Time to Retrain Mama

When to stop caving in, just because a verbal request was made?

It was a tough night last night. The hubby is away at camp with our 6th grader for the week, and while I know he has his hands full with 9 6th grade boys, after last night, I would gladly switch places.

Bedtime routine is important to C. He likes to be warned well in advance that bedtime is approaching. He still doesn't understand the concept of time, so minutes, hours, days have little meaning, but the ritual of constant reminders makes it easier for all of us, when the time comes to head to his bedroom and read his book, tuck him in, and close the gate.

Last night, as I was issuing his many warnings, C kept traveling from the playroom to his bedroom, from the living room to his bedroom, and from his bedroom back to the playroom. I was cleaning up dishes from dinner, and knew that he was still playing with all his "friends", but wasn't aware of exactly what he was doing.

When I finally issued the last warning, and we walked hand in hand upstairs to his room, I found a full scene straight from both Toy Story and Monsters U waiting for us. I reminded C that our toys also needed to get sleep and that we needed to pick them up and put them "night-night". C became angry and frustrated, and threw his toys out of his room into the hallway. I gratefully took this opportunity to place them back in their respective bins, walked back to C's room, and closed the gate. I grabbed the book he had chosen, but he was aware. He knew that I put his toys away. He immediately began pleading, "Please, pretty, pretty please, can I have my toys back?".

It is heartbreaking. We work so hard to get our children to communicate, so when they do, we immediately comply with their request. Especially when verbalization is new, and it feels appropriate to give what has been asked for verbally as a reward. We fought for so long to understand C's needs and wants, and were happy to give what was asked for, it can be as rewarding for us, as it is C. Cookies for breakfast? Well you used the word cookie, said please, and are so proud that you were able to ask, how could I say no. You want to watch Toy Story for the third time in a row? Well you brought the movie to me and asked to watch it, how could I say no. I have trained my child to get what he wants, if he makes a verbal request. Now, I have to retrain my child, and hope that he understands what a reasonable request is, and can understand that it is my job to set limitations. That is a tall order.

I know C understands much more than he can communicate. I know that I don't acknowledge his level of comprehension, because I just simply don't know when he understands, but is choosing to ignore, or what he doesn't understand and therefore ignores. In addition, he is a master manipulator (said in the most loving way, you have to understand and comprehend, in order to manipulate a situation or person, so I am somewhat grateful for this acquired skill). His sweet voice, his long eyelashes, his innocent pleads, make it so difficult to say "no". Not only do I have to retrain C, but I need to retrain myself, his daddy, and his siblings. Every meltdown can't result in him getting what he wants. He needs to have expectations similar to his brothers, placed on him. We can't encourage the less than desirable behavior because we want the crocodile tears to stop. We can't let his sweet plead, "PRETTY, PRETTY, PRETTY PLEASE" change our decision.

Last night was a hard lesson learned by both mama and boy. I had to walk away, let him cry it out, and cry he did. He screamed, he stomped his feet, he banged on the gate. Tears flowed freely, there were moments of sweet pleads, and moments of glass shattering screeches. Our neighbors, I am sure, could hear the chaos, and had thoughts of calling 911 or child services. The tears and cries lasted for about 15 minutes. I tell you, it felt like hours. At times I felt like crying right along with him, and there were times I found myself giggling at his version of compromise. And then there was silence. After O and I finished our book (despite the mayhem in the room next door) I peeked in C's room. He had swaddled himself in his comforter, and fallen to sleep. There were residual hiccups from his tantrum visible, as I watched the rise and fall of his chest, while he slept.