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It's the summer of 2006. I am enormously pregnant and working at Barnes & Noble, where the air conditioner keeps breaking, and I am frequently asked (with people staring at the lanyard with my name emblazoned on it) if I work here. No, really, I'm just a crazy pregnant woman wandering the aisles pretending to work in retail.
One afternoon, while working the registers, a mother comes through with her two year old daughter. The daughter is in her arms, screaming bloody murder, and attacking her mother like a feral child. She's having a tantrum, and the mother is completely ignoring her. I ring up their books, and once they're out of earshot, I turn to the manager of the store--who has a two year old--and haughtily declare, "My child will never behave that way. Can't people control their children?" To which my manager laughed and said, "You don't have kids yet. You'll see."
Sometimes I think my son might have been listening at that very moment. My child, from the youngest of ages, has been precocious in every way. He seems to feel things and experience the world on so many more levels than I ever have. He's outgoing to the point of embarrassment. When he's angry, it's like someone's flipped a switch and there's nothing to do. Reasoning, begging, bargaining, bribing... nothing works. He'll go for two weeks with perfect behavior, polite and generous and sweet; then BAM, something triggers an outburst and I'm left wondering how the hell I became such a terrible parent.
For a while, I didn't know what to do. I figured my husband and I were just failing as parents. I mean, I hung around with other kids our son's age. Kids who sit still during films, who occupy their time by playing on their own, who take naps twice a day and cuddle with their parents. My first reaction wasn't that there was something wrong with him, it's that there was something wrong with me. We had episodes on planes, in cars, in restaurants, at social events, with family, with friends. For a while there, it was almost like being kept prisoner.
So we're geeks. We tried reading. But something was missing. We quickly learned that when it came to our son, these books just didn't apply. My kid is not the happiest kid on the block, I'll tell you. You try talking to him like a Neanderthal and he'll give you that look like you've lost it. This kid, at three and a half, pushed away a sandwich at lunch one day, declaring, "Actually, I'd prefer peanut butter and jelly." With adult inflections and everything.
Thankfully, my husband, on one particular terrible day, discovered a book called Raising Your Spirited Child.
I won't say that it was a panacea, but it did help put things in perspective. Our son fits the bill. After all, the subtitle of the book is: "a guide for parents whose child is more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent, energetic". All of these fit the bill for our son. Reading the book gave me a huge sense of relief. I wasn't a failed parent; he's just a remarkable child. He never stops asking questions, and every new emotion is like a explosion. Sometimes in a good way--hugging me until I can't breathe--sometimes in ways that incur bruises, bites, and tears (the latter, for both of us). He's an extroverted spirited child who wants nothing more than to get the entire world to rejoice along with his most minuscule discoveries. And that can be beautiful and mind-bogglingly frustrating.
I encourage other parents out there to read this book. We discovered that not only was our child one of these spirited kids, but that my husband was one, too. Granted, the totally introverted kind, which explained why he butted heads so often with our son.
But, if books were the answer to getting kids to behave, I wouldn't still be writing this. I think the over-arching theme of the book is that spirited children, especially in the 2-5 bracket, are the hardest. Every day is a battle. Every moment is a challenge. But as they grow up, it gets easier. They're often the leaders in life, the ones with charisma to spare. They're constantly looking to challenge themselves and explore the world around them, something that comes in handy later in life, that's for sure.
Except now is the hard time. Right before Christmas, my son had one of his tantrums. He had been splendid all day long, and I wanted to reward him with a little one dollar wind-up car. Except he wanted two. When I put my foot down, he decided it was time to go into berserker mode. Mommy rolled high on fortitude, but low on perception. The fight broke out just as we were making for the register. I had to hold onto his arm while he flailed and hit me, and threw himself to the ground. I was *that *mother. Then, to put the icing on the cake, as we left--just as I let my defenses down--he ran into the display at the store window and tore down every last box.
That was the worst day ever. But the next day, things were better. With a spirited child, it's about taking each day at a time. About learning to see the world as your child does, and understanding that their perspective isn't just different than yours, but different than other kids'. Spirited kids rewrite parenting books, continually get you odd looks from people (and friends, I suspect, who thought you'd be a good parent), and garner lots of advice from family and even strangers. They force you to look really, really hard at the way you are a parent.
More than anything, our son wants to feel like he matters. He might only be four and some change, but he feels as if his opinion is just as important as the rest. Yes, occasionally being his mom is like caring for someone with a drinking problem (slurring, falling down, tantrums, moments of love and incoherence). Yes, occasionally he freaks out for no apparent reason. But he's almost always upset about things that* matter to him*, things we take for granted. The more responsibility we've given him, the more praise he gets for his accomplishments, the happier he's been. In the last few months, even as I've gone back to work full time and my husband has stayed home (probably the biggest adjustment in our son's life) he has been flourishing.
So, to all your parents out there with bruises from the battlefield: you are not alone! Your child is not broken. You are not a bad parent. You've just been given a challenge. And if you, and your child, rise to that challenge, you'll all be rewarded.
