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Strong-willed.

Stubborn.

Single-minded.

Obsessed.

Every teacher and care-giver my son encountered described him this way. Each conference, parent-night, or office visit began with me explaining his wit and ended with unsolicited advice from them on how to make him more compliant.

Many acted as if they offered me new information. As if I hadn’t spent any time with this child.

This child. This strong-willed, stubborn little guy is my moon and stars. The love of my life.

Each of us, if we’re lucky, has a moment when our hearts crack open, pours out in front of our eyes to become our own living, breathing, light. To be told that my light had faulty wiring split me down the middle. The ache I felt hearing these words can’t be described.

Being a new parent, I started to doubt my abilities.

I wondered if trusting myself and my connection with my son was enough to raise a solid young man. I worried constantly. I braced myself each time I walked through the doors to pick him up from school. Seeing his teachers waiting by the front desk filled me with dread.

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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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How is this happening again?

Just a few short moments ago, you were enjoying a calm, relaxing moment together with your child when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, came a full-blown power struggle!

Cue the tears, yelling and hurtful words.

If you’re like most parents, you desperately try to avoid these moments.

They’re not fun.

They’re embarrassing. (Especially with judgmental onlookers questioning your every move.)

But the worst part about power struggles is that they seem to take away way too many of those precious moments you have with your kid (and he’s growing so fast, you don’t want to miss any more of them).

You’ve probably tried all of the standard advice for preventing power struggles…

• You pick your battles
• You give him choices
• You ignore what you can tolerate
• You might even give in every once in awhile because his request isn’t that out of line

But even with these tactics, sometimes avoiding a power struggle just isn’t possible. When he’s acting in a way that’s inappropriate and cannot be ignored, you feel like you’ve got to do something.

But what?

How do you sidestep the argument so that you don’t have to get caught in yet another stressful power struggle, yet remain the type of parent you want to be, one who has expectations and rules, not a doormat who folds at every sign of conflict?

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I am living with Mount Etna. In tween form.

Any hint of criticism sets off the rumbling. Add an admonishment to the top – BOOM – we have an eruption.

Are you sure you’ve done your homework?

BOOM

You lost your house key?

BOOM

Stop picking on your brother!

BOOM

Are you on your computer? Again?

BOOM

For a while there we were having loud, shouty arguments about everything under the sun. He was prickly and defensive and not a joy to be around.

It would be easy for me to write this off as teenage hormones and tell him he needs to stop being so sensitive. It would be equally easy for me to paint myself as a blameless and suffering supermom, but I know that communication is a two-way street.

But what can I do? I do active listening. I let him fail to develop a growth mindset. I try to back away from the bubbling lava of his hormonal temper. But no matter what I do I seem to trigger more eruptions out of my tween Mt. Etna.

Something was missing. In fact, it was 2 somethings.

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