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Published On: Aug 25, 2004 09:37 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Aug 25, 2004 09:37 PM
Enduring Discomfort
Tough love for Toddlers
Among the million and a half things that are hard
about parenting, the one preoccupying me lately is lovingly allowing my children
to suffer. Before anyone gets in a tizzy and calls child protection services, I
suppose this demands explanation.
I don't suppose there is a parent of my acquaintance who doesn't want their child to be happy. You want other things, of course, some of them obviously precursors to happiness, like wanting your child to be safe and equipped to go out in the world one day and get a job or be productive somehow. My children know the litany: "What is my job?" "To keep us safe, teach us, and provide for our basic needs." But you don't want a miserable life for your child and so I suppose you don't have to be much of a philosopher to start musing on the nature of happiness.
One of the obvious things about most of the children of my acquaintance is that they want stuff. They want candy, they want the new lego toy, they want that attracttive shiny object just out of reach. Even Søren, at seven months, can express a desire for something clearly enough that his six year old brother will leap to get it for him. So I've had to explain to said brother that sometimes loving somebody means not giving them something they want, even if they want it very badly, because it might not be good for them. The other thing about children's wants is that, like all of us, as soon as they have what they want, they start fixating on the next thing they want. Regardless of your family's means, you could pretty much go through a year's budget in a week trying to get your child everything he wants, and at the end of the week have a miserable child.
Is happiness the mere cessation of desire though?
Sometimes you have to make your child do things he just doesn't want to, whether it's getting a shot, doing homework, putting away toys, eating a detested food, or going to bed. Some of these are major and some of these are not, and I suppose this is where a parenting philosophy is made or broken. Since Xander has always had "I hate you" and "I don't love you anymore" met with "That's ok, I understand this must be difficult for you, and I will always love you anyway" his new line this week has been "Mom! You're DREADFUL!" "Hey, what does dreadful mean?"
Andt it's not always clear you're doing the right thing. It's terribly difficult as a parent to watch your four-year-old cry that he doesn't want to go to swimming lessons even thought you're pretty convinced that being able to swim can make life a lot more joyous and, more fundamentally, it's essential to know how to save yourself if you accidentally fall into the deep end of the pool without your floaties on. But Xander's piteous cries tear me up because I want him to enjoy swimming and his brother learned to swim with eager anticipation every time he was brought anywhere near a pool, every time the word "pool" was uttered, every time he got even a little wet in the bath tub. I think I only survived the week of swimming lessons because Xander was pretty proud of himself at the end of the day for doing something that was hard for him.
I'm sitting here typing watching Søren struggling. It seems like he will teach himself to crawl by reaching from a sitting up position for a toy that is just out of reach, pushing himself forward, on his hands and knees. When he's lying on his belly he can sort of scoot a little, but it looks less like crawling. The whole thing, though, is a terrible struggle and looks painful. He bumps himself and I've divided his cries into categories of "He can endure just a little more of this" and "Put down your coffee cup and run". I suppose that what I want for him and his brothers, a lot like what I want for myself, is for him to get many of the things he wants, but to be able to be happy when he doesn't. I want him to struggle a little, and to know that when the struggle gets to be enough I will swoop in and pick him up and cuddle him and delight in him.
I don't suppose there is a parent of my acquaintance who doesn't want their child to be happy. You want other things, of course, some of them obviously precursors to happiness, like wanting your child to be safe and equipped to go out in the world one day and get a job or be productive somehow. My children know the litany: "What is my job?" "To keep us safe, teach us, and provide for our basic needs." But you don't want a miserable life for your child and so I suppose you don't have to be much of a philosopher to start musing on the nature of happiness.
One of the obvious things about most of the children of my acquaintance is that they want stuff. They want candy, they want the new lego toy, they want that attracttive shiny object just out of reach. Even Søren, at seven months, can express a desire for something clearly enough that his six year old brother will leap to get it for him. So I've had to explain to said brother that sometimes loving somebody means not giving them something they want, even if they want it very badly, because it might not be good for them. The other thing about children's wants is that, like all of us, as soon as they have what they want, they start fixating on the next thing they want. Regardless of your family's means, you could pretty much go through a year's budget in a week trying to get your child everything he wants, and at the end of the week have a miserable child.
Is happiness the mere cessation of desire though?
Sometimes you have to make your child do things he just doesn't want to, whether it's getting a shot, doing homework, putting away toys, eating a detested food, or going to bed. Some of these are major and some of these are not, and I suppose this is where a parenting philosophy is made or broken. Since Xander has always had "I hate you" and "I don't love you anymore" met with "That's ok, I understand this must be difficult for you, and I will always love you anyway" his new line this week has been "Mom! You're DREADFUL!" "Hey, what does dreadful mean?"
Andt it's not always clear you're doing the right thing. It's terribly difficult as a parent to watch your four-year-old cry that he doesn't want to go to swimming lessons even thought you're pretty convinced that being able to swim can make life a lot more joyous and, more fundamentally, it's essential to know how to save yourself if you accidentally fall into the deep end of the pool without your floaties on. But Xander's piteous cries tear me up because I want him to enjoy swimming and his brother learned to swim with eager anticipation every time he was brought anywhere near a pool, every time the word "pool" was uttered, every time he got even a little wet in the bath tub. I think I only survived the week of swimming lessons because Xander was pretty proud of himself at the end of the day for doing something that was hard for him.
I'm sitting here typing watching Søren struggling. It seems like he will teach himself to crawl by reaching from a sitting up position for a toy that is just out of reach, pushing himself forward, on his hands and knees. When he's lying on his belly he can sort of scoot a little, but it looks less like crawling. The whole thing, though, is a terrible struggle and looks painful. He bumps himself and I've divided his cries into categories of "He can endure just a little more of this" and "Put down your coffee cup and run". I suppose that what I want for him and his brothers, a lot like what I want for myself, is for him to get many of the things he wants, but to be able to be happy when he doesn't. I want him to struggle a little, and to know that when the struggle gets to be enough I will swoop in and pick him up and cuddle him and delight in him.
Posted: Fri - July 4, 2003 at 11:45 AM