Tantrums: Am I Part of the Problem?

(Editor's note [the editor being, well, me]: for some reason, the working title of this post--which has taken me over two weeks to write--was "Raising Little Jerks." I can't remember why. I thought y'all would find that interesting.)

I know I've been MIA for a while. To be completely honest (like I'm ever not completely honest), I've been trying to wrap my head around something that is very troubling to me as a mother.

Most of my recent posts have been about the issues surrounding my little Pie (who just turned four) and his meltdowns. He, like me, has an intense and gregarious personality. And he, also like me, doesn't know how to rein it in much of the time. So he's still having tantrums--not only at home, but at school.

After a big internal struggle, I finally decided to take the advice of Pie's school counselor and an administrator, and consulted a child psychologist. When the school staff first broached the topic, I admit my first thoughts were that they wanted me to get a label slapped on my little guy ASAP so he could be held back, medicated, kicked out of school...or who knows what else. I had been thinking he may have a sensory processing issue or, again like me, be a Highly Sensitive Person. I thought I might be able to solve Pie's problems myself with positive parenting concepts or a "Caught Ya Being Good" jar.

As a mother, my number one priority is to never, ever, ever allow my children to feel misunderstood (untreated anxiety and clinical depression totally effed up my childhood). Now, I'm all about acknowledging every utterance that passes their lips, validating every feeling they have, struggling to understand, examine, and rectify any internal battle they may be fighting. My boys will not have their childhoods marred by an undiagnosed or misunderstood cognitive or brain chemistry issue. Period. End of story.

I had been researching attachment parenting/positive discipline and reading Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids: How to Stop Yelling and Start Connecting. I was really digging the "time in" concept and teaching coping skills rather than sending my preschoolers into exile and expecting them to figure out how to deal with their emotions by themselves. I wanted to make sure they knew that I understood what they were going through.

So sometimes when Pie would have a meltdown over not getting his way, Prickly Dad would scoop him up, march him upstairs, deposit him in his room, and shut the door. On some level I was all for this, but I could only hack about 20 minutes of screaming before I would want to swoop in and comfort him and try to validate his feelings. A lot of times I'd go into his room and hold him tightly and whisper soothing words until he calmed down. Sometimes we'd end up playing or reading a story.

I described my "method" to the psychologist (along with the reason I was so compelled to make sure the boys knew I understood their feelings). Long story short...she wondered if I was unintentionally rewarding Pie's behavior. She suggested I consider leaving him in his room and letting him ride it out (coincidentally, Pie's teacher had suggested a similar strategy and recommended I read Love and Logic Magic for Early Childhood).

I'm not going to say I was devastated, but my core was was pretty shaken for the next several days. Could it be that my insistence on validating my boys' feelings was turning them into little monsters? Was I a failure as a mother? (The answer to that question is obviously no, as my own therapist helped me figure out a few days later. I'm big into catastrophizing, all-or-nothing thinking, and sundry other cognitive distortions).

Unfortunately, I don't have an ending, happy or otherwise, for this story right now. I finished reading the Love and Logic book, plan on reading another one, and realize in my heart that no matter what I do, my boys know that they are loved, valued, and respected. That's the best spin I can put on it while I figure out what to do about Pie's tantrums.

Featured in The Sunday Parenting Party

Mommy & Me Anger Management

I wish I could let you all crawl inside my head and watch as I replay a scene from this afternoon.

As you may know, my little Pie (almost four) and I have been struggling with anger issues--separately and together. I've been poring over mom blogs and parenting books for the past couple weeks, trying to come up with a plan of action. In the meantime, we haven't exactly been helping each other keep our tempers in check.

I was lying on my bed trying to lose myself in a novel when Pie came in to ask me to read one of his truck-themed board books. I didn't want to, but I did...and somehow he ended up sitting in my lap as I stroked his grubby little palm with my thumb. I kissed the top of his head and asked, "doesn't that feel good? Doesn't that make you feel nice and calm? I like when someone does that to my hand."

A tiny little light bulb went off in my head then. "You know what, Pie? How about when I start yelling, you grab my hand and stroke my palm to try to calm me down. Wanna practice?" He smiled as I started pretend-yelling, then he picked up my hand and ran his little fingers over my palm. My "tirade" turned into an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Oh, I feel so much better, Pie! You really helped me calm down!"

Then we reversed roles. Pie feigned a tantrum, and then pretended to melt into contentment when I stroked his palm. We took a few more turns until he decided to go outside to play with Daddy.

I guess that's the way you're supposed to do this parenting thing: role play whenever you find an innocuous moment and then hope the information sticks. Just keep trying until something works.

In the meantime, I'm going to share some of the information I've found that I think might be useful in our anger-management quest. There's some good stuff here.

• Social-Emotional Skills for Preschoolers: Regulating Emotions
• Positive Ways to Bypass the Grumps
• Printable Anger Management Charts
• Crazy 8: Top Eight Ways to Help Kids Deal with Feelings

(Actually, I could go on and on...go take a look at my Pinterest board on discipline for many more down-to-earth ideas.)

Anatomy of a Transition Meltdown

I had sort of an "a-ha!" moment the other night while I was putting away the dishes.

I don't know about other people, but I have my "way" of unloading the dishwasher. I spray and wipe down the counter to make sure it's clean. Then I unload the top rack first, setting the clean glasses on the counter to my left, the coffee mugs toward the back, and all the straw-cup and Take-and-Toss parts front-and-center to be stacked or reassembled and put back in the cabinet. Then I put the big knives back in the knife block. Sometimes there is a stray, dirty teaspoon by the coffee maker or a still-in-use glass on the counter with the "cleans," but I make a mental note of where they are in relation to everything else. There. Top rack cleared out. Drinkware gets put away, then the bottom rack gets unloaded, stacked on counter, and put away.

While I was performing my dish ritual (I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this...OCD behavior, anyone?) the other night, I was compiling to-do lists in my head. I knew Prickly Dad needed stamps and strawberry Atkins shakes. I was figuring I would have to stop and get gas at some point. I knew I had to go online and decide what we were going to do in Savannah next month, what we were going to do in Virginia on Tuesday, and why our annual state park passes hadn't come in the mail yet. I was reminding myself that it was getting to be the drop-dead hour for ordering a birthday present to be delivered to my sister on time.  I needed to remember to portion out and re-wrap the meat in the fridge and get it in the freezer. Oh yeah, and those red peppers in there n--

"Where is today's mail?" Prickly Dad suddenly asked as he started rifling through a pile of papers that were dangerously close to my perfectly-arranged lineup of dishes.

I wholeheartedly admit it: I kind of lost it at that point. "HANG ON! JUST HANG ON! I'LL FIND IT!" I dropped everything and scurried around the kitchen, stopping at various piles of junk mail and opened envelopes (that should have been thrown in the recycle bin). In that split second, I had become angry and defensive, and felt hurt, violated, dismissed, and misunderstood (plus, I couldn't find the specific pile of mail that had just come in a couple hours before).

Prickly Dad, understandably irritated with my behavior, herded the boys out of the kitchen and upstairs to the family room as I cried, "I'LL BRING IT TO YOU AS SOON AS I FIND IT! I'LL BRING IT UP TO YOU!"

What the hell just happened?

Let me back up a second and talk about what's been going on with Pie (he's currently 3.75 and is in the three-year-old class in preschool). For the past several weeks, his teachers have let me know that they're concerned about his transition-related meltdowns. According to the school staff, he doesn't move as easily from center to center and activity to activity as the other kids in his class. He wakes up from naptime angry, has a fit if he can't zipper his coat, acts defiant and surly if he doesn't want to go outside for recess. On the other hand, he loves painting. He enjoys helping the teacher clean up. He takes pride in being a good line leader or snack helper. He's apparently above average in math. But the teachers tell me the transition issue is a big problem (they want me to take him to see a child psychologist, but that's a whole 'nother post).

Back to my kitchen meltdown. I have been doing a lot of reading lately on transition strategies, the highly sensitive personality, introversion, the "Autism Spectrum," sensory processing, obsessive-compulsive behaviors, and so on (remember, I just recently decided to embrace my introversion/sensory issues and find coping strategies instead of beating myself up or wishing away the traits that God gave me). As soon as I was able to get back to putting away my dishes and, more importantly, my thoughts, I realized that I had just had a transition-related meltdown--probably the very same kind my little Pie is struggling with!

Think about it: there I was, performing a task (putting the dishes away), that required a slight amount of brain power to keep track of what was clean and what was dirty (i.e. there was an order to things in my mind). While that was going on, the majority of my energy was engaged in mentally compiling and organizing a list of things that needed to be done to keep the household running smoothly. Then all heck broke loose when Prickly Dad approached and asked about the mail: I interpreted it as am invasion of my space and my "order" of things...and as a demand to set aside the tasks I was currently invested in (invested enough to be in a "groove," which is generally a good thing) and do what he was telling me to do instead. Sort of upsetting, right? Now think about the same situation going down for a preschooler. I don't know what they do immediately before recess or dismissal, for example (or how transition times are handled in general), but who's to say Pie isn't totally engaged in the physical act of painting (with his tools and media arranged just so), while mentally challenging himself to count to 100, when a teacher suddenly demands he get out of his groove because it's time to put on his coat? I'd get angry too (and feel disrespected and run around aimlessly and yell, as I just described above)! Can you blame him?

Wow...so I think I have experienced firsthand what it must be like for the millions of kids who don't "do" transitions well. Unfortunately, I don't think I (personally) ever learned the appropriate "coping strategies" to get through these situations with my dignity intact, so I obviously can't effectively help my little boy--at this point. The great news, though, is that I had this little epiphany. Now I feel confident that I will be able to find the proper help and best resources so little Pie and I can both figure out the best way to handle transition times without melting down.

In the meantime, stay away from my dishes!

When "Ask Me in a Nice Voice" Isn't Working

Here's a conversation that went down over the summer between Bug (age four and a half) and his grandpa:

Bug (in a demanding voice): "I want milk!"
Grandpa: "Well, you're not getting anything if you ask like that."
Bug: "I don't wanna ask in a nice voice!"
Grandpa: "Well, then you're not getting any milk."
Bug: "If you make me ask in a nice voice, I'm not coming to visit you anymore."
Grandpa: "Ooooooo...am I supposed to be scared?"

(Is my dad awesome, or what?)

The whining and disrespectful behavior from both of my kids has really been bugging me since the summer (it's all finally coming to a head for some reason). I'm the type of person who cannot bear the sound of whining, and I know I've created the monsters by giving in to it too much. The time has come, however, to buckle down and extinguish. The conversation above, coupled with an impromptu mini-intervention by my sister, dad, and mom ("the boys are too old to be acting like this") has given me a little resolve.

We had a little jump start on "Operation Stop Whining" in August when the boys and I went camping with the above-mentioned family members. Prickly Aunt and Grandpa were the most adamant about the kids' behavior: they stuck to their guns and wouldn't give in to the boys' rudeness and whining. What I admired most, aside from their ability to ride through the most ridiculous hissy-fits, was how they approached the "teaching" with dry humor (I heard my sister ask each kid sarcastically, "what are you, two?").

Now that's my style of parenting.

The problem I've had with the standard parenting advice is that it's just not me. Good or bad, I tend to approach everything with some amount of wit, and playing the sing-song-y "I'll listen to you when you ask me in a nice voice" broken record has just ended up being too inauthentic in the context of the way we run our family.

Now, I know I can't use this "Sarcastic Supernanny" method all the time...but if I can throw it in the parenting toolbox along with some other authentic-to-me options (like the power of a bluntly-worded suggestion: "A better way to ask would be, 'Mommy, can you come in the bathroom and wipe me?'"), I might actually have the beginning of an actual plan.

Ask me for some milk now, Bug. I dare you!

Deep Thoughts