Sunday, June 29, 2014
Meal times, specifically dinner, haven't been so easy lately. My four-year-old has always been picky, and my two-year-old, with whom I practiced baby-led weaning, and who used to show so much promise in the eating department, has followed my older daughter's lead. Sometimes I wish I believed in bribing, distracting (often used with babies), or threatening my kids. It would make things easier, and I'm certainly guilty of all of them, but I do my best to avoid those tactics.
With meal times, especially, it'd be so easy to say, "Well, if you want dessert, you need to finish your dinner," or, "If you eat one more bite of broccoli, you can have ice cream." I could also say, "If you don't eat your dinner, you are going straight to bed," or, "There will be no TV if you don't finish your meal."
What makes it so appealing is that, by and large, it seems to work. She finishes her dinner, dessert is served, and you can feel good about getting her to eat her vegetables.
But here's the rub, at least for me: I don't want to have a relationship with my daughters built on manipulation. Would I like them to comply and eat the nutritious meal that I have provided? Absolutely. Yet, if my daughters can't control what goes in to and comes out of their body, what can they control? Do they have no autonomy whatsoever? On Janet Lansbury's website, she writes, "Distraction is the polar opposite of connection ... Distraction doesn't teach appropriate behavior. What it does teach children is that they don't rate an honest connection in their first and most formative years. So these distractions, along with other manipulative, controlling methods like bribes, tricks and (most disconnecting of all) punishments threaten the relationship of trust necessary for close parent-child bonds."
So here's what I practice instead: I am in control of what I offer; they are in control of what they eat. I cannot force-feed them. I make a meal. I try to get them as involved in preparing the meal as they are capable of being (though, I admit, a lot of times it is just easier for me to do it myself). I serve the meal. If they eat it, great. If they don't, oh well. There will not be any other food offered. If they complain that they are hungry, then I will offer again the dinner that they initially turned down. Sometimes they just choose to go to bed hungry. Once, my youngest even screamed because she was so hungry but so determined to not eat the spaghetti that I had made. I try to show empathy and acknowledge their feelings: "You are hungry, but you don't want to eat the meal that I made. I know that is very upsetting to you. I am hungry too when I don't eat my dinner. I will give you an extra serving of oatmeal at breakfast so that you feel better tomorrow." Once or twice a week, I make something I know they love (right now that is Applegate chicken nuggets and eggs). That still leaves five days of the food that I prefer that they have. Another thing I do sometimes is a tip that I got from my friend Anna, which is to limit the snacks they have during the day so that they are hungrier at dinner.
As far as dessert goes, I don't offer it unless I am okay with them having it whether they eat their dinner or not. When I am at someone else's house, I don't stress about it at all. The host is in control of what is offered — not me — so even though I would prefer that they eat dinner before getting dessert, the visit is usually infrequent enough that I just choose to not worry about it.
One of my boundaries is that I don't want misbehavior at the table. I don't want feet put up on the table or my girls getting out of their seat, and I don't want them playing with their milk. In these cases, I use natural consequences. For example, I simply remove their plate, and say, "Thank you for letting me know that you are finished." My girls usually protest at this, but I still take the plate. I tell them that if they are not finished eating, I will give them their plate again in a few minutes.
Eventually, as they get older, I worry that they might purposely misbehave at the table so that they can get out of sitting down with the family for dinner. In these cases, I think it depends on what your goal is. While I don't like the idea of them going off to play instead of eating with me and my husband, if my aim is to get them to eat what I serve and to not misbehave at the table, then I might have to wait until they are hungry enough to relent. The bottom line is that they will not be permitted to behave inappropriately at the table, and, if they are hungry, they have to eat what I serve. I'd rather have the trifecta: they eat what I've prepared, they don't misbehave, and they sit down as a family. And I will get that — some of the time. Other times, it's imperfect, but I figure I will have to take the opportunity to connect with them when they decide to eat.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
She's cute. But she is also my daughter, which means she is very strong willed. Lately, the park, a place we visit on a regular basis, has become the site of a power struggle. In a nutshell: I'm ready to go; she's not. I make to leave, and she runs away as fast as she can, for as long as she can. Often, this ends with me grabbing her, and then struggling to carry her, my two-year-old, and a large diaper bag to the car. By the time I make it into the driver's seat, I'm exhausted.
This isn't our only opportunity for a power struggle. There's also meal time and play time with her younger sister (but that's another post). Because I needed a refresher on RIE (Resources for Infant Educarers), and because I was curious about whether I was handling these situations correctly (i.e., avoiding a power struggle), I reached out to Janet Lansbury, parent educator and author, for a consultation.
First, Violet is doing exactly what most, if not all, four-year-olds do. Janet explained that four is the last big push of the toddler years. Violet's agenda is to grow up and be independent, so, as her parent, I should just expect defiance.
As far as leaving the park goes, I made a few missteps. For one, whenever it was time to go, I became anxious. I knew what was coming, that Violet was going to take off, and I wasn't looking forward to having to wrangle her out of there. Also, when she would run, I would sometimes charge after her. Janet suggested that I expect Violet might run away, but that I remain calm and confident. If Violet sees that I'm angry, it becomes a game. She suggested that I give the warning that she can do one more thing before it is time to go (which I always do) and that I grab my younger daughter's hand and move close to Violet while she is doing her last activity. When it is time to leave, I should just take her hand and say, "Okay, it's time to go." If Violet pulls away, just say, "Oops. Looks like I lost someone. We'll be here waiting for you when you decide to come back." I should try my best to act nonchalant. If she can't get a rise out of me, the game is over. When she is close by again, attempt once again to hold her hand and leave the park.
Janet also suggested that, if she does run away at the park and I end up waiting a long time for her to come back so we can leave, I tell her very honestly the next time that I won't be taking her because I am not up to the chase or to waiting. Don't say it to be punitive or to teach her a lesson. Just say it because that is truly how I feel and I am just being honest. That kind of honesty is respectful, not manipulative. Once a week, we should go to the park just the two of us. Violet needs that special time every day (maybe she hasn't been getting enough of it), and I can let her know that I am really looking forward to our time together.
What was reassuring was that Janet said it is perfectly fine to pick her up and leave the park if I really need to. Toddlers are testing that boundary. They want to know if you can or will stop them. The key is to do it long before you get angry.
Having a resource available is always helpful to me, and I feel like I needed to be reminded to slow down and take a deep breath. With these strategies, I'm hopeful that we'll stop having a showdown at the park and that, from now on, it can be only what it's supposed to be: fun.