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Jul. 17th, 2009 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaAlex had an epic tantrum tonight. As has been the pattern lately, it happened because - gasp! - I dared to impose some discipline.
She likes to help me cook. Rule #1 for being in the kitchen when I'm cooking is that she has to do what I say. This is in part a safety rule (hot pans, knives, etc.) and in part a protect-the-menu-from-random-additions rule. It's been in place for a long time. Violation means banishment from the kitchen.
Well, tonight I found her holding the refrigerator door wide open. "What are you doing?" "I'm letting the cold air out." I told her to close it. Once. Twice. It wasn't until I walked towards her that she closed it and scampered away.
I reminded her of the rule and expelled her from the kitchen. She stood in the dining room door and started to cry. I reminded her of the rule again. And then, oh, the variety of tactics that she tried...
Bargaining: "I'm going to listen to what you say! I really am! I'm telling the truth!"
Self-justification: "I was cooling off the house! I was doing something good!"
Blame: "You're not being very nice to me!"
Guilt, Part I: "I was having a good day, until you made me have a tantrum!"
Excuse: "But I didn't HEAR you tell me to shut the fridge!"
Rage: She went into the living room, stood about two feet away from Michael, who was holding a sleeping Colin, and screamed.
Guilt, Part II: Back in the kitchen doorway, she informed me, "You even made COLIN cry!" "Colin didn't cry because you yelled and woke him up?" "No! Colin is crying because you made ME cry!"
Atonement: "I'm really sorry! I'm really really ashamed of what I did!"
Shame: "YOU should feel ashamed of what you did!"
Guilt, Part III: "Well, you're not ACTING like you love me!"
Piteousness: When I asked if she wanted to wipe down the table, "That's a really big job for just one little girl!"
Eventually she calmed down. I had her come out to the garden and help me pick herbs for dinner, and that seemed to help. I spent some time cuddling her and holding her on my lap... outside the kitchen.
She wasn't totally done, though. After dinner she picked a leaflet off the bookshelf and handed it to Michael. "Dad, let's read this." It was a children's brochure from church, and it included a children's version of the Seven Principles. After he read that part, she marched over to me.
"Mom, did you hear that? 'All people should be treated fairly and with kindness!'" she lectured.
"Did you have something you wanted to say to me about that?"
"You didn't treat me kindly!"
I told her that there are times that I don't treat her kindly - that I yell or lose my temper, that I shouldn't do that, and that I try not to. And then I explained, carefully, that the application of mild and reasonable discipline does not constitute unkind treatment. I'm not sure she bought it.
But... wow. She remembered what was in that leaflet and arranged to have it read aloud in my hearing as an object lesson. So that I would remember to apply the Seven Principles to my treatment of her. If you put aside the ridiculous drama, that's... actually a remarkably sophisticated way of addressing the situation.
We are so doomed, you guys.
She likes to help me cook. Rule #1 for being in the kitchen when I'm cooking is that she has to do what I say. This is in part a safety rule (hot pans, knives, etc.) and in part a protect-the-menu-from-random-additions rule. It's been in place for a long time. Violation means banishment from the kitchen.
Well, tonight I found her holding the refrigerator door wide open. "What are you doing?" "I'm letting the cold air out." I told her to close it. Once. Twice. It wasn't until I walked towards her that she closed it and scampered away.
I reminded her of the rule and expelled her from the kitchen. She stood in the dining room door and started to cry. I reminded her of the rule again. And then, oh, the variety of tactics that she tried...
Bargaining: "I'm going to listen to what you say! I really am! I'm telling the truth!"
Self-justification: "I was cooling off the house! I was doing something good!"
Blame: "You're not being very nice to me!"
Guilt, Part I: "I was having a good day, until you made me have a tantrum!"
Excuse: "But I didn't HEAR you tell me to shut the fridge!"
Rage: She went into the living room, stood about two feet away from Michael, who was holding a sleeping Colin, and screamed.
Guilt, Part II: Back in the kitchen doorway, she informed me, "You even made COLIN cry!" "Colin didn't cry because you yelled and woke him up?" "No! Colin is crying because you made ME cry!"
Atonement: "I'm really sorry! I'm really really ashamed of what I did!"
Shame: "YOU should feel ashamed of what you did!"
Guilt, Part III: "Well, you're not ACTING like you love me!"
Piteousness: When I asked if she wanted to wipe down the table, "That's a really big job for just one little girl!"
Eventually she calmed down. I had her come out to the garden and help me pick herbs for dinner, and that seemed to help. I spent some time cuddling her and holding her on my lap... outside the kitchen.
She wasn't totally done, though. After dinner she picked a leaflet off the bookshelf and handed it to Michael. "Dad, let's read this." It was a children's brochure from church, and it included a children's version of the Seven Principles. After he read that part, she marched over to me.
"Mom, did you hear that? 'All people should be treated fairly and with kindness!'" she lectured.
"Did you have something you wanted to say to me about that?"
"You didn't treat me kindly!"
I told her that there are times that I don't treat her kindly - that I yell or lose my temper, that I shouldn't do that, and that I try not to. And then I explained, carefully, that the application of mild and reasonable discipline does not constitute unkind treatment. I'm not sure she bought it.
But... wow. She remembered what was in that leaflet and arranged to have it read aloud in my hearing as an object lesson. So that I would remember to apply the Seven Principles to my treatment of her. If you put aside the ridiculous drama, that's... actually a remarkably sophisticated way of addressing the situation.
We are so doomed, you guys.
