The Unflappable Mom

Gosh, it was so easy to be a perfect parent before I actually was one. 

Tantrums are tricky.

Max is safely out of the Terrible Twos without too much trauma drama.  Of course, this means we have ushered in the Threatening Threes.  I’ve played the part of nanny and bystander and have never found two year old tantrums to be as jaw-dropping as three year old fits.  Max’s behavior is right in line with my theory.  As with each shift in his development, I stare googly-eyed in bewilderment as my child transforms before me, until I a jolt of reality hits and I remember it is I who must deal with the situation. 

Astrologically speaking, Max is a Taurus, the stubborn bull himself.  He is also my son and Andres’ son.  I mention our names separetely for emphasis.  We both bring our own brands of pig-headedness to the gene pool.  Although Max is still our wonderful boy, he is testing our limits and his boundries in his brand new self-expression.  He is is testing our patience too, and unfortunately, I’ve failed that test more often than I care to admit.

Max’s tantrums rattle me to my core.  They start off innocent enough: a ridiculous protest by him.  But he escalates the situation so quickly and dramatically, that my anger spikes.  Nothing but caving in to his demands will make him happy, and I can’t allow that.  Although I do sympathize with how disappointed he must feel to have to leave a party, not get a toy he sees at a store, or not be allowed to play during nap, I never want to give him the message that a tantrum gets him what he wants.  I try to be patient in the beginning, but his unreasonableness quickly lights my fuse.  Anger rises inside of me and lashes out at him.  

I made a choice before I was a parent to never spank my children.  I continue to honor that choice, but I now realize how profoundly challenging that is at his age.  Time-outs don’t always work, neither does taking away a toy or experience.  He is still so young that consequences need to be immediate, which hampers my ability to make him understand that his behavior results in real trouble.  I have tried yelling as a tactic to catch his attention, but it made me feel awful to scream at my child and I don’t think it was even effective.  In fact, on several occasions he just laughed at me.  I don’t want to model behavior I don’t want him to emulate. 

Every time I lose my cool with Max, I feel like I lose something of myself.  Although I raise my voice to catch his attention, screaming at a human being is not who I am.  I am a firm person with boundaries, but I’m not a crazy person who yells at people.  It’s disheartening to watch this transformation in myself.  It feels unnatural, not me and wrong.  Although it is tempting to put a little fear into an out-of-control child, it is also dangerous to assume I can play a role without it changing my identity. I am afraid that acting mean may turn me mean. 

In Buddhism for Mother’s of Young Children, Sarah Napthali suggests trying to maintain your equilibrium during challenging times by anticipating how the moment will later be turned into an amusing antidote.  Just think how often parents recall a doozie of a tantrum with a laugh.  Why not skip to that perspective right away and miss the whole escalation of anger altogether? 

Hmm…that’s true.  It’s difficult in the moment because the child forces intensity to a maximum level, but in the big picture I know it’s not important.  I know these tantrums are a developmental phase reflecting his growing sense of autonomy.  Annoying as they may be, tantrums are a sign that he is understanding his self as a separate entity.  He is exploring how his fledgling identity can operate in the world.  In the end, I can’t fault that; I must celebrate it.  And I do.  After a tantrum has passed, I always see him as such a sweet boy trying his best to see how he fits into his world.  Shame rises in me for forgetting this in the heat of battle, so why get all hot and bothered in the first place?  Especially when I know it will pass?

In my pre-baby or even my baby phases of parenting, I could stop writing right here.  What a lovely ending with a beautiful spiritual message!  But my experience has taught me, it is not that easy.  I am not a patient person by nature.  When I hear someone described of as patient I think of a Cindy, a quiet and calm lady who teaches the three year old Sunday school class.  She has a kind smile and always uses a gentle voice.  Everything about her demeaner screams quiet, except nothing about her screams.  Even her clothes exude a hush. 

When I talk about patience in my own self, you’ll notice I use phrases like try to be patient or act patiently, which is not the same thing as being patient.  Although the perfectionist side of me wants to cultivate this quality, the realistic side of me says: you can’t change who you are.  I am passionate, bursting with ideas, full of life and I have a flair for the dramatic.  I wear color everyday.  Should I improve myself, or I should accept myself for who I am?

In the end, I don’t think it is wise to try to change my nature.  I am who I am; nothing can change that.  Max is who he is too.  Nothing I seem to do can change that, so why try?

He still needs and will receive discipline.  He is a child.  It is my job to help him grow.

Now I aim for unflappability.  I can’t change him to a perfectly obedient child.  On the flip side, he can’t change me into a raving lunatic screaming at her child.

Being unflappable feels completely doable to me.  All I need to do is not get my feathers rustled.  I can focus on controlling my reactions.  This is where yoga comes in to play.  I can take a deep breath.  I can onserve my emotion, while not acting on it.  I can catch my voice rising and bring it back down.  I can choose the way I behave in any situation.  Even frustrating ones, especially frustrating ones.  My instinct remains passionate, but my actions can be compassionate. 

Ultimately, that is what I am trying to teach Max in the first place.

My darling boy, I may not be able to change you, but you can’t change me either.  We are who we are. 

But we are learning; we are teaching and learning together.  Who knows what we we will someday be?

 

(Note: yes, the picture with this story is Jack, but he has the perfect obstinate expression on his face.)