Here’s the story of one of my less stellar parenting moments and its miraculous resolution.
p{color:gray}. Photo: Lucy and Rosie take in the sights at the Adler Planetarium, sporting commemorative _Challenger_ stickers the week of its twenty-fifth anniversary.
The girls and I went for our first trip to the “Adler Planetarium”:http://www.adlerplanetarium.org/ the other day. Lucy and Rosie have been particularly interested in rockets and space travel since Christmas, when they got to visit the “National Air and Space Museum”:http://www.nasm.si.edu/ on our “D.C. trip”:/news/2011/airplane-travel-with-preschoolers/. Plus, everyone in the house has been totally geeked-out over Jon’s cool “Lego Space Shuttle”:http://shop.lego.com/product/?p=10213&LangId=2057 Christmas present — watching space travel videos, staging mock-launches in our living room, and blasting off from the playground. It’s been pretty awesome around here for space enthusiasts.
So last Friday, with a “Chicago Public Library”:http://www.chipublib.org/ museum pass in hand, we ventured out into the frigid air to have some astro-fun. I hadn’t been to the Planetarium in years, and I was pleased to discover that lately they have done some awesome things for kids, particularly the super-interactive “Planet Explorers”:http://www.adlerplanetarium.org/experience/exhibitions/planetexplorers exhibit which includes taking off in your very own space shuttle seat, driving a Planet X rover, and experiencing a scary-dark space walk. We had a blast there all morning, took in a “sky show”:http://www.adlerplanetarium.org/experience/shows, ate lunch in the (way overpriced) cafeteria, and then headed back to Planet Explorers for a last bout of fun before our parking meter ran out.
At this point, the girls played happily for about forty minutes in a sort of soft-gravel-filled play area, planting wooden fruits and vegetables, feeding imaginary birds, and generally having a ball. (This is located in the “your backyard” section of the Planet Explorers exhibit, with a cavernous star-filled sky right next to it, if you are wondering what the fruit and vegetable garden has to do with space.) I browsed some children’s books while watching them, and warned them at ten-minute intervals that we were going to have to wrap things up when my timer went off (since our meter was going to run out).
But then, the timer did indeed go off — and we had a battle of wills on our hands.
Maybe it was that _I_ was a little tired. Or maybe it was that I was displeased with the cost, quality, and calorie-count of my turkey panini (note to self: “next time, get the wrap instead”). Or maybe it was that the Planetarium docent was standing right there watching how I was going to handle my rebel duo. But whatever it was, I had little patience when Lucy started running away from me, or when she kicked in an effort to prevent me from putting on her shoes. I didn’t shout, but I grabbed onto my children’s arms hard, stuffed the shoes in my backpack, and walked them out of there, complaints and tears echoing behind us.
In the ensuing moments, I wrestled with my own temper, tried to express my displeasure, threatened to never return to the Planetarium, and dressed the dissidents in winter garments, all while Lucy and Rosie jumped around, giggled, fell down on the floor in protest, and complained about how hungry and thirsty they were. When we were finally in the car, I explained to them why I needed a real apology, and they sort of gave me one, but the moment was lost — they were just two overextended preschoolers trying to get their Mama to stop being so grumpy. And I was still very angry and embarrassed, and I was withholding their snack for punishment (though I did give them some water) — foolish, considering the fact that hunger was part of the behavior issue we were having, and since, philosophically, I “don’t believe that punishment changes behavior”:/news/2008/the-kazdin-method/. This was not my finest parenting moment and I knew it, but I couldn’t find a way out from under my burden of offended authority. So I told the girls, “I forgive you, but I’m having a really tough time and it’s hard for me to stop being angry right now. But I don’t like that, so I’ll do my best.”
After a few moments of driving, Lucy asked tentatively, “Mama, would you tell us a story?” I was still fuming, and not really in a good story-telling frame of mind, but I didn’t want to shut her out. “How about I tell you a story of how I _wish_ our time had gone?” As this was the only story I could think about at the time anyway, it seemed appropriate. So I wove a tale of our delightful day, and how at the moment of the dreaded timer, they expressed their sadness, but we immediately made plans to visit again, leaving with complete cooperation and smiles all around. And of course, the girls got a special snack in the car.
We told this story together a couple of times, even acting it out in our seats (“putting on” shoes, pretending to walk to the car). I gave them a real snack at the end of one of these role-playing exercises (“and then I gave Lucy and Rosie some wipes to clean off their hands, and a special snack…”). And I was pleased to notice my anger dissolving and my blood pressure returning to normal while we drove along Lake Shore Drive.
I’m not particularly proud of my behavior in this story — especially the fact that I probably wouldn’t have been so angry had I not allowed myself to feel embarrassed while the Planetarium docent observed this tussle. (What does he care? And what do _I_ care whether _he_ cares?)
But I’m grateful for the way out. I’m grateful that Lucy heard some kind of prompting in her heart and asked for a story that offered us all an exit strategy from an afternoon we might have regretted. I’m grateful that the girls and I were able to repair our relationship creatively. I’m grateful that I had some good snacks along. And I’m grateful that I was given a way to save face _and_ plan a return trip to the Adler Planetarium. Next time I bet we’ll do some role-playing on the way there — and I’ll try to build a little more cushion into my timer.
Thanks for the story! Most of all, thanks for reminding me of the importance of slack, building “a little more cushion into my timer”, that removes some of the pressure and gives us a few more options.
It’s still a struggle for me, but I try to remember to leave some extra time when taking one of my kids with me on an errand (e.g., hardware store). It always takes a little longer than by myself but the reward is worth it when I think back on the off-the-wall questions and the the time spent with these little ones.
Now if I could just do a better job including more slack in other aspects of my life!
Thank you.
That’s a great story and one that I think every parent can relate to. So glad it turned out for the best! I usually resort to taking away privileges to get them to obey, which isn’t the best long-term solution… If you explained to Lucy (in particular, since she’s older) the reason WHY you had to leave, do you think she’d have been more amenable? Ben is so fascinated with money, that if I told him why we had to leave right.this.minute he wouldn’t have protested. Or maybe have her help you put the quarters in the meter and explain that this is how much time you have and then you have to leave or else you’ll have to pay a lot of money? Sometimes I think that our ways seem very arbitrary to our children, especially when we have to leave somewhere so fun!
We had the exact same experience the last time we left the Aquarium. I think that I can change how I handle it, but at their current ages I doubt their behavior will change much. It’s so much, you know? The awesomeness of the museum – so new and stimulating that it’s almost like a visit to another world, the not-wanting to leave combined with the clearly too-tired to stay, the end of day hunger, it all adds up to way too much for their little systems. I’m glad you all found a way to end the day on a more contented note. It can be hard to release that anger when the trigger is over and I’m still tired and hungry.