don’t believe in hitting children (or anyone else for that matter) and well, Supernanny, you are way-cool but unless you’re going to hang out at my place for two weeks, I have no intention of pretending to be you. So what do I do?
I didn’t have to kneel down to his level because I was already down there. No he didn’t flatten me with his left hook, I was just already down there. I held his arms to his side and told him to look at me. He threw his head back and demanded that I “let go” of him “N-O-W.” That kid has some lungs! I said, “I’ll let go when you look at me and say you’re sorry.” That made him thrash even harder and scream even louder. That was nothing compared to what I got when I leaned over and shut his computer off, picked up his jammies and started to walk away.
When he ran to Daddy who was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher, and found no solace there (thank you Daddy!!) he came running at me again - to hit me again. Still as confused as I was 3 minutes ago, I just sat still and ignored him. He picked up everything he could find and threw it into the middle of the room and stomped off with his arms folded. Daddy and I exchanged smirks. That exchange of knowing looks between us made me feel reassured and even empowered. Daddy and Mommy were presenting a united front that no little Tasmanian Devil was going to gnaw his way through – and in that one smirk was a reminder that there really was humor here.
When I called Evan back over to me a minute later, he came over, head bowed, lip pouty, little gulping sobs, but still that defiant look (that look I love so much) out of the corner of his eye. I told him he could sit with me and watch TV if he picked up everything he threw around the room. He picked it up and threw it on the ground again. I said, “I guess you don’t want to watch TV.” He looked at me for a second. I looked straight back at him and he slowly placed everything piece by piece on the couch next to me – all the while pouting and babbling to himself. I said, “Great, what should we watch?” He curled up in a ball, tried not to smile, and said “Dinosaur Train.” I gave him a kiss, told him he did a wonderful job calming down and that I love him. He grabbed my ears, pulled me to him and gave me a hug around the same head slammed just moments before.
I never figured out what to do. I didn’t have a plan. I went into it clueless, got through it just as clueless and left it feeling like a parent. I never raised my voice or lifted a finger. I don’t know what happened in the end - but I think it worked.
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