Kids argue with us because they believe that as long as they keep our attention on the issue they have a chance to win. Obviously, if we ever give into our kids once they've started arguing with us, because they've worn us down or even because we've change our mind, we've only confirmed for them that arguing works, at least sometimes. If it works sometimes, then EVERYTIME they will give it a shot that THIS will be one of those "sometimes".
If you're like me, you probably HATE it when your kids start to argue with you when you've given your answer on an issue. So here's what I do to avoid the arguing:
When I see my kids are about to start arguing an issue I immediately look them strait in the eye and very calmly but firmly say, "I've given you my answer. I am not going to change my mind." This lets them know that it's not worth continuing with the discussion. Usually, this ends it (to their dismay) because I also try to be very consistent. They know that once I say this their chances are over. I love that "I'm not going to change my mind" phrase. It let's them know right away that it's not worth continuing on.
However, there are times when they test me, as children are designed to do. If they try to argue once I've told them I'm not changing my mind, then I offer them their choice.
"Now you are arguing. You can stop right now or you can take a time out for arguing. What's your choice?"
And then it's important to immediately follow through. A protest or continuing to argue means they've made their choice to take the time out. Not allowing an argument to go a sentence past "I'm not going to change my mind" and then consistently following through has stopped many potential arguing episodes with my kids.
But I have been teaching my kids something else. Sometimes they do have a good point and I have jumped to my final answer too quickly. If my children calmly come back talking like a "big boy" or "big girl" and present their case for my reconsideration, I will listen to them. Sometimes, they present good arguments and I will change my mind. Sometimes I will thank them for politely talking to me and that I'm very proud of them for doing so, but my answer is still "no". And sometimes we negotiate. I am OK with teaching them that sometimes they can get me to change my mind if they actually TALK to me. In my opinion, this is a good life skill to teach them. How many times in our adult lives do we need to change some one's mind? But we're more likely to be successful if we talk to the person rather than argue with them, right?
Try using the "I'm not going to change my mind" line, or your variation ("I've given you my final answer", "I've heard you, and my answer is 'no," etc.) with your kids and stick with it. Then, let me know how it works for you!
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Monday, August 24, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
My Child Knows the "F" Word
"Mom, sometimes I get so mad at my friends that I want to say the "S" word."
I about spit out my dinner. The statement seemed to come out of nowhere and was not something I expected to hear from my little girl. But I tried to remain calm.
"What do you know about the 'S' word?" I inquired.
Isabella hesitated. I could tell she was carefully thinking about whether she could say it to me or not. Eventually, she decided it was safe enough to say the forbidden "S" word aloud. "Stupid," she blurted out. "Sometimes I just want to use that word, Mom."
My heart started beating again. I let out a deep sigh of relief that my child still held onto some of her innocence. Stupid. Of course that's the "S' word. Of course that's a word you shouldn't use with your friends, even when you're mad at them. Isabella agreed, relieved that I wasn't mad at her for saying the dreaded word.
We talked for awhile about friendships and how they can be challenging sometimes. We brainstormed some other things we could say to our friends when we get so mad that we want to say the "S" word. It was a great conversation, really. And just when I thought we were wrapping it up, and I was feeling good about how well I handled that whole interaction, Isabella says, "And I won't say the 'F'' word either. That's a bad word, too. Right, Mom?"
My head raced. "F" word? What harmless first-grade put down is the "F" word? I cautiously asked, "What do you know about the 'F'' word?"
Isabella was confident this time. She didn't hesitate since she had been able to safely say the "S" word without getting in trouble. So she just matter-of-factly said it. Only it was the "F" word. The true "F-Bomb".
I couldn't believe I was hearing the word coming out of my sweet little girl's mouth. Where did she hear it? I was absolutely positive she never heard it from me or my husband. I am not much of a swearer myself and my husband is great about not using foul language at home. I couldn't hide some of my shock on this one. "Isabella. That is a word we never say. That is a very bad word. Where did you hear that word?"
"At school," she replied. "But my teacher said it was a bad word and we shouldn't say it." Right. School. Quickly I reminded myself of all the positive reasons why I send my children to school and of the words Tim Kimmel says in his book Grace Based Parenting...that we can't protect our kids from everything in this world. I try to remember it's better to let kids encounter things and feel safe to talk about them with their parents than to hide the world from them so they won't know how to interact with it appropriately when it's eventually revealed to them anyway.
Learning the "F' word was going to happen sooner or later, and I shouldn't be surprised that it happened at school. I was just hoping it would have been introduced a little later. Yet here was my daughter wanting to know what the word meant and why you can't say it.
How do you explain the "F" word without opening a whole bunch of topics that my 6 1/2-year-old wasn't quite ready for? So, I told her that it basically means "disrespecting some one's body." Not a perfect answer, I know. But it was enough to satisfy her since she knows it is a big deal to disrespect someone. We then talked about how words are just words but that there are some words people have decided are more hurtful and powerful than others. The "F" word was one of these words. It is one of the worst words you can say. And it's a yucky word. Some people think they look cooler or tougher when they use it. But we don't need that word to be cool or tough. We have other words we can use that don't hurt others and aren't yucky to say. Fortunately, Isabella was satisfied.
You might be interested in hearing how the word actually came up at Isabella's school. Apparently, they were learning a new word family one day. It was the "UCK" family. Isabella's teacher asked the class to come up with all the words they could think of that ended in "UCK". If you've ever been around a new reader, you know that they just take the ending given and start working their way through the alphabet. Buck. Cuck. Duck. You get the idea. After laughing hard at the image of Isabella's teacher panicking over 22 kindergartners stumbling on the "UCK" word that starts with "F", I again breathed a smaller sigh, but a sigh all the same, of relief that there was still some innocence left in my daughter.
I about spit out my dinner. The statement seemed to come out of nowhere and was not something I expected to hear from my little girl. But I tried to remain calm.
"What do you know about the 'S' word?" I inquired.
Isabella hesitated. I could tell she was carefully thinking about whether she could say it to me or not. Eventually, she decided it was safe enough to say the forbidden "S" word aloud. "Stupid," she blurted out. "Sometimes I just want to use that word, Mom."
My heart started beating again. I let out a deep sigh of relief that my child still held onto some of her innocence. Stupid. Of course that's the "S' word. Of course that's a word you shouldn't use with your friends, even when you're mad at them. Isabella agreed, relieved that I wasn't mad at her for saying the dreaded word.
We talked for awhile about friendships and how they can be challenging sometimes. We brainstormed some other things we could say to our friends when we get so mad that we want to say the "S" word. It was a great conversation, really. And just when I thought we were wrapping it up, and I was feeling good about how well I handled that whole interaction, Isabella says, "And I won't say the 'F'' word either. That's a bad word, too. Right, Mom?"
My head raced. "F" word? What harmless first-grade put down is the "F" word? I cautiously asked, "What do you know about the 'F'' word?"
Isabella was confident this time. She didn't hesitate since she had been able to safely say the "S" word without getting in trouble. So she just matter-of-factly said it. Only it was the "F" word. The true "F-Bomb".
I couldn't believe I was hearing the word coming out of my sweet little girl's mouth. Where did she hear it? I was absolutely positive she never heard it from me or my husband. I am not much of a swearer myself and my husband is great about not using foul language at home. I couldn't hide some of my shock on this one. "Isabella. That is a word we never say. That is a very bad word. Where did you hear that word?"
"At school," she replied. "But my teacher said it was a bad word and we shouldn't say it." Right. School. Quickly I reminded myself of all the positive reasons why I send my children to school and of the words Tim Kimmel says in his book Grace Based Parenting...that we can't protect our kids from everything in this world. I try to remember it's better to let kids encounter things and feel safe to talk about them with their parents than to hide the world from them so they won't know how to interact with it appropriately when it's eventually revealed to them anyway.
Learning the "F' word was going to happen sooner or later, and I shouldn't be surprised that it happened at school. I was just hoping it would have been introduced a little later. Yet here was my daughter wanting to know what the word meant and why you can't say it.
How do you explain the "F" word without opening a whole bunch of topics that my 6 1/2-year-old wasn't quite ready for? So, I told her that it basically means "disrespecting some one's body." Not a perfect answer, I know. But it was enough to satisfy her since she knows it is a big deal to disrespect someone. We then talked about how words are just words but that there are some words people have decided are more hurtful and powerful than others. The "F" word was one of these words. It is one of the worst words you can say. And it's a yucky word. Some people think they look cooler or tougher when they use it. But we don't need that word to be cool or tough. We have other words we can use that don't hurt others and aren't yucky to say. Fortunately, Isabella was satisfied.
You might be interested in hearing how the word actually came up at Isabella's school. Apparently, they were learning a new word family one day. It was the "UCK" family. Isabella's teacher asked the class to come up with all the words they could think of that ended in "UCK". If you've ever been around a new reader, you know that they just take the ending given and start working their way through the alphabet. Buck. Cuck. Duck. You get the idea. After laughing hard at the image of Isabella's teacher panicking over 22 kindergartners stumbling on the "UCK" word that starts with "F", I again breathed a smaller sigh, but a sigh all the same, of relief that there was still some innocence left in my daughter.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Witnessing and Angry Dad
The other day my son and I had just picked up my daughter from school. As we were beginning our drive home, we pulled up behind a white SUV waiting at the stop sign to turn out of the neighborhood and onto the next major street. It didn't take long to realize that we had been sitting and waiting for a longer-than-usual amount of time. I turned my attention to the car in front of us and immediately saw what the delay was about.
Looking into the car, I saw a boy and a girl in the back seat, appearing from behind to be in maybe third and fifth grade respectively, and the face of a dad, fully turned around toward his kids, full of rage. Wild hand gestures and twisted facial expressions left no doubt that this man was more than just upset with his kids.
And now we, my children and I, and now the car behind me, were all sitting at the stop sign waiting while this father literally screamed relentlessly at his children.
At one point, the father raised his hand and began the motion to strike. Both children immediately shrank away and the father, glancing back at me, paused and retracted his hand.
I gasped.
Nate and Isabella, who had up to this point been catching up with each other on their days and oblivious to the scene in front of us, heard me. Isabella immediately turned her attention to me and asked what was wrong. I told her, "That daddy in front of us is very angry at his kids and almost hit them because he was so mad." Isabella leaned in so she could get a look, and for the first time saw what I was seeing.
"Mom, he's really mad!"
"I know, sweetie. And he's not cooling down."
"I bet those kids are really scared, Mom."
"I would be, too. I feel very sad for those kids."
"Mom, that daddy needs your help."
I chuckled. "Well, Isabella," I said. "I can only help those parents who want it." But my mind was already trying to decide if it was time for me to intervene. Quickly thoughts raced as to what I could do to help defuse the situation. Should I ask the man in the car behind me to come with me and help talk to this dad since he was in such a rage? What would I say that would be non-threatening but could offer a chance to redirect attention toward me and away from the kids? Being in differnent cars seemed to make it more complicated.
I never got a chance to execute a plan because at this point, the dad whipped himself back around and, just to make an extra point to his kids, accelerated quickly into his turn making the tires squeal a bit. I was left just to imagine what would happen next in that family. The inside of my car went quiet. Isabella and Nate didn't speak. So I did.
"You guys, the way that daddy was yelling at his kids is not OK, no matter what those kids did. Sometimes we do things that make others mad..." Here, Isabella jumped at the chance to give examples of things that she does that makes mommy and daddy mad and things that make her friends mad. Nate also chimed in to point out the things Isabella does that make HIM mad, although he offered no examples of what he does.
Instead of completing my thought, I joined the side conversation in order to point out that even I, as a mommy, do things that sometimes make people mad. I sometimes make them mad, or daddy mad, or my friends mad, or even the people I work with. Kids and adults make mistakes and bad choices. But (now contnuing with my original point) when you are mad at someone, it is NEVER OK to get so angry at them that you scream at them or that you hit them.
Isabella thought a moment and replied back, "Mommy, I am so glad you never get that mad at me."
Actually, I do get really mad at my kids sometime. So mad in fact that I want to hit them. And definitely mad enough that I want to scream at them. But I make a choice not to follow through with that feeling. Because I don't ever want my kids to be scared of me. I want them to know that there is NOTHING that they could do that would make me lash out at them in a way that could cause them to lose their trust in me. Because we all make mistakes. And mistakes, while they sometimes can hurt another person, are not the end of the world. And it's more important for me to love a person (and my kids are people) through their mistakes and help them come to a point where something is learned from them than allow our relationship to be damaged because I just want to focus on my anger and make it all about me.
I don't know the whole story of what was going on with those kids in the white SUV and their father. I don't know what kind of day that man had. I don't know the attitude of the kids as they interacted with their dad. And while those kids could not have been with their dad more than a few minutes since they had just gotten out of school, I don't know if there was a major mistake on the kids' part that was just discovered by the parent that was a "last straw" event. But I do know, that whatever the circumstances, that dad was not sending a message of love to his kids even when they fail. He was not teaching his kids that we all make mistakes, and while this is very upsetting, we need to learn from them so it doesn't happen again. He was not teaching his kids that he was a safe place to come to even when you mess up. Even a six and a four-year-old sitting in the car behind him could see that.
Children are no less human than adults. As parents, we need to remember to treat them that way, even when it's hard. And we ned to take advantage of every opportunity (even if it's witnessing an example of someone not behaving appropriately) to show our kids that we love them and that we are safe, whether they are making good choices or bad. If this is something that YOU struggle with, and you're ready to do it differently, check out the Xylem Calendar www.xylemfamily.org/calendar and come to the next Anger Regulation and Problem Solving class or set up a private consult. Do it for you, and especially for your kids.
Looking into the car, I saw a boy and a girl in the back seat, appearing from behind to be in maybe third and fifth grade respectively, and the face of a dad, fully turned around toward his kids, full of rage. Wild hand gestures and twisted facial expressions left no doubt that this man was more than just upset with his kids.
And now we, my children and I, and now the car behind me, were all sitting at the stop sign waiting while this father literally screamed relentlessly at his children.
At one point, the father raised his hand and began the motion to strike. Both children immediately shrank away and the father, glancing back at me, paused and retracted his hand.
I gasped.
Nate and Isabella, who had up to this point been catching up with each other on their days and oblivious to the scene in front of us, heard me. Isabella immediately turned her attention to me and asked what was wrong. I told her, "That daddy in front of us is very angry at his kids and almost hit them because he was so mad." Isabella leaned in so she could get a look, and for the first time saw what I was seeing.
"Mom, he's really mad!"
"I know, sweetie. And he's not cooling down."
"I bet those kids are really scared, Mom."
"I would be, too. I feel very sad for those kids."
"Mom, that daddy needs your help."
I chuckled. "Well, Isabella," I said. "I can only help those parents who want it." But my mind was already trying to decide if it was time for me to intervene. Quickly thoughts raced as to what I could do to help defuse the situation. Should I ask the man in the car behind me to come with me and help talk to this dad since he was in such a rage? What would I say that would be non-threatening but could offer a chance to redirect attention toward me and away from the kids? Being in differnent cars seemed to make it more complicated.
I never got a chance to execute a plan because at this point, the dad whipped himself back around and, just to make an extra point to his kids, accelerated quickly into his turn making the tires squeal a bit. I was left just to imagine what would happen next in that family. The inside of my car went quiet. Isabella and Nate didn't speak. So I did.
"You guys, the way that daddy was yelling at his kids is not OK, no matter what those kids did. Sometimes we do things that make others mad..." Here, Isabella jumped at the chance to give examples of things that she does that makes mommy and daddy mad and things that make her friends mad. Nate also chimed in to point out the things Isabella does that make HIM mad, although he offered no examples of what he does.
Instead of completing my thought, I joined the side conversation in order to point out that even I, as a mommy, do things that sometimes make people mad. I sometimes make them mad, or daddy mad, or my friends mad, or even the people I work with. Kids and adults make mistakes and bad choices. But (now contnuing with my original point) when you are mad at someone, it is NEVER OK to get so angry at them that you scream at them or that you hit them.
Isabella thought a moment and replied back, "Mommy, I am so glad you never get that mad at me."
Actually, I do get really mad at my kids sometime. So mad in fact that I want to hit them. And definitely mad enough that I want to scream at them. But I make a choice not to follow through with that feeling. Because I don't ever want my kids to be scared of me. I want them to know that there is NOTHING that they could do that would make me lash out at them in a way that could cause them to lose their trust in me. Because we all make mistakes. And mistakes, while they sometimes can hurt another person, are not the end of the world. And it's more important for me to love a person (and my kids are people) through their mistakes and help them come to a point where something is learned from them than allow our relationship to be damaged because I just want to focus on my anger and make it all about me.
I don't know the whole story of what was going on with those kids in the white SUV and their father. I don't know what kind of day that man had. I don't know the attitude of the kids as they interacted with their dad. And while those kids could not have been with their dad more than a few minutes since they had just gotten out of school, I don't know if there was a major mistake on the kids' part that was just discovered by the parent that was a "last straw" event. But I do know, that whatever the circumstances, that dad was not sending a message of love to his kids even when they fail. He was not teaching his kids that we all make mistakes, and while this is very upsetting, we need to learn from them so it doesn't happen again. He was not teaching his kids that he was a safe place to come to even when you mess up. Even a six and a four-year-old sitting in the car behind him could see that.
Children are no less human than adults. As parents, we need to remember to treat them that way, even when it's hard. And we ned to take advantage of every opportunity (even if it's witnessing an example of someone not behaving appropriately) to show our kids that we love them and that we are safe, whether they are making good choices or bad. If this is something that YOU struggle with, and you're ready to do it differently, check out the Xylem Calendar www.xylemfamily.org/calendar and come to the next Anger Regulation and Problem Solving class or set up a private consult. Do it for you, and especially for your kids.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
How Do You Know Your Mom Loves You?
I just filled out one of those things that get passed around on FaceBook. On this one, I had to ask my daughter a variety of questions about me and then write down the answers she gave.
One of the questions Isabella had to answer was "What is something Mom always says to you?" Isabella answered, "That she loves me." Another question was, "How do you know your Mom loves you? Isabella answered, "Because she keeps telling me."
I love that she answered these questions this way and without hesitation. It is so important to me that my kids DO know I love them. And I strongly believe that a parent can never tell their child too many times that they love them. So, Isabella is right. I do tell her all the time. I always make sure it's the last thing my kids hear from me before I leave or before they go somewhere. I say it before they go to bed. I will randomly say it for no particulr reason when we're driving in the car and there's a lull in the conversation. I tell them when they've done something that makes me smile. I tell them as I kiss away their tears. "I love you" is spoken when I find myself remembering I love them, like when they sing a really sweet song or turn into complete goof-balls making me laugh. And I especially love saying "I love you" when I got one of my kids all to myself, cuddled on the couch, no reason at all, and I can just whisper it quietly in their ear like it's our little secret.
But, while I may tell my kids that I love them more than the average parent, I know that most parents tell their kids they love them, too. And I bet if we took a large group of kids and asked them how they know their mom loves them, many of them would say, "because she tells me."
When I taught third grade, I had a girl in my class who it turned out was being horrifically sexually abused by her dad. Fortunately, the dad was easily convicted and sent to jail. While the rest of us were jumping for joy, my sweet student began grieving. She would stay after school and tell me how much she missed her dad. She would tell me she loved him. And despite all the things this man did to his little girl, my student would tell me how much her dad loved her. Because, even children who are abused believe at some level that their parents love them. Unfortunately, their understanding of a parent's love for their child is twisted and distorted.
I have even worked with many families who tell their kids they love them maybe once or twice a day at the routine times. Maybe more given the circumstances. But when I ask their kids WHY do your parents love you, they get stuck, or they'll tell me because they're supposed to, or because they feed them and take care of them.
Knowing this. Seeing this. It motivates me with own my kids.
I want my kids to know that I love them not just because I'm their mom and all moms love their kids. I don't want my kids to know that I love them just because I tell them. I don't want my kids to know I love them because I take care of them and buy them things and keep them safe. All of these do show them to some degree that I love them. But I want them to know I love them because they are lovable human beings. That it is THEM as a unique person that I love. I love their blue eys and blond hair and their little belly buttons. I love Nate's soft high-pitched laugh. I could listen to it all day. I love Isabella's enthusiasm for knowledge and how excited she gets when she learns something new. I love watching them play together and being loving and caring toward each other. I love their hearts and how they want to share and care for others. I love watching Isabella swing and the look of pure happiness as she goes higher and higher. I love how Nate is so much a boy in so many ways but loves more than anyone to give hugs and kisses and to just cuddle. These are the things I also tell them all the time. The specifics. The "why" behind my love. So there's never a doubt that I love my kids, and there's never an assumption that I love them because I have to.
I love Isabella because I love ISABELLA. I love Nate because I LOVE Nate. And I want to make sure that my kids know that my love for them is more than just a mom loving her kids. And my hope is that if Isabella had to give more than just a quick answer to the question "How do you know your mom loves you?" she would be able to say so much more than "because she keeps telling me."
One of the questions Isabella had to answer was "What is something Mom always says to you?" Isabella answered, "That she loves me." Another question was, "How do you know your Mom loves you? Isabella answered, "Because she keeps telling me."
I love that she answered these questions this way and without hesitation. It is so important to me that my kids DO know I love them. And I strongly believe that a parent can never tell their child too many times that they love them. So, Isabella is right. I do tell her all the time. I always make sure it's the last thing my kids hear from me before I leave or before they go somewhere. I say it before they go to bed. I will randomly say it for no particulr reason when we're driving in the car and there's a lull in the conversation. I tell them when they've done something that makes me smile. I tell them as I kiss away their tears. "I love you" is spoken when I find myself remembering I love them, like when they sing a really sweet song or turn into complete goof-balls making me laugh. And I especially love saying "I love you" when I got one of my kids all to myself, cuddled on the couch, no reason at all, and I can just whisper it quietly in their ear like it's our little secret.
But, while I may tell my kids that I love them more than the average parent, I know that most parents tell their kids they love them, too. And I bet if we took a large group of kids and asked them how they know their mom loves them, many of them would say, "because she tells me."
When I taught third grade, I had a girl in my class who it turned out was being horrifically sexually abused by her dad. Fortunately, the dad was easily convicted and sent to jail. While the rest of us were jumping for joy, my sweet student began grieving. She would stay after school and tell me how much she missed her dad. She would tell me she loved him. And despite all the things this man did to his little girl, my student would tell me how much her dad loved her. Because, even children who are abused believe at some level that their parents love them. Unfortunately, their understanding of a parent's love for their child is twisted and distorted.
I have even worked with many families who tell their kids they love them maybe once or twice a day at the routine times. Maybe more given the circumstances. But when I ask their kids WHY do your parents love you, they get stuck, or they'll tell me because they're supposed to, or because they feed them and take care of them.
Knowing this. Seeing this. It motivates me with own my kids.
I want my kids to know that I love them not just because I'm their mom and all moms love their kids. I don't want my kids to know that I love them just because I tell them. I don't want my kids to know I love them because I take care of them and buy them things and keep them safe. All of these do show them to some degree that I love them. But I want them to know I love them because they are lovable human beings. That it is THEM as a unique person that I love. I love their blue eys and blond hair and their little belly buttons. I love Nate's soft high-pitched laugh. I could listen to it all day. I love Isabella's enthusiasm for knowledge and how excited she gets when she learns something new. I love watching them play together and being loving and caring toward each other. I love their hearts and how they want to share and care for others. I love watching Isabella swing and the look of pure happiness as she goes higher and higher. I love how Nate is so much a boy in so many ways but loves more than anyone to give hugs and kisses and to just cuddle. These are the things I also tell them all the time. The specifics. The "why" behind my love. So there's never a doubt that I love my kids, and there's never an assumption that I love them because I have to.
I love Isabella because I love ISABELLA. I love Nate because I LOVE Nate. And I want to make sure that my kids know that my love for them is more than just a mom loving her kids. And my hope is that if Isabella had to give more than just a quick answer to the question "How do you know your mom loves you?" she would be able to say so much more than "because she keeps telling me."
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