(Don't
worry, I'm not about to write a post about Frozen, although I have
been humming that song all day. That's what you get when your six
year old gets the DVD for her birthday and you end up downloading the
song and playing it on repeat. As a general rule I go for “If you
can't beat them, join them.”)
There
are days when you have ideas. Plans. Nothing major, because that way
lies madness, but just an idea of how the day might go. Like today.
It's lovely and sunny for the first time all week, our original plans
were cancelled due to friends' illness, and lots of lovely hours to
fill with fun. Perfect day, thought I, for a walk to the shops for
some salad bits for tea, a play in the garden with the water tray and
trampoline and maybe even some bubbles, before meeting with friends
in the park after lunch. With that fixed in my mind, I figured it
would be as simple as a case of us getting dressed, having breakfast,
and then we'd be on our way.
Only
it doesn't always work like that. Those wonderful little people who
we are allowing to develop at their own pace, and nurturing to be
independent, strong-minded individuals? They decided they weren't
having any of it.
What
is wrong with them? They like going to the shops (especially as
sweets can happen) the garden is fun, they've been asking for the
water tray all week, and they love going to see friends. From the
reaction I received, you'd think I'd suggested throwing all their
toys away or eating dog poo.
It's
fine, I thought after the first refusal. We can work through this!
Accordingly, I rephrased my plans, thinking perhaps they hadn't
understood what I was suggesting.
Nope.
Same
response from the kids, only this time delivered somewhat more
emphatically and leaving me in no doubt as to how they felt about the
idea.
Deep
breaths time. I could still make this work. But those often helpful
techniques of getting down to their level, empathising and trying to
talk things through did bugger all. Then I cajoled, begged, insisted,
all to no avail. The eldest promptly declared she wasn't going
anywhere or doing anything, and hasn't stirred from her bed where she
retired with her tablet at 8am this morning. Alfred's response was to
dog me with constant requests to build this or that train track, help
him with Hama beads, turn his tablet on, and yelling his head off
every time I dared leave the room. If I were actually tearing my hair
out every time I have felt like doing so today, I would be completely
bald by now.
Then,
in the midst of all of this, I had one of those Parenting Epiphany
Moments. If I were in a cartoon, a great big light bulb or a bubble
with “Duh!” inside would be floating above my head. Why on earth
was I trying to dictate what happened on a day when we didn't
actually have to do anything? There are times when things can't be
avoided. Appointments that need to be kept, work and family
commitments that can't always be juggled, but today just wasn't one
of them. It was, in fact, a lovely blank canvas that could be filled
with all sorts of possibilities, if I could only just let go enough
to allow them to happen.
What
then was more important – forcing everyone to conform to a set of
plans just because I thought they might be a good idea, or the three
of us working out what would actually work for all of us? With a
grumpy, belligerent nearly four year old sat on my lap, I realised
that it was the latter.
Post Epiphany Train Track
Why
is it so hard to abandon plans when they clearly aren't going to
work? So often I grumble about the kids being rigid in their thinking
and attitudes, but really I am just as guilty. I love to go to the
cinema. And read. And do Zumba. But I don't want to do them all the
time. Why then should my children automatically want to do something
they've enjoyed in the past, just because I've decided it
might be a nice idea now? I'd feel pretty peed off if, for
instance, when I really wanted to finish the latest True
Blood book I've just got out of the library, someone came along
and insisted I go and watch a film instead, even if it was a film I
have always enjoyed. Why then would it be any different with the
children?
Now
it's coming up for lunch time, Elizabeth is stirring, (I can hear her
talking to her barbies and singing the aforementioned song under her
breath – I can no longer tell who is enabling who in this family!)
and Alfred and I are spending a companionable half hour or so
snuggled up on the sofa with our respective electronic devices and
chatting about crabs. None of us are any the worse for it – in
fact, I would argue that we're all a lot happier – the kids for
being listened to, and me for not continuing to bang my head against
a brick wall.
Did
the morning go as I envisaged? Not in the slightest. The plan is
still to go to the park to meet friends once we've eaten, and every
one is happy with that. The difference is, we'll all go in a good
mood, rather than grumpy and resentful after hours of bickering and
feeling disconnected beforehand.
And,
because of that, I might even end up getting those salad bits on the
way home after all.
"Anna and Elsa", By Elizabeth