Jane Doesn't Want to Go Home from the Fair

Tuesday Jane takes her first trip to the fair. Not knowing what to expect, she at first doesn't want to go, asking instead to go to the playground. I assure her we will have a good time. 


Wow. I have no idea the good time we are in for.

 We arrive at noon and go promptly to see the FFA/4H animals, the pig races, the petting zoo, we get something to eat (sorry, not deep-fried pizza on a stick) then head to the children's area, we ride an elephant (!), ride rollercoasters, and win a stuffed cow... all by 4pm. As I steer her back towards the exit, thinking she's had a full day and will be collapsing at any moment, we stop and get a snow cone in hopes that the sugar will hold her upright till we get to the car. 


Almost to the exit, she wants to see the monster trucks one more time, so we duck into the main pavilion to sit and watch the monster truck races till 5:30, when I tell her it is time to go.

"Noooo!" she begs me. Couldn't we ride just one more ride?? She doesn't want to go home just yet.


Well, if she is up for more walking around, I suppose I am too. I tell her she won't be tall enough for any of the rides, but we can walk back towards the midway and have a look. On the way, we get kettle corn then walk through the shopping pavilions. We look at all kinds of things I had no idea we needed, but realize I can't live without. 


We walk through the midway, looking at all the rides that Jane is too small to ride. I buy Jane a rainbow-swirl lollipop. The sun is setting. It is time to go.

This time when I tell Jane we have to go she has a full-on melt-down. She begins to cry and scream, refuses to follow me, and doesn't want me to take her hand to lead her. If it had been me causing this scene when I was 3-1/2-years old, my candy would have been thrown in the trash and I would probably have been taken to the restroom (or not) for a spanking. The beatings would have continued until morale improved. It was simply the way things were done, and it wasn't really questioned. I never questioned it till Jane came along. But I really wanted there to be a better way.


We've chosen not to spank Jane because we think there are better ways of teaching kids to make the right decisions. But not spanking your kids requires you to really think, and forces you to teach self-discipline by modeling self-discipline. The whole, "How can you expect your kid to learn to control himself in the heat of the moment if you are unable/unwilling to control yourself in the heat of the moment?" thing. 


Because we are trying to adopt another child, the State of California has mandated that we take parenting classes as part of our certification. Steve and I found the first 40 hours of classes so helpful (minimum is 36 hours of instruction) that we recently signed up for more. Here was my chance to put some of those lessons to the test.


With Jane screaming and crying, amidst a sea of people I take her wrist in my hand, I take away her lollipop before it gets dropped or stuck on me (which brings on bigger wails from her), and lead her from the middle of the crowd about 50 yards away to a bench, where I put down my bags, place her lollipop on top of one of my boxes, pick her up, put her in my lap and begin to rock her gently, stroking her head and telling her quietly, "You're OK, Jane. I've got you. I'm here. You're OK."


The conversation goes like this:
Me: Honey, come on, you know we have to go home some time...
Jane: (shakes head violently and sobs) Don't wanna go home!
Me: We had a lot of fun today! Don't you want to tell Daddy about it?
Jane: (hesitates, continues to sob) Don't wanna go home!


I think to myself, Aw man, this is not working! Why isn't this working?! She's still crying. What do I say? I can't carry my bags and her all the way to the car. 
Then it hits me.


Me: Jane, are you afraid that if you leave and go home, you won't ever have this much fun again?
Jane: (stops crying, sniffles, nods head, then continues to sob)


Wow. I've been there. I've been in places and moments I wished could last forever, and would've done anything to hold the moment just a bit longer.  I know exactly how she feels. No wonder she's so sad and so afraid.
I hold her and rock her a bit more, letting her calm down.


Me: Jane, do you remember when Kay Kay visited and you played and played, and when she had to go you were angry and didn't want her to go because you didn't want the fun to end?
Jane: (nods head)
Me: And do you remember when Grandmother was here and you played at the playground, and when she told you it was time to go you got very angry and kicked her because you didn't want to go home? 
Jane: (nods head)
Me: I think you were afraid that you wouldn't ever be able to have so much fun as you were having right then, and you didn't want it to stop. But there's always another time to play and have fun. It won't be the same, but it will still be fun...


I stop here, remembering I'm not going to teach her much while she is still in a distressed state. I ask her if I may sing her the Old Lady and the Fly song. She doesn't object, so I sing, "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly..."


I can't tell if it is having any effect until I miss a verse and Jane corrects me. We chuckle together about the old lady eating a horse, and I know Jane is mostly back to normal. I go to give her the lollipop, but it is stuck to the box (thankfully a glossy box, so it comes off easily). We chuckle about the stuck lollipop, and I ask Jane if she is ready to go. Yes, she is.


We walk hand in hand to the exit, get on the tram to the parking lot, chat about the cars in the lot and the passengers on the tram and about the monster trucks we had watched until we return to the car.


Of course within minutes of leaving the fairgrounds, Jane is asleep, exhausted from a long day of fun.


Tomorrow morning or maybe the next when we're both fresh, I'll talk to Jane about saying goodnight to the fun, and about finding ways to minimize the fear that she will never have fun again. I'm not sure how to do this for such a strong-willed and high-energy child as Jane, but I do know that as her parent, it's my job to teach her how to keep from stressing out in stressful situations. I know I won't do that by teaching her to fear me, but by strengthening the bond between us.


If you are interested in the techniques of this parenting method, I recommend Parenting with Love and Logic, and Beyond Consequences. There is a lot of good information in both books. 

Jane Sends Herself to Her Room

We brought home ice cream tonight. Steve was pretty excited about it, as was Jane. When we arrived home, she played for a bit, then ran into the kitchen announcing that she wanted some rock candy.

"Daddy! Daddy! Jane - candy rock!" she cried excitedly, as if she'd already been sugared up.

"Wait, Jane. Daddy has ice cream. Do you want ice cream or candy rock?" Steve asked Jane.

"Candy rock! Candy rock!" Jane squealed.

"Um... Mommy?" Steve called to me from the kitchen. "Does Jane really want candy rock or ice cream?" He knew there would be a meltdown if he gave her one and then she cried for the other later on.

I came into the kitchen. "Jane, are you sure you want candy rock? Daddy has ice cream. You usually love ice cream. You only get one. Ice cream? Or candy rock?" I asked her careful to drawl out the words "ice cream."

"Ummm... ice cream! Ice cream!" she jumped up and down.

"I thought you'd want ice cream," I told her as Steve scooped her treat into the little bowl.

About fifteen minutes later, her little ice cream treat gone and forgotten about, she heard Steve in the kitchen and remembered the rock candy. "Jane want candy rock! Jane - candy rock!" she said excitedly as she ran into the kitchen to plead her case to Steve.

"Jane, remember, you could only have one. This is why we really thought about it before..." he told her calmly.

"Jane - candy rock!" she insisted.

At this point, Steve did what any sensible father would do in this situation. He called for backup. "Um... Mommy?"

I entered the kitchen where the standoff was taking place.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Well, Jane had ice cream, and she knew she could only have one treat, but now she wants a candy rock. I told her--" Steve was cut short by Jane's interjection.

"Jane -- candy rock NOW!" she demanded, and stomped her foot for emphasis.

I straightened up and blinked slowly, and looked at her in silence, my face showing mild surprise. 

Jane met my gaze, then lowered her eyes and hung her head. She went to leave the kitchen, knowing that the consequence for raising your voice and stomping your foot has consistently been that you go to your room. If you choose to be unsociable, you are removed from society, as it were. But as she moved to go, she took my hand in hers and murmured, "Sorry, Mom."

We took a few steps hand in hand, but instead of taking her to her room, I brought her to the living room, where I sat on the end of the coffee table and put her on my lap. 

We sat in silence for a moment, then I quietly thanked her.This was this first time I remember her spinning up and out of control, recognizing that she was out of line, and then choosing to step back from the edge and apologizing. It was a remarkable moment, made all the more remarkable by the fact that Jane only turns three at the end of October.

We sat quietly, then one of us (I can't remember whether it was her or me) did a silly thing, poking or tickling the other. We were soon giggling together, then Jane suggested we play with her model cars, which we did. Jane was pleasant the rest of the evening, and didn't mention the candy rocks again.

The Bite Box: Dealing with a Biting Child

I try to come up with creative solutions to problems that arise with Jane. One of the issues we had was biting. 

Who knows why one kid bites another kid? But more importantly, how do you get the little savage to stop? As a parent, you are absolutely mortified that your little cherub would bite another child, and you're almost encouraged to hear that other parents have wrestled with the same problem. But I never seemed to hear any good solutions, just got shrugs and "Oh, she'll grow out of it."

All these Children are your Friends. Take good Care of your Friends.

Somewhere around Christmas, in an effort to curb the occasional biting impulse, I started referring to all children as "Jane's friends." Any time we went to the playground, we were going to see "Jane's friends" that she hadn't met yet. I would remind her that we take care of our friends, we protect our friends, and we never ever bite our friends. 

It seemed to be working, and I was incredibly relieved and happy that she was past the biting. But then... Fat Tuesday came.

Fateful Day

On Fat Tuesday, I took Jane to the My Kids Clubhouse to play. She loves that place. We made a Mardi Gras mask together and she got some beads that she was really proud of. She was playing so nicely, that I almost thought it was some other kid that suddenly started crying in the distance on top of the slide. But no. Down came Jane with tears in her eyes and a long face, and right behind her was a beautiful Japanese girl who was about four, crying with equal force.

I asked Jane what happened.

"Hit," she said between sobs.

"She hit you?" I asked, almost puzzled.

"No. Jane hit." Great. Jane hit the girl. Well, at least she's honest.

"What happened then?" I asked her. 

"Bite," Jane tells me matter-of-factly.

No. No, no no. Please tell me no.

"Jane, did you bite that little girl?"

"Yes." 

Just then the girl's mother pushes her sleeve up to revel a bite mark that rivals any dental impression I've ever seen. I am mortified. Seeing the teeth marks in her arm, the little girl howls in pain and indignation. I cringe, and take Jane by the hand to the front desk.

"Um, what do you do when one child bites another?" I ask, holding Jane in my arms.

"Oh, we do not tolerate biting. Is your girl OK?" the lady asks me, concerned and sympathetic.

"Oh, my kid's fine. She was the biter. But are we, like, banished or anything?"

The woman blinks at me. I don't think she's ever had the parent of the offending child approach her first. "Um, well, she can't bite other kids..." she stammers and seems at a loss as to what to tell me.

"Well," I say to the woman as much as for Jane to hear, "Jane made a very bad choice biting that girl. We have to leave now, and we won't be coming back for the rest of the week. It's too bad, because Jane really has fun here. But Jane made that choice. "

I turn Jane towards me and tell her, "Jane, you'll have to give up your mask," and I start to remove the Mardi Gras mask from her face as she starts to whimper. "And the beads." 

"No. Jane's beads!" she protests.

"Jane, I'm sorry. You chose to bite that girl, and now you don't get to keep those things." 

Jane is unsure whether to be sad or angry, but gives up the beads without too much fuss. Now for the hard part. Still carrying Jane, I go to the offended little girl still weeping in her mother's arms. Her mother has been soothing her in Japanese. 

I tell the mother, "Please tell her this and make sure she understands," I turn to the little girl, "Jane knows it's wrong to bite. I'm taking her home now and she will not get to come back all week. She had to give up her mask - she's not allowed to keep it. And she had to give up the beads too - she can't have those either..." 

As I'm telling her this, the little Japanese girl stops crying and Jane starts to cry. I realize that in my making amends to the little girl, her healing begins with a little justice. Jane, on the other hand, is starting to feel the consequences of her own actions. I tell Jane to tell the girl she's sorry, and Jane signs "I'm sorry" with her fist making circles over her heart.

I apologize profusely to the mother, and again to the girl, and Jane and I go home. Once home, I decide more instruction and evidence of consequences is needed. 

But how can Jane have a concrete reminder that biting is bad, and what can I do to make the consequences stronger than the urge to bite? This is when I got the idea for the Bite Box.

The Bite Box

I took a large clear plastic box with a lid, and drilled holes on both ends so that it might be sealed with zip ties. I told Jane that the next time she bit anyone, her favorite toy and the toy she was playing with would go in the box. It only took a couple days before she lost her temper and bit me.

I have worked very hard to be like the Judge in the courtroom who looks down at the delinquent and says, "Young man, I am very sorry to have to do this, but you have brought this sentence upon yourself. I hereby sentence you to blah blah blah..." The kid almost thinks the Judge wishes he didn't have to be so harsh, and is reminded that he is there entirely by his own actions. I really try to give Jane consequences, so that she chooses to do the right thing not because she's afraid of making me angry, but because the right thing is so much easier and more pleasant in the long run. The consequences of her actions are often punishment enough, and my anger only detracts from the lesson.

So, after I got over the surprise and pain of Jane biting me, I very matter-of-factly said, "Jane you know what happens when you bite. I'm really sorry you made that choice."

She giggled, not knowing what to expect. 

I sighed in sympathy, and told her, "You have to give up your trains for a few days."

She was confused. 

Then I took the Bite Box into her room and started loading it up with her trains. She began to protest and cry. I told her I was sorry, but that she had made the choice to bite, and when we bite, the things we love go away.

I set the Bite Box at the entrance to the house where Jane would see it every day, any time she passed by. 

I made a little face on the box with big teeth, so Jane would be reminded why the toys were in the box and locked up.

Once the three days were over, Jane got to help cut off the zip ties.

We only had to use the bite box three or four times. Thankfully within a few weeks, Jane stopped biting. 

I think the box might now become the "Backtalk Box." More on how that works out later.