Connecting with Kids Requires Humor

Remember that whining episode that drove me to drink? (Wine-y Wednesday?) Guess what caused him to meltdown in the first place. A box. I was taping closed a box of clothes to mail back to Boston Proper (because nothing looks as good on me as it does on the models in the catalogs) and Truman wanted the box. I said he couldn’t have that box. It was going in mail. And my son began to wail. “I want a box!” I said, “I don’t have a box, pal. Sorry.” And the storm erupted, with thundering yells and bolts of tears. “I want a booooxxxx!” What did he want me to do? Go into our supply of pulp and make him one? I sure as hell wasn’t heading to the store and buy him one. For once in his life he has to learn that you don’t get everything you want the very minute you want it.

Allison (one of those "natural moms") and Hugh

I tried to reason with him. There was no box and no way to get a box at that moment so he’d just have to deal with it. But the wails kept coming. “I want a box.” (What he needed was a nap!) And he rolled onto the floor and his limbs flailed around beside him as he wept and moaned. So I tried tactic No. 2. I ignored him.

But the wails kept coming, like a ghost haunting my house. His moans echoed through ever room in my house as he lay there on the floor with wet cheeks and red eyes. “I want a box!” Try as I might I just couldn’t tune him out.

And suddenly, it became comical to me as I glanced over to the spot on the floor my son occupied. His feet were in the air now and he was peddling them as if he were on an invisible bike, and still whining about that box. I laid down next to him and began peddling and moaning and Truman stared at me in awe. And then the most amazing thing happened. He broke out in laughter. We laid there on the floor and bah-hawed for a good five minutes. And for the rest of the day he was fine.

If you had to give my parenting style a name, it would be the Trial-and-Error Technique. I had no previous experience supervising kids before Truman entered my life. I didn’t baby-sit and I wasn’t a big fan of babies. (I became a huge fan of my own son, though.) There are some mothers who are born to be mothers and then they top off that natural ability with a graduate degree in Early Childhood Education. So I was comforted when, a day after my son’s meltdown over the box, my father’s wife Anni sent me a link to a post “Tutoring the ‘Behavior Problem,’” written by her son’s wife Allison (one of those natural mothers with an early childhood ed degree) for the Bank Street College Alumni Association. It’s reassuring to know that sometimes we all must do strange acts of goofiness to connect to kids.

(photo, The “Little Warren” Files)