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.

Jane Chooses to Be My Little Girl

Jane pretends to nap with the most patient cat on the planet. 

"Meow! Meow!" Jane called to me as I sat at the table sipping a mid-day coffee. When you have a toddler, you find yourself drinking mid-afternoon coffees more often than you probably should.
"Are you a kitty now?" I asked her.
"Jane - kitty," she informed me, and began scratching at the cat's scratching post. It was mildly annoying, but nothing I couldn't ignore. 
"Jane - scratch."
"Ah, you're scratching at the post like the kitty. Is that it?"
"Mm-hmm. [cue toddler falsetto] Meow!" She came over and indicated she wanted to sit in my lap. I pulled her up to me and sat her in my lap. Then she did the unexpected, and licked my arm.
"Did you just lick my arm?" I asked her with a furrowed brow. 
"Jane - kitty!" she repeated, and licked me again.
I jerked my arm away and said, "Jane! Don't lick me. We don't do that."
She frowned at me, letting me know she was using her angry eyes.
"Jane, you don't need to use your angry eyes. We don't lick people. You know that." 
She looked at me like I simply didn't get it and sighed. She then repeated, "Jane - kitty. Meow! Meow!"
Ah. I got it. She was a cat.
This made me stop for a moment. The meowing was almost endearing, and the scratching at the post was just in between cute and irritating, but licking was square in the middle of annoying. If I were to send her to her room for it, she'd simply find some other time to do it, like when we're at church, when I can't send her to her room. 
"Jane," I told her calmly, "if you really want to be a kitty, then you should be doing only kitty things. So, let's go look at Kitty and she what kinds of things she does."
Jane brightened at this idea, and followed me into my bedroom where the cat lay sleeping at the foot of my bed.
"So, looks like Kitty sleeps a lot..." Just then the cat roused, stretched, and started to jump off the bed. "And she stretches, so you'll need to start stretching more... If you really want to be a kitty, you'll need to choose one of the beds and sleep at the foot of it... or you can sleep in the garage. Kitty sleeps out there too. And you won't be able to watch TV, because Kitty never does that. Oh, and no crafts either. Kitties don't do crafts."

Kitty's bed in the garage. Kitty's real name is Chairman M'ow.

Jane was starting to take all of this in as she followed me from the bedroom back to the kitchen. We stood for a brief moment in silence, while Jane thought about all the things she would have to do as a kitty, and the things she could be doing as a  little girl. 
"Well, I'm going to have some watermelon. I'd ask if you want some too, but since you're a kitty, you don't eat watermelon. I really wish you'd be my little girl, though, so you could have watermelon with me."
"Jane - little girl. Jane watermelon too," she told me.
"You're my little girl again?" I asked with mock surprise.
"Yes! Jane - little girl," she said happily.
"Oh I'm so glad you chose to be my little girl instead of being a kitty. I like having you as my little girl!" I told her, scooping her up into my arms in a big hug as she giggled.


It's been two days and Jane hasn't licked me or scratched at the post since. 


Battle won. No shots fired.