In my earlier parenting days, I would actively engage my children in discussions about their behaviors. For instance, if one of my kids attempted to slide down the banister like a character from a cartoon, I would patiently explain, “That looks fun, but do you realize that in reality, sliding down banisters is unsafe? Can you articulate why? Correct! It’s dangerous. Banisters are designed for stability while navigating stairs. What could happen if you tried that and fell off? Yes, you could get hurt. Can you think of safer alternatives to slide on? Exactly! A playground slide. Great job! Now, let’s end this with a comforting hug.”
Admittedly, that approach is heartwarming. I was involved and considerate, taking the time to help my children grasp critical concepts about their safety, nutrition, and appropriate behavior. After all, it’s essential for them to learn and grow from their experiences.
However, my approach has shifted, especially in the hectic hours between wakefulness and bedtime. Now, I often resort to direct, succinct tactics; after all, there isn’t much room for lengthy explanations when a child is about to engage in questionable behavior, like attempting to bite the family dog. Hence, I frequently employ sarcasm and pointed rhetorical questions. My current favorite method includes asking:
- Do we put toys in the toilet?
- Do we throw cats?
- Is it acceptable to wash your hair with pudding?
The truth is, I find myself less inclined to create “teachable moments” because my children exhibit behaviors that defy logic. They interact with their environment in ways that no rational adult would. For example, a wall might become an art canvas for diaper cream, shirtsleeves double as handkerchiefs, and plates might be used as Frisbees, while my patience often feels like a punching bag.
I now find myself asking questions like:
- Do we paint our siblings?
- Are bookcases meant to be climbed like ladders?
- Do people appreciate being farted on?
It seems I’ve transformed into a provider of snacks and rhetorical questions. Given the unpredictable nature of my children’s actions—like the startling moment when I witnessed one of them attempt to eat crayons—I feel compelled to remind them of basic common sense.
Do we eat dirt? Are fingernail clippings toys? Is it appropriate to poke other people in the eyes?
At times, I feel as if I’m teaching a course on common sense to garden worms. I want to believe that my children know the answers to my rhetorical inquiries (hint: the answer is always “no”), but I sometimes wonder if their instincts are more akin to those of invertebrates than of intelligent beings. Perhaps their bodies are simply responding to the sun’s position, leading them to believe that it’s time for an impromptu act of mischief, like peeing on the front lawn.
Questions like:
- Are umbrellas suitable for sword fights?
- Are you an animal?
- Can we store items in our underwear?
have become part of my daily routine. My goal is to highlight the obvious, attempting to help these “curly, dimpled lunatics,” as Ralph Waldo Emerson once described children, understand that we should only jump on trampolines, not on our siblings who are lying on the floor, even if they’re laughing.
Should you lick the floor? Are dogs meant to wear shoes? Does mommy come to the dinner table nude?
It can be exhausting to correct beings that seem to thrive on making mistakes. Nonetheless, as a mother, I cling to the hope that one day, I won’t have to ask questions like, “Does that belong in your nose?”
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In summary, while my initial parenting style was focused on nurturing and education, my current reality often demands quick, rhetorical responses to navigate the unpredictable behavior of children. This evolution in approach reflects the challenges of parenting, as I strive to maintain a semblance of order amidst the chaos.