What Matters In The End

“If it’s not my idea, I don’t want to do it.”

This seems to be my seven-year-old son’s motto these days, which is kind of annoying because we’re spending the summer in a city with a wealth of world-class museums that I want him to experience.  I know he’ll enjoy them once we’re there, but transitions have never been his strong suit.

After some trial and error (and many arguments) trying to motivate him to leave the house, I’ve found a two-part formula that seems to work.  It both gets him excited about a particular museum AND allows us to continue the learning journey once our visit is over.  I’m sharing it with you in case you find yourself in the same boat.

I used to try to persuade him (and get some stealth teaching in) by reading him books related to the topic of the museum we’d be visiting, but he was never interested.  So then I started showing him short introductory videos from the museum websites.  Voila!  Immediate interest!  I realized his fear lay in not knowing what to expect; once he knew where he’d be going, he was more inclined to cooperate.

Then I discovered that if I waited until right after our visit to read him a book related to the topic of the museum, he was a million times more receptive, connected, and interested.  It reminded me of the Montessori/Orff concept of giving the child the sensorial experience before the symbol/language.

By following this simple two-step approach, we’ve been able to explore several wonderful museums.  It took some observation and creativity, but I found an approach that minimizes my son’s insecurity and maximizes his learning potential.  And isn’t that what matters in the end?

 

 

 

The Entitlement Myth

A few weeks into his first-grade year, my formerly sweet and relatively cooperative son began acting sassy, cocky, and entitled.  Requests for help were met with groans and eye-rolls.  Limits were countered with sighs and “whatever“s.

We gave him the benefit of a doubt: Surely he was just imitating his older classmates’ rude behaviors.  Or maybe this was a misguided attempt at being more independent.  All my friends’ children were acting the same way, so it was probably a developmental phase.  Regardless of the reason, I dealt with entitled children all day long at work and  I wasn’t about to put up with the same behaviors from my son at home.

My husband and I gave Zachary a speech about behavioral expectations in our family.  He gave us a sigh and an eye-roll.  This was going to be harder than I thought…

A quick Google search on books about childhood entitlement led me to “The ‘Me, Me, Me’ Epidemic: A Step-By-Step Guide to Raising Capable, Grateful Children in an Over-Entitled World”.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that the book revolves around the principles of Positive Discipline, which I’ve used for years.

The first practical suggestion for countering entitlement is called “Mind, Body, and Soul Time” (MBST).  It requires each parent to set aside just ten minutes a day to “be fully present in mind, body, and soul and do whatever your child loves to do.”

Ten minutes a day sounded like a paltry amount of time until I started seeing the day from my son’s perspective.  From wake-up to bedtime, I was always busy with something – too busy to spend ten minutes one-on-one with him.

When he woke up, I was making breakfasts, packing lunch boxes, and getting everyone out the door on time.  Even though Zachary and I spent the day together at school, we were always surrounded by other children and adults.  Then at 5pm it was a mad rush to pick up his sister, drive home, get dinner made in 15 minutes, and sit down for ten minutes to eat as a family.  My husband would read the kids a book and tuck them in while I cleaned the kitchen, answered work emails, and planned the following day’s lessons.  Our life ran on a strict timetable and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t find ten minutes to just be with him without sacrificing some essential task and sending the whole house of cards crashing down.

Three months after reading the book, we decided as a family to walk away from the madness of our lifestyle.  We shifted into the slow pace of unstructured homeschooling and discovered something we never had before: TIME.

Without the need to wake up at 6am, my son could go to bed later.  And without the need to hurriedly clean the kitchen and answer work emails, I could spend time with him.  And so, I started reading to him for an hour each night (his favorite thing to do).

Within a week, my husband pointed out, “Zachary is so much happier.”  It was true: my little boy began to laugh again.  Then, we noticed another change.  He became physically affectionate.  The child who had been pulling away from us began moving back into our lives.  He started folding his 4’4″, 70 lb. frame into our laps, requesting snuggles.  Or he’d jump into our arms and wrap his arms and legs around us in a full-body hug.

And then, about a month in, we noticed it.  The entitlement, sass, and attitude had disappeared almost completely.  Requests for help were now met with an agreeable attitude; limits were either accepted or discussed rationally.  We even started hearing a phrase we’d never heard from him before: “How can I help?”

Sure, he has his moments, especially when he’s hungry or tired.  But overall, he’s a different child.

He’s a different child because I’m a different mother and we lead a different lifestyle.

Now, I’m certainly not saying that everyone should drop what they’re doing and homeschool.  But we need to stop justifying rudeness and entitlement as “normal” parts of growing up.  These behaviors are cries for help from little beings who are evolutionarily primed to connect.  So please, find those ten minutes, before it’s too late.

“The impulse to be good arises less from a child’s character than from the nature of a child’s relationships. If a child is ‘bad’, it’s the relationship we need to correct, not the child.” – Gordon Neufeld, “Hold On to Your Kids”

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The Good Struggle

This morning, let’s talk about compassion (identifying our common struggles) and empathy (letting others know they’re not alone).

Raise your hand if you want your child to show compassion and empathy for others.  OK, that’s pretty much everyone in the audience.  Put your hands down.

Now, raise your hand if you want your child to suffer.  Anyone?  Anyone?  *crickets*

Most of us agree that it’s painful to watch our child get hurt (physically or emotionally). So painful, in fact, that it triggers the Mama or Papa Bear in us and we come out swinging against the person or situation that is causing our child pain.

But, what if I told you that suffering is at the root of compassion and empathy?  

Really. Uncomfortable. Thought.

I get it.  So, let’s leave our children’s suffering aside for a moment, because I have a story to tell you about my own journey towards compassion.  Before I became a mom, I thought that parents who, in my lofty opinion, didn’t have their act together deserved zero compassion.  ZERO.

I had a long list of parenting choices I would never make (screens, junk food, yelling at my kids) and I had an even longer list of behaviors my children would never exhibit (because they were going to be Montessori children).  I looked down my nose at those “hot mess” moms and their unruly kids who broke my rules for a perfect life.

And so, of course, the gods sent me two beautiful, loud, demanding, free-spirited children to take me down a notch or fifty.  Now, after seven years of being dragged through the parenting rodeo, I’m a proud card-carrying member of the Hot-Mess Moms club.

Do I still judge other moms?  Yes.  For about two seconds.  But then a voice inside me says, “Psst.  Girlfriend… Take a look in the mirror!”  That’s the voice of compassion. (I thought the voice of compassion would sound like Pema Chodron.  Yeah, no.)  When I hear that voice, my resistance to accepting my own imperfect humanity and that of others melts away.

Now here’s the thing: My lack of compassion for other parents stemmed not from being a bad person, but from not having lived through the struggles of parenthood.

So how does all this tie back to our children?  Well, if we want them to feel compassion, we need to let them connect with the struggles of others by letting them struggle a little bit themselves.

And if we want them to learn how to show empathy, we need to connect empathically with them post-struggle.  Let’s put aside our “I told you so’s” and “You’re OK’s”… When we suffer, all we want to hear and know is “You’re not alone.”

 

 

Communication for Peace

So many struggles with our children stem from conflicting goals: you need to go grocery shopping and they want to stay home; you need them to sit down for dinner and they want to keep playing.  Imagine if there could be a way of communicating with your child that allowed you to achieve your goals while respecting their priorities. Well, there is.

The practice of Nonviolent Communication recently came into my life.  NVC is a way of expressing “what we are observing, what emotions we are feeling, what values we want to live by, and what we want to ask of ourselves and others,” (NVC site) through the development of compassion, without using anger, manipulation, or fear.  Here’s a diagram of how NVC looks in practice:

When I started reading the book Nonviolent Communication (aff link), it dawned on me that it can be a powerful tool in our Montessori work of educating for peace, creating critical thinkers, and enhancing emotional intelligence.  I don’t know why it’s not part of the suggested reading in all AMI Montessori training centers, but I’m glad I discovered it and can share it with others.

Here’s the thing about NVC: it’s easy to learn, difficult to master, and once you use it, you’re hooked!

So, how does NVC work?  There are several books about it (and hours of videos on YouTube), so instead of going into details, I’ll give you a beautiful example that happened in our home this weekend. While not all conflicts are solved this fluidly in our home (because I’m still learning), NVC has made a profound difference in my ability to communicate compassionately with my son and husband, while getting my needs met!  I’m going to label the different elements of NVC throughout the conversation, so you can see how it flows.

Zachary (4 years old) normally goes to bed by 6:30pm, but this day he’d taken a nap in the car, so it was almost 8pm and he was still happily playing trains with his dad.  My husband and I had had a long week: he had faced many challenges at work and I had been up several times each night with the baby.  We told Zachary it was time to get ready for bed, but he objected.

Me: I see that you still have a lot of energy in your body, don’t you? (observation)

Zach: Yes, and I don’t want to go to bed.  I want to bring my bed downstairs and sleep next to my trains.

Me: Ah, you want to be close to your trains.  That makes sense.  You know, you don’t have to sleep right away.  You can take a couple of engines to bed with you and play with them there.

Zach: I still don’t want to go to bed.

Me: I understand you don’t feel tired yet. Here’s the problem: Your dad and I feel really tired and want to go to bed soon. (identify feeling) We had a long week.  Do you remember how daddy told you about the frustrating meeting he had with the man who was not being very helpful?  And do you remember how I said I was tired because Nadia was crying at night?

Zach: Yes.

Me: OK, well, we need to go to bed soon so we can have energy to go to the beach tomorrow. (our need)  We want to have time to read you a book and sing some songs (his need) before we have to go to sleep.  How can we solve this problem so that we have time to read a book and sing songs, and so mommy and daddy can go to bed on time? (request)

Zach (thinks for a moment): OK, first pajamas, then brush teeth, then go to the bathroom, then bed.

Me: Great, let us know if you need help along the way!

And wouldn’t you know it, he was fast asleep by the end of the second song.