A Fine Parent

When my children were toddlers, I wanted them to be empathetic and compassionate – to be able to see the world through others’ eyes and to turn that ability into action if help was needed.

I wanted to raise the anti-bully!

And not only did I want an anti-bully, I wanted to raise kids who stood up for the bullied, and also understood the plight of the bully.

I knew I wanted to raise empathetic and compassionate kids; I just didn’t know how to do it.

As it happens, life threw me a curve ball when my kids were five and six years old, ensuring that they would learn empathy right in their own living room.

I had what was supposed to be routine surgery. Fast-forward two months, a host of complications, a few ER visits, and a second surgery later, and I emerged as this: a woman with a painful disability caused by permanent muscle, nerve, and organ damage.

Suddenly, I had to learn to keep myself alive while taking care of my children and managing the day-to-day changes in my life. In those first hectic months, I couldn’t focus on empathy, couldn’t actively try to raise two crusaders for kindness.

It turns out that my children did not forget. Faced with a parent who struggled every day with simple tasks, my children watched and learned.

They learned when they could help. And when to step back. And when to bring me one of their stuffed animals and a hug.

They learned how to walk the tightrope of being sympathetic without being overwhelmed, something that can be hard for children and adults alike.

By watching me struggle, they learned empathy and compassion.

While our situation was unique, what I learned can help you teach your own children how to build empathy.

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A few years ago, my family and I were preparing for a big event honoring my oldest son.

I had carefully created invitations, prepared a program, and cooked a celebration meal. I took the time to buy a new outfit, including shiny new shoes for my son to wear. It was poised to be a wonderful day with our family and closest friends.

And then it was time to get dressed.

My son flatly refused to wear the shoes I picked out for him.

I first tried to bargain with him; “you only have to wear them for one hour and then you can come home and change.” That was met with a flat, “No.”

Then I tried to bribe, “If you wear these shoes, then you can have treat.” That didn’t work either.

I tried pleading, “Please, wear these shoes. Please just wear them. For me… please, please.”

When that fell flat, I played my final card. It was time for a mommy tantrum.

For those of you unfamiliar with a mommy tantrum, it usually occurs when said mommy does not get her way. Her unyielding child ignites a fuse in a firecracker of negative emotion.

Mid-mommy tantrum, I was fuming down the hall when my husband caught me and said, “Don’t let a pair of shoes ruin this day for you.”

Suddenly, my fuse went out. He was right. I was letting a pair of shoes that would look nice in a picture become more important than my child’s big day.

While reading this, memories of similar power struggles you have had with your children may have come flooding back. We have all been in this position. But one powerful truth will help reduce the stress that comes from power struggles.

It is this: not all parenting battles are worth fighting.

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You do everything you can to make sure your child has a positive inner voice.

You praise her at all the right times using the right kind of praise. You tell her you love her and are proud of her every day. You nurture her endeavors and give her encouragement along the way.

Despite all that, one day she declares, “I’m no good, so why bother trying?”

Your heart sinks. Could all of your efforts evaporate in a single instance?  What went wrong?

When my daughter was born, the one gift I wanted to give her was a strong self-esteem. It is important to me as a woman and a parent. It took me years to build mine. I remember how painful it was during my childhood to never feel relaxed, calm, and confident, to be plagued with self-doubt.

I wanted so much to protect my daughter from the corrosive, universal effects of low self-esteem and a negative inner voice.

I thought I was well-prepared. My son was eleven-years-old when we welcomed my little girl into the world. He’s nineteen now and has always been a relatively calm, happy person.

When problems did arise, we were able to guide him through them. He is a strong, happy individual who is following his dreams and is beginning a business in producing a line of custom electric guitars and bases.

So, when my daughter was born, I thought, we’ve got this. Plus, my husband and I are in the mental health field and we’re older parents. We worked out a lot of our own issues. We know the importance of a positive inner voice and devote ourselves to supporting our children and each other.

As my daughter grows though, so does my concern. [Read More…]

When I see my kids deliberately hurt by someone else the mama bear just comes roaring out in me. No one hurts my babies.

But what do you do if your baby hurts your other baby? How can you make them stop hitting?

The first time I saw this happen, I died a little inside.

I was in the bathroom and heard one of the twins cry out in pain. I ran into the living room, only to find my two year old stomping on his brother’s back.

And I lost it.

I screamed and hollered and removed him from his brother and set him roughly on the couch. The anger I felt towards my two year old – a little boy I loved and cherished – was unfathomable.

The mama bear came out – even against her own.

And I hated it.

That scene repeated itself many times over the next couple of years. My two year old hit. He hit when he was three. He hit when he was four. And when he turned five, he finally quit – he outgrew it, I guess.

But by then the damage had been done.

I was not able to get him to stop hitting in time, and now his twin little brothers had learned to hit – and they usually hit each other.

And guess what? Mama bear was still in there.

Every time one boy hit the other, I lost it. The anger bubbled up and boiled over. No one hurts my babies – not even my own sons.

A few months ago, I quit my part-time job and found myself as a stay-at-home mom. My first order of business: to get them to stop hitting.

I knew how to do it. I just never did it because it takes time.

How many times, as parents, do we know the appropriate tool to use, but don’t even bother, because it takes too much time out of our busy day?

Instead, I consistently told him not to hit, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

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The other day, my 8-year-old daughter paused mid-conversation and said “Mummy, I wish we were always on the same map together.”

Clearly, I had been missing something while we were chatting.

We had been casually discussing ideas for her upcoming birthday party, when she mentioned the sorts of things that other parents do for their kids’ birthday celebrations.

Some were too extreme (jelly wrestling, anyone?). Others were a bit too risky for my personal liking (Go Kart racing, just for starters). And others fell firmly into the “Sorry honey, but it just costs too much” basket…aka, backseat limousine parties.

Clearly I missed the memo that we were at the age when the backyard ‘sausage rolls and musical chairs’ parties were being phased out.

But there was something else I clearly missed, too. Because somewhere along the way, the wires between trying to be a communicative, ‘open to suggestions’ parent and a ‘this is how we do it’ parent had got rather tangled.

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