Every now and then I have a deja-vu moment where I wonder… am I in the matrix? Is this what a glitch looks like? I had one of those moments last night while driving London home from basketball practice. I believe I’ve already complained here or elsewhere about how crazy it is that 10 year olds have practice from 7:30-9 on a weeknight… so I’ll spare you that rant this time. On the ride home, London and I were debriefing practice when she casually mentioned that she had a few proposals she’d like to bring to our next family meeting.
Curious, I asked her to tell me more. Her biggest gripe is with her bedtime (not surprising). She has a long history of being a terrible sleeper (more on that later). But ever since her younger sister was born she’s also had to share a room and she does not like that she has the same bedtime as a 7 year old. As I listened to her make her case for staggered bedtimes (what about 9pm?) and a divider down the middle of their room so that both of them could have more privacy, I couldn’t help but smile. She’s so persistent…(I wonder where she gets it from). One of these days she’s going to get her way. It’s probably only a matter of time.
Each of the girls has taught me something about who I am as a father. Riley, my oldest has helped me to examine the ways I internalize my own tension and my hope for her is that we both continue to grow in our flexibility. Olivia, a leader if there ever was one, has forced me to grapple with my critical disposition and the ways that it harms my relationships. Sloane, the youngest, does exactly what the baby of the family is supposed to do: she keeps me light and constantly on my toes.
And London, well, her nickname is power for a reason. She is strength personified, and because she approaches much of life with a full throated energy, sometimes it’s hard not to match force with force. She’s my only daughter that I wrestle with (literally), and we both love it. She’s also the one that has required me to modulate my approach the most, and actually learn to de-esculate tense moments not with force, but with grace.
Which is why I smiled when I recently stumbled across a journal entry from seven years ago—back when her baby sister had just been born and London was struggling with the transition from being the baby to being a middle child.*
I just left London’s room for the 4th or 5th time this evening. She’s in that phase where she refuses to go to sleep immediately. That’s a huge problem because instead of sleeping, she plays with toys, rummages through her room, plays in the bathroom, and then eventually wanders out of her room into the hallway. Besides being an inconvenience to me, this is a huge disturbance to Sloane who she’s now sharing a room with. Fortunately, Sloane sleeps like a log lol.
But still. I’ve found myself getting so angry with London, yet knowing that there’s not really much I can do to stop her. Let’s face it, i’m not going to spank her. I just don’t believe it’ll lead to any positive outcomes. Besides, she’s already starting to hit her sisters, a habit that she no doubt picked up in school since we don’t practice hitting at home. So that leaves me with vague empty threats. Tonight I took one of her stuffed animals and threatened to take the other one if she got up again. Five minutes later there I was following through on my original threat. But, this didn’t seem to phase her because I was right back in there 2 minutes later as she was screaming.
That’s when I tried something different. I’ve been re-reading parts of love and logic and one of the things that I’ve refreshed my memory about is the need to use positive discipline and be calm under the pressure of parenting. So, instead of responding in anger as I initially wanted, I tried a different tactic. I calmly walked her out of her room (partly because I didn’t want to wake the baby, but mostly because I didn’t Samantha to hear whatever I was going to say to London on the monitor). I put her in my lap, and firmly began to question her. Why are you making bad choices right now? She responded, she didn’t want to go to sleep. Well, that’s obvious enough. Then I told her that I believe she could be a leader and make a good choice about going to sleep. Besides, her stuffed animal friends were counting on her to help them fall asleep. Otherwise, they’d have to come sleep with me. Did she want that? She assured me that no, she would rather they sleep with her. Then, we made a deal: if she goes back to bed and is a leader then her stuffed animals could return. Essentially I was holding them hostage. We shook on it, and then I told her that believe she could do this. I haven’t heard a peep since. That’s been 10 minutes.
Looking back on that moment with my very impressionable three-year-old, what strikes me is how much—and how little—has changed. The personality is the same. The power is the same. But we’ve both grown in our ability to express ourselves, advocate for what we need, and meet each other with a little more understanding.
And honestly? That feels like progress.
*Correction: younger middle, as London makes clear to point out. Olivia is the older middle and apparently that means something significantly different to her.
SDW3
everyday fatherhood 