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Continued from part 2.
The wealthier out-of-place suburban Yankee types don’t tend to bother with me too much (mostly because they’re all at work when I’m out and about) but we do run into them at the soccer field on the weekends, and this is where we’ve had issues. My kid doesn’t tend to take the sports as seriously as their kid…or at least he acts like he doesn’t (he tells me all the time he loves the sports he plays but on the field he acts like he hates it. Not sure what’s going on there except that he gets frustrated when he’s trying to do things right but can’t). Anyway, in those situations I get a lot of eye rolls and sniffs in my general direction. I also tend to get looks of pity.
Whatever! Pity this! Move back to whatever northern state you came from, why don’t you!
It’s actually the third group, the hippy crunchy granola type (of which I’m on the fringe) that has been the most vocal and the most off-base about what is best for my child. First, because although I appreciate many of the things that this group appreciates: recycling, conservation, music festivals, art, peace, and love…I also think that most children, and especially my youngest child, does best with structure. But structure does not go along with the concept of child-centered learning, nor does it go with saying “no” to your child or imposing consequences on children who call their mothers stupid and scream I hate you. That is free expression! That takes power away from the little monster pumpkin!
Here’s an example. I was at the post office about 6 months ago with Little J, checking my PO box and doing some other P.O. type errands. When I wait in line at the post office I make my children wait with me. If the line is too long (like 2 people) I generally give up because I know Little J cannot wait that long, but if it’s short I make him wait, holding my hand. He usually jerks and screams and whines and generally makes himself unpleasant when this happens, but it’s better than running in and out of the automatic doors, knocking down the elderly and getting close to traffic, don’t you think?
Anyway, I made him wait in line with me for 3 minutes and then I went to check my box. My box is not near the doors and is next to a long hallway that rarely has more than 2 people checking their own boxes at any one time. At that point I usually let him go. He’s not endangering himself or others. So I let him go, he ran screaming down the hallway, back and forth, back and forth, while I sorted through what was in my box.
But then it was time to leave.
“Come here, Little J,” I said. “It’s time to go.”
“NO!”
“Yup, it’s time to go see Daddy.”
“NO!”
“I’m going to count to three. One, two…”
“NO!”
“Okay, I’m leaving then.” I picked up my stuff and headed towards the door. Little J starts screaming “NO NO NO!” but then follows me. At no point did I actually leave the post office or leave his sight but apparently my threat worked.
He joined me. I said thank you for cooperating (I take my small mercies where I can) and we held hands in a friendly way. As I was pushing the door of the PO open I looked up to see a young (mid 20s) long-skirted scarf wrapped around head hairy-legged woman glaring at me. Just glaring. Giving me the evil eye. As if she hated my guts. I looked back at her and smiled, a little. She looked down at her package and shook her head and muttered something under her breath.
She was angry that I had threatened to leave the post office without Little J.
Here’s what I thought: What would you have me do, missy? Stay at the post office until my child decided to join me? That would be the most child-centered thing to do, I guess. Do you have kids? No, obviously not. Or if you do, where are they? At the commune where you live, eating organic granola and weaving tiny baskets out of hemp?
I just thought it. I didn’t say it. I am a wimp. I would actually never in a million years scold (implied or out loud) anyone for their child’s behavior…especially not now that I’ve had Little J. Before I had kids, yes. But now, no way.
All those people, local, Yankees, hippies: I invite you to walk a mile in my size 7 1/2 flip flops. Then we’ll see what you say.
It is a small world.. I visit Durham every few years.
We have so much in common..
I found that counting down from 5 to 1, gave Natasha enough time to process a request. And because it was a count down, she knew it ended at 1.
Don’t ask me why, but 1-2-3 didn’t work for her because she knew 4 came after 3.
And to this day.. when Natasha is resisting leaving a place. I say, “Bye Natasha. I am leaving now.” No threat here, just a factual statement. And I quickly walk out.
Hope the meds are starting to work.