My son

Asleep in the laundry basket. Finally.

Published August 4, 2009

Yeah, I know we’re not supposed to label kids.

I know that if a parent says you can be difficult, then you’ll live up to the label, and if a parent says you’re sweet, you’ll be sweet.

But Sander can’t read, and no one’s going to tell him what I say here, so I’ll say it: Sometimes this four-year-old child is one huge, unmitigated, giant, pain in the ass.

I know that all of these quaint character traits that I’m seeing as negative will eventually turn into positives.

I know that bright, energetic children will turn into successful, driven adults.

I know that pushy turns into assertive, and bossy turns into a leader, and demanding turns into an adult who can get what he want. Curious turns into an education, and non-stop energy is fabulous when you’re thirty.

But you know what?

Right now he’s a pushy, bossy, demanding, curious little kid, full of non-stop energy.

And I have no idea how to parent him.

I love him, so, so much, and yet, he is the challenge that was given to me on earth to test my patience and my parenting ability and my faith in my ability to be a mother.

Almost every night, I have five or six courses of action I can pursue in dealing with him running through my head.

Take tonight.

We got home from gymnastics late (first strike.)

They hadn’t eaten dinner, and we ended up eating late, at almost 7:30 (second strike.)

I told Sander that he could watch the end of his new TV show, which had about fifteen minutes left on it. Then Mark didn’t know I’d promised that, and watched something else instead. (Third strike.)

So. I announce bedtime, not realizing that I have set the stage, yet again, for disaster.

Sander announces that he won’t go to bed. He’s going to watch the last few minutes of his show, as he was promised.

It’s already 9:30. I say it’s too late. Then Mark says if we promised, we promised. Fine. We’re obviously loser parents who can’t make up our mind. Sander sniffs the air, catching the scent of weakness.

So we let him watch the last fifteen minutes, thereby exposing our underbelly with Sander: If you give in once, out of kindness, love, friendship or in the interest of fairness, you are toast. Dead meat. You deserve everything that happens next. You have been warned.

It’s now 9:45. His show is over. 

And, surprise! He wants to watch another one. 

He now believes that we will give in if he throws a fit. This is obviously our fault, and yet we still don’t get it. 

The problem? We had an incredibly easy, sweet first child. With Sawyer, he would have smiled at us, thanked us profusely for letting him watch the show, and taken himself off to bed.

Sander has decided this is a turning point in his relationship with his parents. He can now call all of the shots, if he just digs in on this.

So, he’s going to watch another episode of his show.

No. Matter. What.

Mark and I, sensing danger in the water, have decided to hold our ground.

No matter what.

More than an hour of tears. More than an hour of begging.

Finally, Sander decides that we need to make him happy. We’ve made him unhappy by saying no, so now he wants a dish of ice cream, or to play a computer game.

That will make up for the bad things we’ve done to him.

So. In my head I have:

Stern Parent: You must not give into this kind of manipulative garbage. He’s just trying to see who’s in charge here, and you have to show him that it’s you. He thinks this is a bad thing? He’s going to see a bad thing. Right now.

Attachment Parent: This poor kid is so upset, and he’s really trying to figure out how to comfort himself. Maybe a dish of ice cream would show him that you can help him figure out how to soothe himself when the world’s too overwhelming.

Rational Parent: Yeah. Because, you know, bad behavior should get rewarded with ice cream. Well, wait a minute -- when I’m upset, I want ice cream... 

Middle-ground Parent: This doesn’t have to be a “him or me.” How can we make this work so we’re both on the same side?

So I go to pick him up, to help him and hug him and cuddle.

Nope. He wants me away from him.

He hates me. Hates everyone. All he wants is ice cream.

Finally, he goes off to seek comfort with his brother, who is apparently not as big a jerk as his parents.

He crawls in the laundry basket, looks at a couple of books, and falls asleep. At 11:40.

This child won’t take comfort, or snuggles or kindness when he’s mad.

He holds grudges. Has NO sense of humor about himself or his deeds.

You  can’t gently poke him, giggling, out of a bad mood.

You can’t tease him or tickle it away.

You can’t hug it away.

And yet:

He is exceptionally, undeniably, bright. Funny. He adores animals. He has a passion for learning that I’ve never seen in a child this young. He wants to sort animals into every category, and watches nature movies and reads animal books with a curiosity that borders on obsessive.

When he’s good, he’s loving and cuddly and adores me. He loves to spend time with, and his favorite thing, besides animals, is going to garage sales on Saturday mornings.

He does like to snuggle, when it’s his idea and he’s not mad.

He does want to hug me, and tell me I’m beautiful, when he’s in a good mood.

But man, I’m having to re-read every parenting book I have, and go get some new ones.

Playful Parenting. Attachment Parenting. Kids are Worth It parenting.

I’m not quite sure which style Sander parenting is.

Whatever it is, I think I’m going to be exhausted for a very long time.