Firm but Gentle

Firm but gentle is our  parenting motto. That’s not to say we always achieve it. I’d say that right now, we’re seeing a 60-40 split – 60% of the time we get it right, and 40% of the time we’re dead wrong.  At first, when Cupcake turned three years old and began the standard toddler behavior, we didn’t react quickly enough. We would wait, and wait, and suggest that she behave, or try ignoring it, or any manner of inconsistent methods, until it got out of hand. Then we’d yell.

Note to new parents: This method is ineffective.

We discussed one evening, my darling husband and I, and we decided, that, duh, it’s not working, and that we needed a new plan.

[crickets]

Crap. How do we deal with a toddler? So we decided that we’d go for consistent, and firm discipline — but gentle. No yelling and screaming. No spanking, because I don’t feel comfortable wtih it (though I’ve been tempted. Ok, so I slapped her bum once. I didn’t like it).  We are sticking with time-out’s for blatant violence and “Go to your room and calm down” for pretty much everything else.

So far, we’ve had limited success.

Her: *Smack*
Me: **Glare** “Cupcake, we do not hit. This is your warning. ”
Her: *Smack* “Give me a time out!” Squealing with joy. Literally. What the fuck?
Me: Well, obviously I can’t give her the satisfaction of all that. I think. Or should I? Crap, I don’t know. They don’t talk about this in the books. What the hell do I do? Shit, I have to respond. Timely, MG, Timely. Ok. Deep breaths. Alright well it’s been too long and now you might as well go for “Ignore it” because you’ve been sitting here and thinking. Ok, we’re going with ignore it.
Her: *Smack*
Me: Obviously that didn’t work. Fine, I’ll go with Time Out. I should have done that in the first time. Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. “Cupcake, there is no hitting. 2 minute time out.”

We proceed to the bedroom, where we will have time out. I place her in the chair. I tell her that she will sit here for two minutes. She grins at me like she’s auditioning to be a clown. I leave the room. She follows. I silently, calmly, place her back into her chair. She grins. I turn and leave again.

Rinse. Repeat. For 15 minutes. I am not going to let her get away with this crap. Finally, she cries and gives up, and sits and sulks for two minutes. She apologizes, we kiss and hug, I feel victorious!

Then we wake up in the morning and do the whole damn thing again.

It’s difficult to continue to be firm and gentle and consistent in the face of that. Some days when she starts up with whatever annoying toddler thing she’s trying that day, I want to cry. Some days, I do cry. Some days, I laugh, for the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation – for the sheer folly of trying to control a toddler. Toddlers: The Uncontrollable. It’s like a horror movie. Or a comedy. Or a drama. Frankly, it depends on what day you watch it.

There are mornings that I wake up and wish I could reason with her – but again, with the folly. What am I thinking? I speak in sentences longer than 6 words and her eyes glaze over and she starts to giggle and look away, babbling about the flowers waking up and the dollies taking a bath. She starts to grab the drawstring on my pants in an attempt to pull them down – which made me laugh once, and good LORD that was a mistake.

Note to new parents: Do not ever laugh at your toddler. They will run with it. It won’t be funny next time. {Probably}

It helps to know that we aren’t alone. I saw a toddler and her mother in a the grocery store the other day. The kid was pushing Mom’s buttons and I recognized the evil little grin on her cherubic face: she was obviously three years old, and she was obviously trying to make her mother crazy.  The mom looked a little frazzled, and we shared a knowing glance as I walked by. Cupcake was sitting quietly in the seat basket, staring at the other child taking notes acting like an angel – I gestured to her and said with a smile to the other mother, “Today, she’s an angel. Yesterday? Not so much.” We laughed a little laugh, and moved on, tending to our children. I felt buoyed by the experience. My uncertainties about our strategy and our effectiveness as parents dissipates more with each knowing smile, passing nod, shared chuckle. I’m convinced that this is exactly why Grandmothers so often hold the magic touch: they are unfazed. They feel confident. They are untouchable in their assurance that they are in charge, the Alpha, the leader. Their wisdom and words are rarely challenged and they snuff out dissension with a practiced glare.

I can’t wait until I have grandchildren. At least then someone will be afraid of me.