Self-Control
Charlotte and I are quite similar. Like me, she has a certain intensity about her combined with a hesitating, I'll-do-it-in-my-own-time need for control. My dad calls the intensity being high-strung, and the in-my-own-time thing stubbornness. But my mom has picked up on the nuance--it's not stubbornness; it's control. She recognizes it in Charlotte, because she already raised a girl with the exact same thing.
(Technically, so did my dad, but I'll let you untangle that one.)
Charlotte and I both walked late, are very rigid in being cajoled or expected to eat certain foods (part of that is typical toddler-ness, but I carried this into adulthood), suck(ed) our thumbs to self-soothe (I'm happy report that I did not carry this past preschool, though Charlotte has me a bit nervous), dislike heights (but not as a phobia), clam up around strangers, and so on.
You'd think that Charlotte and me sharing these personality traits would mean that I understand her: I identify with her anxiety, I get that she needs to do things in her own time. And that's true to a large degree. But remember, I still like to control things. And Charlotte is my responsibility.
Which means I have a very high risk of attempting to control a child who will fundamentally refuse to be controlled.
Any parent has to balance how much they intervene with their kids. I suspect the right balance comes much more naturally for some than others. Ego plays a big role. Some folks see THEIR WAY as the ONLY way and cannot pick a battle to save their lives.
My controlling nature often serves me well. It makes me very good at my job, for starters. But with Charlotte, I have a constant dialogue in my head between myself and . . . myself. I'm constantly putting the brakes on my impulse to GET HER TO DO x, y, or z. I'm not talking about basic parenting, like "Use your fork, not your fingers." That's different--the kid needs to meet a certain expectation of table manners. I'm talking about trying new experiences and learning new things.
Take swimming lessons, for example. There you have two teachers, a bored lifeguard, and a bunch of other parents and kids in the pool. In a way, it's hilarious: All you hear is parents cajoling their kids left and right: "Come on! Let's blow bubbles! Don't you want to blow bubbles? It's fun! Look! Nicole/Eleanor/Charlotte/Hayden/Kayden/Jayden is blowing bubbles!" You should hear the children's screaming and crying when it's time to practice floating their backs.
I freely admit I'm one of these parents. Part of it is because you want to be an engaged, tuned in parent. But the biggest part of it? YOU want your kid to blow the effing bubbles.
At the second or third swim lesson, we were all working on the wretched back-floating, and I took a couple seconds to look up from my unhappy, utterly tense, jack-knifed, refusing-to-back-float child and looked at the other parents and kids. Except for maybe one show-off (I kid, I kid), nobody was having fun. And the problem was the parents, not the teachers.
I decided to back off. I remember learning to swim. I remember wanting to reach each swim milestone for ME, not to please the teacher or a parent. I would NOT have reacted well to force, or that awful trick of plunging a kid into the water against her will. I learned to swim with the gentle encouragement of swim teachers and the necessary skill set (e.g., how to kick, how to go under water). I have no memories of my parents nagging me to let go of the wall, to kick, to blow bubbles, to let go of them in the water. None. And yet? I managed to learn to swim pretty early on.
So, as I stood in the pool with Charlotte clutching me like a monkey, I said, "How about you flip over [facing the sky] and I pull you through the water?" I figured she'd get used to the sensation of being on her back without the sense she'd immediately sink.
"Okay," she whimpered. So, we did that, and if anyone thought it was weird, they didn't say anything. Her body relaxed and she even started to smile.
Next it was time for jumping in from the edge of the pool. I bit my tongue to keep from asking, "Do you WANT to jump in?" Instead, I said, "What are we doing now?"
"JUMPING!" Charlotte said, perking right up. And with great gusto, the child jumped into my waiting arms over and over again.
I think Charlotte's innate (but cautious) independence is part of why she has thrived so much in daycare and preschool. To put it bluntly, I'm not there to hover. It's good for ME, too. I had to let go of micromanaging Charlotte and her environment. She falls and hurts herself. She has spats with other kids. All day long, she is forced to use her own judgment, stand up for herself, and cooperate with others. And she has a solid, safe structure against which to do all this. Her teachers lovingly comfort and tend to her when she needs them, and they re-do her ponytail and put on her sunscreen. They don't let her climb up on the counter or yell indoors, but she's allowed to explore and experiment and be her curious Charlotte self.
So, I'm really trying to pick my battles with Charlotte, backing off on the getting-her-to-do-things parts. In many ways, Lorelei's presence has helped with this, because I can't be so close by. If I bring Lorelei to a birthday party (so Chris can have some well-deserved alone time at home), I can't help Charlotte up a bounce house slide. She has to do it herself. I can't stop her from climbing to a potentially dangerous height, so she does so (slowly and methodically, as is her way). And she's fine. Actually, she's quite proud, and so am I.
I think what can FEEL like lazy parenting--pulling back, letting Charlotte stumble along until she finds her way on her own--is actually BETTER parenting, in many, many cases. I have to fight a lot of my instincts, because I want her safe and I want her to succeed (even at blowing bubbles!). I have to consciously make an effort to let myself be uncomfortable at watching Charlotte--I'll say it--fail. It's a really, really icky feeling--a disconcerting mix of sympathy, love, and ego-busting. But making myself more comfortable by making sure she scores A+ in every little aspect of life? Well, I'd just be robbing her of her own accomplishment.
I'd also be robbing myself of that cute little self-satisfied grin she flashes when she succeeds by herself.
My parents did this very well. Part of their success was the fact that they simply did not have the time to micromanage me. Nobody checked to see if I had done my homework, let alone read it over. As a result, when I scored the top grade on an important paper or project? I knew I had earned that A. My parents would take me to dinner to celebrate, so my accomplishments were never minimized, but they were MINE alone. Thus I had no fear of the next paper or project--I knew I could do it.
The thing is, I cannot see myself not checking that the girl did her homework, or proofreading a paper before she turns it in! I know myself too well. I'll have to find a balance somewhere.
Fortunately, I have two more years until Charlotte starts kindergarten.
In the meantime, I tried this approach with Chris. I'm trying to let go of double-checking things, or ensuring things are done MY way. Less nagging, less micromanagement.
It backfired. On a telecommute day, I loaded Lorelei into her car seat. Chris plopped her school bag into the back seat. I almost, almost, almost checked inside the bag to make sure he had everything--bottles, baby food, finger food. The bag was RIGHT THERE. It would take me no time at all--2 seconds max.
No, I thought. Chris knows how to pack Lorelei's bag. Let this one go.
About an hour later, I got a call. "Um, so, yeah. I didn't pack any food for Lorelei. [Teacher's name] had to scrounge around the school kitchen. I said I'd run to Safeway, but she found some yogurt."
I was beyond ticked. Partly at myself for not just checking the freaking bag, and partly at Chris, for proving I can't NOT be a nagger.
"I don't do details!" he whined.
The question was, did I make him this way? Maybe he figured I'd check everything, since I always do. Maybe it was just a fluke.
Letting go of control? It's hard. At the same time . . . I'm pretty sure Chris will remember Lorelei's food next time.
(Technically, so did my dad, but I'll let you untangle that one.)
Charlotte and I both walked late, are very rigid in being cajoled or expected to eat certain foods (part of that is typical toddler-ness, but I carried this into adulthood), suck(ed) our thumbs to self-soothe (I'm happy report that I did not carry this past preschool, though Charlotte has me a bit nervous), dislike heights (but not as a phobia), clam up around strangers, and so on.
You'd think that Charlotte and me sharing these personality traits would mean that I understand her: I identify with her anxiety, I get that she needs to do things in her own time. And that's true to a large degree. But remember, I still like to control things. And Charlotte is my responsibility.
Which means I have a very high risk of attempting to control a child who will fundamentally refuse to be controlled.
Any parent has to balance how much they intervene with their kids. I suspect the right balance comes much more naturally for some than others. Ego plays a big role. Some folks see THEIR WAY as the ONLY way and cannot pick a battle to save their lives.
My controlling nature often serves me well. It makes me very good at my job, for starters. But with Charlotte, I have a constant dialogue in my head between myself and . . . myself. I'm constantly putting the brakes on my impulse to GET HER TO DO x, y, or z. I'm not talking about basic parenting, like "Use your fork, not your fingers." That's different--the kid needs to meet a certain expectation of table manners. I'm talking about trying new experiences and learning new things.
Take swimming lessons, for example. There you have two teachers, a bored lifeguard, and a bunch of other parents and kids in the pool. In a way, it's hilarious: All you hear is parents cajoling their kids left and right: "Come on! Let's blow bubbles! Don't you want to blow bubbles? It's fun! Look! Nicole/Eleanor/Charlotte/Hayden/Kayden/Jayden is blowing bubbles!" You should hear the children's screaming and crying when it's time to practice floating their backs.
I freely admit I'm one of these parents. Part of it is because you want to be an engaged, tuned in parent. But the biggest part of it? YOU want your kid to blow the effing bubbles.
At the second or third swim lesson, we were all working on the wretched back-floating, and I took a couple seconds to look up from my unhappy, utterly tense, jack-knifed, refusing-to-back-float child and looked at the other parents and kids. Except for maybe one show-off (I kid, I kid), nobody was having fun. And the problem was the parents, not the teachers.
I decided to back off. I remember learning to swim. I remember wanting to reach each swim milestone for ME, not to please the teacher or a parent. I would NOT have reacted well to force, or that awful trick of plunging a kid into the water against her will. I learned to swim with the gentle encouragement of swim teachers and the necessary skill set (e.g., how to kick, how to go under water). I have no memories of my parents nagging me to let go of the wall, to kick, to blow bubbles, to let go of them in the water. None. And yet? I managed to learn to swim pretty early on.
So, as I stood in the pool with Charlotte clutching me like a monkey, I said, "How about you flip over [facing the sky] and I pull you through the water?" I figured she'd get used to the sensation of being on her back without the sense she'd immediately sink.
"Okay," she whimpered. So, we did that, and if anyone thought it was weird, they didn't say anything. Her body relaxed and she even started to smile.
Next it was time for jumping in from the edge of the pool. I bit my tongue to keep from asking, "Do you WANT to jump in?" Instead, I said, "What are we doing now?"
"JUMPING!" Charlotte said, perking right up. And with great gusto, the child jumped into my waiting arms over and over again.
I think Charlotte's innate (but cautious) independence is part of why she has thrived so much in daycare and preschool. To put it bluntly, I'm not there to hover. It's good for ME, too. I had to let go of micromanaging Charlotte and her environment. She falls and hurts herself. She has spats with other kids. All day long, she is forced to use her own judgment, stand up for herself, and cooperate with others. And she has a solid, safe structure against which to do all this. Her teachers lovingly comfort and tend to her when she needs them, and they re-do her ponytail and put on her sunscreen. They don't let her climb up on the counter or yell indoors, but she's allowed to explore and experiment and be her curious Charlotte self.
So, I'm really trying to pick my battles with Charlotte, backing off on the getting-her-to-do-things parts. In many ways, Lorelei's presence has helped with this, because I can't be so close by. If I bring Lorelei to a birthday party (so Chris can have some well-deserved alone time at home), I can't help Charlotte up a bounce house slide. She has to do it herself. I can't stop her from climbing to a potentially dangerous height, so she does so (slowly and methodically, as is her way). And she's fine. Actually, she's quite proud, and so am I.
I think what can FEEL like lazy parenting--pulling back, letting Charlotte stumble along until she finds her way on her own--is actually BETTER parenting, in many, many cases. I have to fight a lot of my instincts, because I want her safe and I want her to succeed (even at blowing bubbles!). I have to consciously make an effort to let myself be uncomfortable at watching Charlotte--I'll say it--fail. It's a really, really icky feeling--a disconcerting mix of sympathy, love, and ego-busting. But making myself more comfortable by making sure she scores A+ in every little aspect of life? Well, I'd just be robbing her of her own accomplishment.
I'd also be robbing myself of that cute little self-satisfied grin she flashes when she succeeds by herself.
My parents did this very well. Part of their success was the fact that they simply did not have the time to micromanage me. Nobody checked to see if I had done my homework, let alone read it over. As a result, when I scored the top grade on an important paper or project? I knew I had earned that A. My parents would take me to dinner to celebrate, so my accomplishments were never minimized, but they were MINE alone. Thus I had no fear of the next paper or project--I knew I could do it.
The thing is, I cannot see myself not checking that the girl did her homework, or proofreading a paper before she turns it in! I know myself too well. I'll have to find a balance somewhere.
Fortunately, I have two more years until Charlotte starts kindergarten.
In the meantime, I tried this approach with Chris. I'm trying to let go of double-checking things, or ensuring things are done MY way. Less nagging, less micromanagement.
It backfired. On a telecommute day, I loaded Lorelei into her car seat. Chris plopped her school bag into the back seat. I almost, almost, almost checked inside the bag to make sure he had everything--bottles, baby food, finger food. The bag was RIGHT THERE. It would take me no time at all--2 seconds max.
No, I thought. Chris knows how to pack Lorelei's bag. Let this one go.
About an hour later, I got a call. "Um, so, yeah. I didn't pack any food for Lorelei. [Teacher's name] had to scrounge around the school kitchen. I said I'd run to Safeway, but she found some yogurt."
I was beyond ticked. Partly at myself for not just checking the freaking bag, and partly at Chris, for proving I can't NOT be a nagger.
"I don't do details!" he whined.
The question was, did I make him this way? Maybe he figured I'd check everything, since I always do. Maybe it was just a fluke.
Letting go of control? It's hard. At the same time . . . I'm pretty sure Chris will remember Lorelei's food next time.
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